She sat up in bed, pushing her way out from under the pile of jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters. She plucked an argyle sock off her forehead.“Arriane?”“Do you like the red one? Or the black?” Arriane was holding two of Luce’s dresses up against her tiny frame, swaying as she modeled each one.Arriane’s arms were bare of the awful tracking wristband she’d had to wear at Sword & Cross. Luce hadn’t noticed until now, and she shuddered to remember the cruel voltage sent coursing through Arriane whenever she stepped out of line. Every day in California, Luce’s memories of Sword & Cross grew hazier, until a moment like this one jolted her back into the turmoil of her stay there.“Elizabeth Taylor says only certain women can wear red,” Arriane continued. “It’s all about cleavage and coloring. Luckily, you’ve got both.” She freed the red dress from its hanger and tossed it on the pile.“What are you doing here?” Luce asked.Arriane put her tiny hands on her hips.
