Seven

Jackson is shoved into the snow before the fire.

“Explain.” It is a one-word command from my father and
Jackson yawns at it.
I lose control and punch him as hard as I can. “Blaine
brought you to us with a gun to your head! And now you’re
on the same side?”
Jackson smiles but doesn’t say anything. I hit him again
and my knuckles split open. At least he’s bleeding now, too:
a bloody nose. I hope I broke it.
“Answer us, Forgery,” Owen demands.
Jackson rolls his eyes, like we’re boring him. “Blaine
brought me in because we planned it that way. He pretended
I was the enemy because we planned that, too. Everything

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 we did we planned, except for, well . . . this.” He jerks his
head toward the body in the snow.
“But Blaine had a clipping scar,” my father says. “He was
flawless when I questioned him. He even knew about the
burn on Gray’s forearm. How could he—” Owen exhales
sharply. “Our man! The one the Order captured.” His eyes
snap to Jackson. “Your people got information from him.
How much, exactly, do you know?”
Jackson shrugs and this time it is Owen who strikes him.
He shakes out his hand, opening and clenching his fist
repeatedly. “You will answer my questions without cheek or
I will make sure you regret every moment from here on. Is
that clear?”
Jackson spits a mouthful of blood onto the snow.
“Let’s try this again.” My father kneels before him and
I’m struck by how terrifying he looks in the moment. I’ve
never before seen this side of my father, a man who someone
should fear. “Explain everything.”
Jackson glances at my father’s fist and sighs. “You’re
right, okay? The Rebel we caught leaked information when
pressed accordingly. He was willing to lose a few fingers,
but not an entire limb.” Another coy smile, as though the
Forgery finds this detail amusing. “He told us a small group
of your people was heading west on a specialized mission.
The boy who infiltrated Taem to steal the vaccine would be

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 a part of the team, while his twin”—Jackson’s eyes flick my
way—“who was still recovering from a coma, would not. We
gathered as much information on Gray as possible—learned
that he sustained injuries to his arm and that he wanted his
brother with him on the trip, but Blaine had failed to pass
conditioning tests. The prisoner was willing to die rather
than divulge the goals of your mission, though, or the loca-
tion of your headquarters, so that’s exactly what he did: He
died.”
“And you were sent after us?” my father asks.
“Blaine and I were already out patrolling the Great For-
est when we got the call. We were given orders to track your
team, uncover your plans, and stop them as necessary, all
while trying to determine the location of your headquarters.
That was the main goal: getting the coordinates and relay-
ing them as soon as possible.
“We picked up your trail easily enough. It was the hiking
that was rough—ten days of nearly nonstop pursuit. When
we caught up with you at Stonewall, infiltrating seemed
smartest, especially since Blaine would be recognized, so
we agreed on a cover: I’d be an Order spy in his custody. We
each played a part, and he, clumsily, botched his.”
“And Blaine’s scar?” my father prompts. “The one on his
neck?”
“Oh, he’s had that ever since Gray came back to Taem for

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 the vaccine. Frank saw Gray’s neck, knew the Rebels had
found a way to remove tracking devices. He marked some of
us after that—anyone he suspected to have fallen into your
hands.” Jackson’s eyes dart over each of us in turn, like he’s
waiting for someone to congratulate him on how deceitful
he’s been. He’s suddenly so different from the desperate spy
we met in Stonewall. Cool, calculating, unfazed.
“If I’m smart about things, I can still complete my mis-
sion,” he adds.
“Like hell you can,” Xavier snaps from the other side of
camp.
Jackson laughs. “Why not? I’ve already uncovered your
mission details by simply listening. The whole thing’s
ridiculous! Group A? Frank gave you too much credit—the
way he assumed you’d try to extend your reach into the west,
strike up allegiances. But fine, I’ll keep tagging along on
your pointless crusade. And when the time presents itself,
I’ll slay you. One at a time. Slowly. Until someone divulges
headquarters’ location.”
“You realize you were one of us once, right?” I say through
clenched teeth. “The real Jackson spent his childhood
behind a Wall. He was Heisted to make you. You’re Frank’s
puppet, and you’re doing everything the real Jackson
wouldn’t want.”
“It doesn’t matter what you say,” he says quietly. “My mind

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 can’t be changed. I know what I have to do.”
I believe him even though I don’t want to. Harvey told me
as much. The difference between a Forgery that can think
for itself and a Forgery that blindly does Frank’s bidding is
a piece of code—software as smoothly integrated with the
replica’s brain as the blood that runs through its veins.
“I can change your mind,” I say.
“I’d like to see you try.”
I have an arrow nocked before Jackson even finishes
speaking.
“You won’t fire that. Not with what I know.”
“What you know?” my father echoes.
“I’m a soldier. A technologically enhanced soldier over-
loaded with secrets. Do you have any idea how much
confidential information is swimming around in my head?
City maps. Computer passwords. Access codes to safes and
storage units and maybe even Outer Rings.”
No one says anything. Jackson’s grin grows wider.
“What were you planning to do when you reached Group
A? Push the Outer Ring’s wall over?” he says. “It’s taller than
the interior Wall—surrounds the whole place. You need me
or you’ll just stand there, staring at a dead end.”
Bo steps between Sammy and Emma on the opposite side
of the fire. “You said maybe,” he calls out. “Access codes to
storage units and maybe Outer Rings.”

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 Jackson grunts. “I can’t very well tell you how to open the
door now. It’s my only leverage.”
“Then maybe you’re lying and we should just get this over
with,” I say, raising my bow.
“Shoot me now and you’re already doomed to reach a dead
end. But if you keep me alive, things can go one of two ways:
I open the Outer Ring for you and you actually have a chance
to complete your stupid mission. Or, I was lying all along,
you hit a dead end later rather than sooner, and shoot me
then instead of now. Your pick.”
Bo shifts uncomfortably. Emma is shivering behind him—
still in shock or maybe just cold. Sammy puts his coat on her
shoulders. And Jackson keeps smiling. That arrogant, cocky
smile that I want to wipe right off his face.
“The Forgery lives,” my father announces. “We believe
Clipper can get us into the Outer Ring, but on the rare
chance he can’t, this is a solid backup plan and we’d be fool-
ish to waste it. If the Forgery is lying about what he knows,
it’s just like he said: He’ll die then instead of now.”
Owen turns and asks Emma to show the team what she
recognized in Jackson’s and Blaine’s eyes. Sammy is in the
process of bandaging her neck, but she agrees to explain
everything when he’s finished.
“I still can’t believe it,” Bree says next to me. “Blaine.
Even after we interrogated him. It’s—” She stops, touches

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 my arm. “Hey, are you okay?”
Sammy’s brushing Emma’s hair to the side so he can bet-
ter see the cut on her neck. He must say something funny
because she lets out a small laugh. Bree follows my gaze and
frowns.
“Gray?”
Xavier shouts for Sammy to help him move Blaine’s body
away from camp, and I feel nauseous all over again.
“I just need a minute,” I say to Bree.
I want to be alone right now. Need to be alone. She has the
decency to not give me a hard time about it.
I wander away from the tents, slip between the trees. When
I find a fallen pine, I sit on the trunk, cringe at the sting of
an oncoming headache. The moment I close my eyes, I see it
all over again: Blaine’s head whipping back from the force of
my arrow, his body in the snow; the way he lay, broken, with
one arm crushed beneath his weight.
A little while later, my father finds me. “How are you hold-
ing up?”
I want to tell him how sick I feel, but he seems so formal in
the moment. More captain than father.
He sits beside me. “It wasn’t him, Gray. That wasn’t your
brother.”
“I know. But I still . . . I feel like . . .”
I don’t know how to put it into words. Like I ate spoiled

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 meat and my stomach is writhing? Like I have a headache
that pounds at the slightest movement? Like the wind’s
been knocked out of me and I can’t get an ounce of air into
my lungs no matter how deeply I breathe?
“You did the right thing,” Owen says. “Emma would be
dead right now if you hadn’t acted so quickly.”
“How is she?”
“Fine. Nothing but a nick on her neck. She’s showing the
others how to identify a Forgery, although the sign is so
subtle. Clipper’s the only one having any success.” A quick
pause. “I don’t know what it means. Not even Harvey seemed
to know about this giveaway, and he made the damn things.”
Owen leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. I run
a hand over my bloody knuckles.
“I don’t get it,” I say finally. “What the Forgery said—Frank
giving us too much credit for heading west. That’s exactly
what we’re doing.”
“I think our final destination surprised him, that’s all. I’m
sure when Frank heard we were traveling west he expected
us to be gathering more supporters, and of course he has
a reason to fear that. With more numbers we have more
power, and with those numbers spread out, more people
doubting him in more locations. He could have an uprising
on his hands, one that would be difficult to fight if it broke
out in and around all his cities at the same time. It’s his

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 biggest fear: losing control over his people.” Owen pauses
for a second. “Frank probably never mentioned Group A to
the Forgeries when he briefed them, and why would he? The
place is a wreck and there are no numbers there to help our
cause as far as he’s concerned. Of course, that’s exactly why
it’s so alluring to us. It’s under the radar. Never thought of or
looked at twice.”
“There are still cameras watching it.”
“Once we get the survivors on our side, Clipper will see
to them. Remember his discussions with Ryder before we
left—that idea to take several hours of video footage and
loop it indefinitely? To anyone watching from Taem’s con-
trol room it will look like Group A is as deserted and dead
as always, only we’ll be able to start recruiting beyond the
survivors still there.”
“And the Forgery?” I ask.
“We’ll get rid of him as soon as we’re through the Outer
Ring. The Order will think we’re anywhere but Group A
‘extending our reach,’ and he’ll be dead before he’s able to
discover and give them headquarters’ location.”
I nod silently. I heard these plans, all this logic, a dozen
times over—mostly in meetings before we left Crevice
Valley. I’ve even repeated some of them to Bree when her
reservations about the mission get the best of her. But now,
as I sit here listening to my father, thinking about Blaine’s

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 body back in the snow and how quickly life can get thrown
off course, I catch myself feeling doubtful. There are so
many details in our plan that could go wrong as easily as
they could go right.
Owen turns toward me, his features extremely calm given
all that’s happened. “You positive you’re okay?”
No.
But I don’t say it. Because I want to be unfazed like him.
I want killing that Forgery to have no weight on my con-
science.
“If you decide you want to talk about it,” he says, “or about
anything, ever, you just say the word. I’ll make time.”
If he were Blaine he’d know I want to talk right now.
He’d be able to read my silence as well as my words. But my
brother is not here. And right then, another fear hits me.
Frank wanted Harvey back in order to make the limitless
Forgeries. That was always his goal—a Forgery that could
be replicated over and over. But when I brought Harvey to
Taem in the fall as a decoy, Frank casually mentioned that he
didn’t need Harvey’s help anymore. Which makes me won-
der if he’s already accomplished it. The limitless variety.
“What if I have to kill another Forged version of Blaine?” I
blurt out. “I don’t think I could do it.”
“You can,” my father says. “You will do what you must and
you will do it without hesitation.”

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 “An order; how reassuring.”
“It was meant to be a compliment. I’m saying that you are
a stronger person than most because you do what needs to
be done even when those actions are unpleasant.” Owen
scratches at his chin, stares into the sea of trees before us.
“It’s supposed to hurt,” he adds. “Seeing something like
that. Doing something like that. If it didn’t hurt, you’d be no
better than a Forgery yourself.”
He stands and drops a square of cloth into my hands.
“Clean yourself up.” A smile flickers beneath his beard.
“You look like hell.”

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