We'll Never Be Apart by Emiko Jean Page A

my lap and knot my fingers together until my knuckles turn white. The tightening of the skin makes my burn itch. “When I came in last night you said ‘fire starters,’ as in more than one.” He arches an infuriating brow at me as if to say,
your point?
I remember what Amelia said.
He was in the D ward.
    There are four wards at Savage Isle. The A and B wards are completely voluntary. They house your basic low-risk patients—depressives, drunks, and druggies. A and B warders can leave at any time. The C ward is for involuntary commits—high-risk patients who pose a danger to themselves or others. Cellie and I both have histories as C warders. So it’s no surprise that I’ve ended up here again. In all three wards, A, B, and C, patients can move around and interact with one another. The D ward is involuntary and completely locked down. D-ward patients are confined to their rooms and allowed only an hour or two a day to “socialize.” There’s no way Cellie is in the A or B ward. Which means she’s got to be in D. Where else would they put her? The realization fills my chest like ice water. I think back to my initial conversation with Dr. Goodman. How he so easily evaded my question. He didn’t want me to know. Maybe he even guessed my intent before I’d decided on it. She’s here and she’s close, in the D ward. Dr. Goodman all but confirmed it.
    I lift my chin. “My sister is here. She’s in the D ward.” In the time it takes to blink, my mind runs through the scenarios. Like an architect, I map out the two wards, C and D. At the end of this hall is a locked door, then another. Both require security badges for keyless entry. Then there are flights of stairs, so many that Jason and I got dizzy running down them. Then there’s a yard, a field that’s only grass, then the D ward, on the farthest side, in a corner surrounded by guard towers, high fences, and barbed wire. My mind hits a brick wall.
Impossible.
It’s impossible to breach the D ward. “You’ve been there.”
    Chase doesn’t deny it. “So?”
    â€œI need your help.” Chase knows the D ward, the winding hallways, the entrances, the exits, and the techs’ schedules.
    He looks down at his shoes. “How come they won’t let you two be together?”
    â€œI’m not sure.”
Because she tried to kill me, and I intend to return the favor.
“I need to find her, though.” My legs tense in their sitting position. He takes a deep breath, and his jaw works like he’s chewing my words. “I need to see her.”
    â€œI’ve been there.” He shrugs, rolling back his shoulders as if he doesn’t want to say the next part. “When I first came here, that’s where they put me.” Part of me wants to ask him what he could possibly have done to wind up in D ward. But I can’t risk pissing him off. I need to convince him to take me there. Plus it’s actually better if I don’t know. Plausible deniability is my new middle name.
    â€œWill you help me get to the D ward? I’d be willing to return the favor.” Favors in the C ward don’t come without a price. Last time we were here, Cellie stockpiled candy and traded it for all sorts of stuff: cigarettes, food, even an upgraded wristband.
    Something in Chase’s face changes, and I feel like the advantage has been passed to me. I’ve got him on the hook.
    â€œNo,” he says.
    No?
Surprise and defeat blaze through me. All I can think of is Cellie’s icy hands, stained with Jason’s blood. Chase’s rejection is humbling. I get up to leave.
    â€œNo,” he says again, more forcefully.
    â€œI get it,” I say over my shoulder.
    When he grabs my hand, his thumb moves over the raised skin of my burn. I flinch and pull away. “That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant . . .
No,
I don’t want