Matched

“I have something for you, too,” I say, pul ing away just a little, reaching into my pocket. I give him the scrap of fabric, the green silk from my dress.

He holds it up to my face to see how I looked that night at the Match Banquet. “Beautiful,” he says, gently.

He puts his arms around me on the top of the Hil . From where we stand I see clouds and trees and the dome of City Hal and the tiny houses of the Boroughs in the distance. For one brief moment, I see it al , this world of mine, and then I look back at Ky.

Ky says, “Cassia,” and closes his eyes, and I close mine too so that I can meet him in the dark. I feel his arms around me and the smoothness of the green silk as he presses his hand against the smal of my back and pul s me closer, closer. “Cassia,” he says once more, softly, so close his lips meet mine, at last. At last.

I think he might have meant to say something more, but when our lips touch, there is no need, for once, for any words at al .

CHAPTER 29

There is screaming in the Borough again and this time it is human.

I open my eyes. It is so early in the morning that the sky is more black than blue, the slice of dawn at the edge of the horizon more promise than reality.

My door slams open and in the rectangle of light I see my mother. “Cassia,” she says in relief, and she turns back to cal to my father, “She’s fine!”

“Bram, too,” he cal s back, and then we are al in the hal , going toward the front door, because someone on our street is screaming and the sound of it is so uncommon it cuts deep. We may not hear the sound of pain often in Mapletree Borough, but the instinct to try to help has not yet been Matched out of us.

My father throws open the door and we al look out.

The streetlights seem dimmer; the Officials’ coats dul and gray. They walk fast, a figure between them. Behind them, a few more people.

Officers.

And someone else, screaming. Even in the muted glow of the streetlights, I recognize her. Aida Markham. Someone who has borne pain before and who bears it again now as she chases the figure surrounded by Officials and Officers.

Ky.

“Ky!”

For the first time in my life, I run as fast as I can in public. No tracker to slow me, no branches to stop me. My feet fly over grass, over cement. I cut across the lawns of my neighbors and through their flowers, trying to catch up to the lead group moving toward the air-train stop. An Officer detaches from them and hurries toward Aida. She’s drawing too much attention; other houses have open doors and people standing on the steps watching.

I run faster; my feet hit the sharp, cool grass of Em’s lawn. A few houses more.

“Cassia?” Em cal s from her doorway. “Where are you going?”

Ky hasn’t heard me over Aida’s screams. They’re almost to the steps that go up to the air-train platform. When they walk under the light at the bottom, I see they’ve locked Ky’s hands together.

Just like they did in the picture.

“Ky!” I scream again, and his head snaps up. He turns his face toward me, but I am not close enough to see his eyes. I have to see his eyes.

Another Officer breaks away from the group and heads in my direction. I should have waited until I was closer before I cal ed out, but I am stil fast.

I’m almost there.

Part of my mind tries to process what is happening. Are they taking him away for his new work position? If so, why so early in the morning? Why is Aida so upset? Wouldn’t she be happy to know he has a new chance, something better than washing foilware? Why is he wearing handlocks?

Did he try to fight them?

Did they see the kiss? Is that why this is happening?

I see the air train sliding along the tracks toward the station, but it’s not the air train we usual y ride, the silvery-white one. It’s the charcoal-gray long-distance train, the kind that only departs from the City Center. I can hear it coming, too; it’s heavier, louder, than the white one.

Something isn’t right.

And if I didn’t know that already, the word Ky cal s to me as they push him up the steps confirms everything. Because there in front of everyone, al his survival instincts leave him and a different instinct takes over.

He cal s my name. “Cassia!”

In that one word, I hear it al : That he loves me. That he’s afraid. And I hear the good-bye he was trying to tel me yesterday on the Hil . He knew.

He’s not just leaving for a new work position; he’s going somewhere and he doesn’t think he’l come back.

I hear footsteps behind me, soft on the grass and footsteps in front of me, hard on the metal. I glance back and see an Officer hurrying toward me; forward, and an Official rushes down the metal stairs. Aida’s no longer screaming; they want to stop me the way they stopped her.

I can’t get to him. Not this way. Not now. I can’t push past the Officer on the stairs. I’m not strong enough to fight them or fast enough to outrun themDo not go gentle.