Imagine Me (Shatter Me Book 6)

Kenji

We’re in the air.

We’ve been in the air for hours now. I spent the first four hours sleeping—I can usually fall asleep anywhere, in any position—and I spent the last two hours eating all the snacks on the plane. We’ve got about an hour left in our flight and I’m so bored I’ve begun poking myself in the eye just to pass the time.

We got off to a good start—Nouria helped us steal a plane, as promised, by shielding our actions with a sheet of light—but now that we’re up here, we’re basically on our own. Nazeera had to fend off a few questions over the radio, but because most of the military has no idea what level of shit has already gone down, she still has the necessary clout to bypass inquiries from nosy sector leaders and soldiers. We realize it’s only a matter of time, though, before someone realizes we don’t have the authority to be up here.

Until then—

I glance around. I’m sitting close enough to the cockpit to be within earshot of Nazeera, but she and I both decided that I should hang back to keep an eye on Warner, who’s sitting just far enough away to keep me safe from his scowl. Honestly, the look on his face is so intense I’m surprised he hasn’t started aging prematurely.

Suffice it to say that he didn’t like Nouria’s game plan.

I mean, I don’t like it, either—and I have no intentions of following through with it—but Warner looked like he might shoot Nouria for even thinking that we might have to kill J. He’s been sitting stiffly in the back of the plane ever since we boarded, and I’ve been wary of approaching him, despite our recent reconciliation. Semi-reconciliation? I’m calling it a reconciliation.

But right now I think he needs space.

Or maybe it’s me, maybe I’m the one who needs space. He’s exhausting to deal with. Without J around, Warner has no soft edges. He never smiles. He rarely looks at people. He’s always irritated.

Right now, I honestly can’t remember why J likes him so much.

In fact, in the last couple of months I’d forgotten what he was like without her around. But this reminder has been more than enough. Too much, in fact. I don’t want any more reminders. I can guarantee that I will never again forget that Warner is not a fun guy to spend time with. That dude carries so much tension in his body it’s practically contagious. So yeah, I’m giving him space.

So far, I’ve given him seven hours’ worth of space.

I steal another glance at him, wondering how he holds himself so still—so stiff—for seven hours straight. How does he not pull a muscle? Why does he never have to use the bathroom? Where does it all go?

The only concession we got from Warner was that he showed up looking more like his normal self. Sam was right: Warner took a shower. You’d think he was going on a date, not a murder/rescue mission. It’s obvious he wants to make a good impression.

He’s wearing more Haider castoffs: a pale green blazer, matching pants. Black boots. But because these pieces were selected by Haider, the blazer is not a normal blazer. Of course it isn’t. This blazer has no lapels, no buttons. The silhouette is cut in sharp lines that force the jacket to hang open, exposing Warner’s shirt underneath—a simple white V-neck that shows more of his chest than I feel comfortable staring at. Still, he looks okay. A little nervous, but—

“Your thoughts are very loud,” Warner says, still staring out the window.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say, feigning shock. “I’d turn the volume down, but I’d have to die in order for my brain to stop working.”

“A problem easily rectified,” he mutters.

“I heard that.”

“I meant for you to hear that.”

“Hey,” I say, realizing something. “Doesn’t this feel like some kind of weird déjà vu?”

“No.”

“No, no, I’m being serious. What are the odds that the three of us would be on a trip like this again? Though the last time we were all on a trip like this, we ended up being shot out of the sky, so—yeah, I don’t want to relive that. Also, J isn’t here. So. Huh.” I hesitate. “Okay, I think I’m realizing that maybe I don’t actually understand what déjà vu means.”

“It’s French,” Warner says, bored. “It literally means already seen.”

“Wait, so then I do know what it means.”

“That you know what anything means is astonishing to me.”

Before I have a chance to defend myself, Nazeera’s voice carries over from the cockpit.

“Hey,” she calls. “Are you guys being friends again?”

I hear the familiar click and slide of metal—a sound that means Nazeera is unbuckling herself from pilot mode. Every once in a while she puts the plane on cruise control (or whatever) and makes her way over to me. But it’s been at least half an hour since her last break, and I’ve missed her.

She folds herself into the chair next to me.

I beam at her.

“I’m so glad you two are finally talking,” she says, sighing as she sinks into the seat. “The silence has been depressing.”

My smile dies.

Warner’s expression darkens.

“Listen,” she says, looking at Warner. “I know this whole thing is horrible—that the very reason we’re on this plane is horrible—but you have to stop being like this. We have, like, thirty minutes left on this flight, which means we’re about to go out there, together, to do something huge. Which means we all have to get on the same page. We have to be able to trust each other and work together. If we don’t, or if you don’t let us, we could end up losing everything.”

When Warner says nothing, Nazeera sighs again.

“I don’t care what Nouria thinks,” she says, trying for a gentle tone. “We’re not going to lose Ella.”

“You don’t understand,” Warner says quietly. He’s still not looking at us. “I’ve already lost her.”

“You don’t know that,” Nazeera says forcefully. “Ella might still be alive. We can still turn this around.”

Warner shakes his head. “She was different even before she was taken,” he says. “Something had changed inside of her, and I don’t know what it was, but I could feel it. I’ve always been able to feel her—I’ve always been able to sense her energy—and she wasn’t the same. Emmaline did something to her, changed something inside of her. I have no idea what she’s going to be like when I see her again. If I see her again.” He stares out the window. “But I’m here because I can do nothing else. Because this is the only way forward.”

And then, even though I know it’s going to piss him off, I say to Nazeera:

“Warner and J were engaged.”

“What?” Nazeera stills. Her eyes go wide. Super wide. Wider than the plane. Her eyes go so wide they basically fill the sky. “When? How? Why did no one tell me?”

“I told you that in confidence,” Warner says sharply, shooting me a glare.

“I know.” I shrug. “But Nazeera’s right. We’re a team now, whether you like it or not, and we should get all of this out in the open. Air it out.”

“Out in the open? What about the fact that you and Nazeera are in a relationship that you never bothered mentioning?”

“Hey,” I say, “I was going t—”

“Wait. Wait.” Nazeera cuts me off. She holds up her hands. “Why are we changing the subject? Warner, engaged! Oh my God, this is— This is so good. This is a big deal, it could give us a per—”

“It’s not that big of a deal.” I turn, frown at her. “We all knew this kind of thing was coming. The two of them are basically destined to be together, even I can admit that.” I tilt my head, considering. “I mean, true, I think they’re a little young, but—”

Nazeera is shaking her head. “No. No. That’s not what I’m talking about. I don’t care about the actual engagement.” She stops, glances up at Warner. “I mean—um, congratulations and everything.”

Warner looks beyond annoyed.

“I just mean that this reminded me of something. Something so good. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. God, it would give us the perfect edge.”

“What would?”

But Nazeera is out of her chair, stalking over to Warner and, cautiously, I follow. “Do you remember,” she says to him, “when you and Lena were together?”

Warner shoots Nazeera a venomous look and says, with dramatic iciness, “I’d really rather not.”

Nazeera waves away his statement with her hand. “Well, I remember. I remember a lot more than I should, probably, because Lena used to complain to me about your relationship all the time. And I remember, specifically, how much your dad and her mom wanted you guys to, like, I don’t know—promise yourselves to each other for the foreseeable future, for the protection of the movement—”

“Promise themselves?” I frown.

“Yes, like—” She hesitates, her arms pinwheeling as she gathers her thoughts, but Warner suddenly sits up straighter in his seat, seeming to understand.

“Yes,” he says calmly. The irritation is gone from his eyes. “I remember my father saying something to me about the importance of uniting our families. Unfortunately, my recollection of the interaction is vague, at best.”

“Right, well, I’m sure your parents were both chasing after the idea for political gain, but Lena was—and probably still is—like, genuinely in love with you, and was always sort of obsessed with the idea of being your wife. She was always talking to me about marrying you, about her dreams for the future, about what your children would look like—”

I glance at Warner to catch his reaction to that statement, and the revolted look on his face is surprisingly satisfying.

“—but I remember her saying something even then, about how detached you were, and how closed off, and how one day, when the two of you got married, she’d finally be able to link your family profiles in the database, which would grant her the necessary security clearance to track your—”

The plane gives a sudden, violent jolt.

Nazeera goes still, words dying in her throat. Warner jumps to his feet. We all make a dash for the cockpit.

The lights are flashing, screaming alerts I don’t understand. Nazeera scans the monitor at the same time as Warner, and the two of them share a look.

The plane gives another violent jolt, and I slam, hard, into the something sharp and metal. I let out a long string of curses and for some reason, when Nazeera reaches out to help me up—

I freak out.

“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on? What’s happening? Are we being shot out of the sky right now?” I spin around, taking in the flashing lights, the steady beep echoing through the cabin. “Fucking déjà vu! I knew it!”

Nazeera takes a deep breath. Closes her eyes. “We’re not being shot out of the sky.”

“Then—”

“When we entered Oceania’s airspace,” Warner explains, “their base was alerted to the presence of our unauthorized aircraft.” He glances at the monitor. “They know we’re here, and they’re not happy about it.”

“Right, I get that, but—”

Another violent jolt and I hit the floor. Warner doesn’t even seem to startle. Nazeera stumbles, but gracefully, and collapses into the cockpit seat. She looks strangely deflated.

“So, um, okay— What’s happening?” I’m breathing hard. My heart is racing. “Are you sure we’re not being shot out of the sky again? Why is no one freaking out? Am I having a heart attack?”

“You’re not having a heart attack, and they’re not shooting us out of the sky,” Nazeera says again, her fingers flying over the dials, swiping across screens. “But they’ve activated remote control of the aircraft. They’ve taken over the plane.”

“And you can’t override it?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have the authority to override a supreme commander’s missive.”

After a beat of silence, she straightens. Turns to face us.

“Maybe this isn’t so bad,” she says. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly sure how we’d land here or how it would all go down, but it’s got to be a good sign that they want us to walk in there alive, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Warner says quietly.

“Right.” Nazeera frowns. “Yeah, I realized that was wrong only after I said it out loud.”

“So we’re just supposed to wait here?” I’m feeling my intense panic begin to fade, but only a little. “We just wait here until they land our plane and then when they land our plane they surround us with armed soldiers and then when we walk off the plane they murder us and then—you know, we’re dead? That’s the plan?”

“That,” Nazeera says, “or they could tell our plane to crash itself into the ocean or something.”

“Oh my God, Nazeera, this isn’t funny.”

Warner looks out the window. “She wasn’t joking.”

“Okay, I’m only going to ask this one more time: Why am I the only one who’s freaking out?”

“Because I have a plan,” Nazeera says. She glances at the dashboard once more. “We have exactly fourteen minutes before the plane lands, but that gives me more than enough time to tell you both exactly what we’re going to do.”