Page 22 of The Last Love Story

Her eyes are alight as she looks at me, and it’s thrilling, like I’m seeing my best friend for the first time in years.

I know what she’s thinking, so I finish the sentence: “It made you think that maybe playing by the rules doesn’t matter if the game is rigged?”

She huffs out a long sigh. “That’s it. We can’t win, can we.” It’s not a question. “So, I don’t know.” She dusts her knees off as she thinks. “Maybe it’s silly, but I needed toknow that I still had the ability to do something outside of a screen. Something brave.”

A warm wind blows over the rooftop, ripping my hair in wild directions. I pull a strand from my mouth as I follow her gaze out to the city beyond. Because this is brave. Doing something the algorithm hasn’t suggested. Doinganything.

My heart thuds against my ribs as an idea pops into my head. Really, it was already there. It’s been there since I set foot in Lyceum’s tunnels and thought Nef would love this. But I didn’t want to force her or put her in danger. I think, deep down, I figured that Ms. Astor would know when she was ready, probably more than I would.

But Ms. Astor is gone now. And if anyone is going to tell Nef about Lyceum, it has to be me.

I bite my cheek as I weigh my options. Once I tell her about it, I can’t take it back. Even if she decides not to join, she will be in danger just by knowing.

But not telling her is still making a decision for her, isn’t it?

She wanted to know she could be brave. I have the perfect test, I guess.

“I have something to tell you,” I whisper.

Nef and I keep our hoods low as we make our way inland, catching the backs of trains just like I did before. Above us,hovercopters swoop low, crisscrossing as they dart to different destinations across the valley, and we’re sure to stay still and keep out of sight. There are a few patrol drones, too, tiny specks in the distance. I can only hope they don’t come any closer.

Ms. Astor had said Lyceum would be meeting at an old college tonight. There are dozens of colleges around here, but there’s only one that is connected to the incomplete underground railway system, so Nef and I head there. After all, Lyceum operates in those tunnels.

When the train slows around a bend, Nef and I jump off. The momentum knocks me forward and it’s a heady moment, my body rushing, but I catch myself on the ledge of a walkway just in time. Nef rolls perfectly, and I almost want to laugh. She was so worried about breaking rules, but she’s undeniably good at it.

“What the hell was that?” I whisper as we race down an empty flood channel that will lead to the college.

“What?” she asks, and I can tell she’s smiling even just from her voice.

“That superhero ninja roll. I may be recruiting you to the revolution, but somehow I’m the one over here stubbing my toe jumping off the slowest train in existence.”

“I am not joining a revolution. I’m looking at books,” Nef says, and I can’t tell if she’s trying to convince herself or me as the old building looms before us.

“Hate to break it to you,” I say, reaching through an empty pane in the window and knocking open the door, “but looking at books is revolutionary now.”

Nef hesitates for a moment, and then we both shuffle inside. The door slams behind us; I whirl to shoot a glare at Nef, who seems to shrink into her shoulders. The sound echoes down the dark, empty hallway. I hold a hand up and Nef doesn’t move a muscle. The last time I did this, Ms. Astor stepped out of the shadows. But it’s entirely possible that no one knows we’re coming, now that she’s gone.

“Lyceum operates out of the subway tunnels, so we just have to find stairs that lead down,” I whisper, and we inch along the hallway until we find that same black symbol: the Ionic column. I understand now what it stands for—Lyceum. When I throw the door open, Nef makes a noise low in her throat.

This time, the stairs don’t glow—it must take someone charging the glow-in-the-dark strips, probably with flashlights—so we make slow work of it. Our vision is useless in the pitch black, and we both know that there is a chance that any given stair could give out or just... not be there. In the darkness, my mind helpfully conjures images of us tumbling down an endless concrete stairwell. How would we call for help? Could we? It would expose all of Lyceum.

Nef makes a small noise, and I reach out awkwardly for her hand, bonking her in the face instead. “Ow, Ripley,” she whines, but there’s a smile in her voice.

I grasp at her shoulder—elbow?—instead. “C’mon. Being brave, right?”

And so we inch along, testing our weight on every stair like the very earth might crumble away.

Eventually, we reach the bottom. We feel around for another door, grasping in the dark. I bite back a scream when my hand goes through more than one spiderweb.

Eventually, my fingers find an old crash bar. “Here,” I say, and with a squeak, light washes across us.

The sight is familiar: a wide tunnel covered in bookshelves and half-strung lights. But this time, it’s just us and the books.

“Where is everyone?” Nef whispers.

I don’t hear the footsteps coming up behind me, and neither does Nef.

There’s no time to breathe before cold metal is at my throat.