I’d survived the next meeting with Jag, where he’d trashed me for “defecting.” I’d tried to tell him so many times. But Jag was the most stubborn person I knew, and he’d interrupt me before I could plead my case. I never got a chance to tell him that I’d only given Director Myers information he already knew. Over the past six months I hadn’t told him a single thing that led him any closer to caging Jag. But I felt buried alive. Trapped under six feet of solid rock that I couldn’t claw my way through. Dealing with my dad brought only sadness at what could’ve been. He continued to work for the Resistance. We no longer shared the same secrets. That hurt more than I wanted to admit. So it became easier if I lived inside the four walls of my bedroom. In March, my fifteenth birthday came and went with the traditional, simple celebration. Vi had climbed through my window after curfew and erased some of the confining feelings for at least a little while. The sound of her voice released the tightening in my chest.
