Malibu spent the next morning inside her room not wanting to face Max or Luciana. She knew Luciana would know another cottage had been burned and would want to hear the details. Malibu did not want to recount what she had watched on the Memory Console. But she couldn’t escape her own mind. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and saw the young children stream out of the home—their shiny hair, buoyant smiles, and gleeful shrieks.
I killed two children, she thought.
You don’t know that.
You don’t know that.Yes I do.
They’re better off. They’re free from the cottage.
They’re better off. They’re free from the cottage.Who are you? What are you?
I’m you.
I’m youThat cut to the bone. Malibu had heard enough. She shut the conversation down.
She still had a bit of control.
By midaftern
