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Glitch 2

by

Heather Anastasiu

Acknowledgments

Second books can be dreadfully hard, and I owe so many thanks to the people who helped me push through to find the story and get this book to where it needed to be.

First of all, thanks to my editor, Terra Layton, who was infinitely patient as we went round for round through so many drafts until we got one that finally clicked. I so appreciate your ideas, suggestions, and continued enthusiasm even though this one was a beast at times! And thank you to the rest of the team at St. Martin’s!

Thanks as always to my awesome agent, Charlie Olsen.

The amazing Lenore Appelhans deserves a huge shout-out. You read some truly dreadful early drafts and helped me realize that sometimes you have to just start over from scratch. You rock my socks off. Thanks also to my other fabulous beta readers, Paula Stokes and McCormick Templeman.

Huge thanks to my critique group here in Minneapolis, Anne Greenwood Brown, David Nunez, Natalie Boyd, Lauren Peck, and Carolyn Hall. You guys always call me out on my crap, help me write better characters and fuller scenes, and are all around just awesome people. I always look forward to Thursdays!

And thanks to the Apocalypsies for helping me stay sane through this whole crazy process. Apoca-hugs :)

Chapter 1

MY HEART POUNDED in my ears. The low humming sound, muffled by the wall, was just loud enough to hear over my shallow, panicked breaths. I sat up on my loft bed and paused to listen before carefully easing myself down the ladder. The pads of my bare feet landed on the cold floor. There was barely enough space to stand up and I had to squeeze between the treadmill that pulled down from the wall and the shower and toilet at the foot of my bed.

I moved silently. Only two people at the lab knew I hid right behind their walls, and today couldn’t be the day the rest of them found out. My life depended on it. The Resistance had been careful enough to erase the tiny alcove from the schematics.

I paused with my ear inches from the wall. In the three months I’d spent hidden in this confined space, I had come to know every sound. Learning them was a matter of habit almost as much as it was a matter of survival. I paused, focusing intently on the rhythmic click-click-click.

I leaned my forehead against the wall, letting out the breath I held. It was just an ordinary sound, a normal shift in the perfectly regulated air system. I should have known. This lab was one of the few places with the kind of heavy air-filtration system I needed to survive. It worked like clockwork, and, without it, almost any surface allergen would kill me quickly.

I closed my eyes and my heart rate slowed. It was remarkable how quickly I could move from alarm to complete relaxation and back again. Another matter of habit.

I climbed slowly back up to my bed. This alcove might be my safe haven, but sometimes it felt more like a prison. The bed was too short to stretch out and the ceiling too low to sit up completely. The confinement was strangling. Sometimes I’d look at the walls and they seemed nearer than before, like the room was closing in on me, inch by inch.