Chapter 44: Red Blurred Into Orange (3)
Hours pass. The morning light spills across my fingers, pale and cool—cold as the hands of the greens.
Maybe that’s why I hate them.
Because they remind me of myself.
Not for their blood, their hierarchy, or their poison-colored skin, but because every time I see one, I see what I could have become. What I still might be.
I let the thought go.
The girl is still sleeping.
The sun rose a few hours ago, and though the day is short—sixteen hours at most—I know reds need more rest than us. Inferior circulation. Fragile immune systems. She needs the full eight. Maybe more.
So I let her sleep.
Now, with my breath clean and cold, I carry a handful of toothbrushes in different colors. I don’t know which one she’d like, so I will bring all of them. I nudge the small shape beneath the ice-blue blanket. Light. Careful.
“Casandra,” I whisper.
The name comes out soft, and selfish. I know it isn’t hers. But I say it anyway.