"What's your number?"

"What's it to you?"

She shrinks back into the corner of her cell, startled by my harsh words. "Nothing, I suppose."

I only grunt in response. I know she can't see my expression; I'm facing the wall. It's a position I haven't left since she arrived.

I hear her move, see her wrap her arms around her knees. She's afraid of me.

Good.

I picture the digits on my back, the pattern of ebony ink bleeding across my shoulder blades. The numbers burn a hole through my skin.

They're my identity.

But they also brand me as an outlaw.

And that's what brought me here, to the dark cells and cold silence of Mauldrey Prison.

She gives up. She lies down, curled into a ball. She's young, and she's new.

She doesn't know the Rules.

But I do.

The PA system crackles to life, the voice booming throughout the narrow corridors of the dungeon level. "Prisoners 746 and 708, Wrenn Colby and Ephraim Carver, execution for camaraderie."

A shiver runs down my spine. Another execution. 746 and 708. Grade three outlaws. All three numbers condemn them. They're mixed-blood, underclass, potentially infected with the highly contagious Troje virus. Not everyone with an even number has the disease, but they're more susceptible to contracting it.

I would know.

But neither of them have a nine in the last digit, which means neither of them actually have it.

Worst, they're being executed for camaraderie. Outlaws aren't allowed to consort with other outlaws, in case they reproduce. To limit the spread of the virus.

Death, just for living as who they are.

And I know Wrenn. I met her when I first arrived. She and Ephraim have been running from the law since they were fifteen years old. They're seventeen now. Rumor has it that they did have a child together, a baby girl who died at birth, but that's another story.

I try not to imagine it. They'll be taken to the ocean, rowed out in a small boat by two executioners. They'll be tied to each other, with heavy cement blocks around their ankles and wrists. And in the middle of the cold sea, they'll be dropped in to drown. Seventeen years old. Killed because they're in love.

The only consolation is that they'll die together.

My eyes water, and I angrily swipe the tears away. It's inhumane. Every time I hear the announcements, every day, I vow to do something about it.

But the reality is that I'm helpless.

Because I'm here too. I'm an outlaw too.

And I'm just as guilty as the young teenagers dying tonight.

The guards just don't know it yet.

A rat scurries across the stones, pauses by my foot. I can't summon the will to kill it. Instead I close my eyes. I haven't slept for ages, but I've grown used to the exhaustion. To the long hours of hunger and thirst and pain, endless pain.

I need to rest, before the soldiers come in again to take me away. Before they rob me of the only good thing left.

I've finally fallen asleep when the sound of locks clicking wakes me.

Someone's coming in.

I know there are fifteen cells in this corridor. I'm cell number two on the left side, and the only other occupant in here anymore is the girl across from me.

So it's pretty much a fifty-fifty chance of the soldiers coming for me.

But I'd rather them come for me, than for her.

I know she thinks I'm strange. She's been here a week and in that whole time I haven't moved more than a foot. I haven't spoken. She's never seen my face - I've been careful of that.

Today is the first day she's tried to talk to me. She wanted my number.

It scares me. The last thing I want is for her to try to figure me out, to know my number.

So I snapped at her.

I think it worked. I pray it worked.

But now I'm trapped. The soldier's going to take me. And then M- the girl will know.

The girl. The girl, I correct myself.

That's all she is. She is nothing.

The girl will know.

I can't have that.

The guard raps on the bars to my cell. "Hey. You awake?" His voice is rough, as always. He takes pleasure in hurting me.

My heart thumps painfully in my chest. My mind races through options to escape this, all of them futile.

I'm not leaving this cell.

If I do, she'll see me. And she won't understand.

And then one or both of us will die.

I'd prefer a life of slavery in the mines than death. Because I still have hope.

I square my shoulders, my lungs burning from lack of air. I'm forgetting to breathe.

I breathe. In, out. Lick my dry lips, find my tongue.

"I'm awake."

"Well come on. We don't have all day," he says in his thick Scottish accent.

"I do." The rebellious words spring to my lips out of nowhere.

"What was that?" the guard barks.

"I do." I say it loud and clear. "I have all day."

"You little skunk! You won't if you don't cooperate. You'll be dead in half a minute." He presses the cold hard muzzle of his gun to the back of my head.

I stiffen up, shutting my eyes, praying for one last shot of strength. I'm tired, so tired, and my chances are slim.

But it's worth it.

I leap up, whirling around, knocking the gun out of the guard's hands, thanking my lucky stars that he has poor reaction time. I'm careful to keep my body away from the girl, so she can't see my face. But the adrenaline rushing through me is making it difficult to remember. Is this how bulls feel during a bullfight? Angry, hot-blooded, and ready to kill?

The guard grabs me by the upper arms and twists me so I am facing away from the girl. He's facing her, in case she tries to run.

I don't know what I was thinking. He's twice as strong and much larger.

But that never stopped me.

"Scared?" he sneers, leaning in close. His breath is sour, hot and stifling. I force myself not to step away, hold my ground. "Of you? Hardly."

He snarls. Lunges, and I'm startled. His fist slams into my gut, intense pain searing through me. I stumble backwards, pull myself together.

I'm not thinking straight. How did I get into this? Why am I here?

I lurch forwards, slamming into the guard, fists and elbows flying. He pummels me, again and again, highlighting the fact that he is winning and driving it home. Blood splatters the ground. I feel it pouring down my face, taste it in my mouth, metallic and salty and so real.

He smashes an elbow into my skull, the soft spot high on my temple. Control slips away from me, and I fall. I never thought I'd pray this, but I'm counting on the chance that there's enough blood on my face so she won't recognize me.

I hit the ground hard. The world spins. My attacker goes fuzzy in my field of vision. All I can think to do is raise my forearms to cover my face before I pass out.

I wake on the floor of my cell again to an intense, burning pain in my head and a sore spot on my back. A guard, not the same one I attacked, is kneeling next to me, with a green bottle in his hand. It's antiseptic or something along those lines, and judging by the fiery stinging just above my ear, he's cleaning out some wound.

Wait wait wait.

They never tend to our injuries. Ever. Last year I got beat up by an extremely hostile guard, and nobody cared that I was bleeding all over the cell.

I couldn't move my arm from my side because my elbow was shattered and the blood from my head had stuck it against my shirt.

I mean, I deserved to be beat up. I was being a bit of a smart-aleck.

But still.

A feeling of unease rises in the pit of my stomach. Something's got to be wrong.

Why would they waste their chemicals and bandages on an outlaw?

Unless...

"What happened?" I croak, and the words come out slurred. "Where did you take me?"

"We took you to get tested like normal, and then we branded you again. You're positive." The guard caps the bottle and pulls off his gloves.

"Wh-what?" I ask.

"You're positive. You've got the Troje virus." When he stands up, I can see the fear in his eyes. It suddenly makes sense, what he was doing.

He was disinfecting my wound, so my diseased blood doesn't contaminate anything.

My heart stops. I crane my neck to see my shoulder blades. And even though I can't see the numbers at all, I know what they say.

219.

Pureblood, middle-class, infected.

Before it was only a five. Potentially infected. That's why they put me here.

But now.

Fear claws at my throat as I wonder hopelessly how long the virus has been incubating inside my body already. Days? Or months? I clutch my stinging head. This isn't how I want to die. All I wanted was to find some way to escape. I'm almost through with my plan. But now they will kill me.

Because I'm infected.

"What now?" I ask the guard, as he steps out of my cell. His hands tremble as he locks the door, double-checks it.

He glances at me, his green eyes hugely round, his face drawn and pale. He opens his mouth to speak, but the PA system interrupts him, once more delivering its fatal news. And as the words echo in the cells, all I can do is stare at the girl across the way and feel my heart bang against my ribs.

It's over now.

She's going to find out.

Madison. Please. Please.

"Prisoner 219, William Henrey. Execution for positive Troje virus."

Time slows down as I watch her turn around, the girl I love, her snarled hair brushing across her shoulders. I see the expression on her face change from indifference to pure shock to absolute terror. My lungs ache. I'm forgetting to breathe. She's so beautiful, so innocent and undeserving. God, I missed her so much.

I haven't even seen her since I was torn from our village. Since I held her in my arms and told her that it would be alright, that I would come back to her, someday.

Why, why did our reunion have to happen here?

Madison. Don't let him know. Don't let him know.

Her eyes grow big, those beautiful brown eyes that I can get lost in. Her hands clench into fists, those hands that used to hold mine so many years ago.

Before this. Before all this. Before I was taken.

And all I can think is no no no as her mouth opens and the single word tumbles out.

"William," she whispers.

The sound of my name freezes the blood in my veins. Every muscle in my body tightens, paralyzing me. The world seems to go cold.

I can't help myself. I stand up, and I unlock the door that the guard failed to bolt fully. I cross to her cell, and I unlatch the door. And then I'm standing in front of her, two feet away from the girl who's kept me going since the day I was imprisoned here.

"Madison," is all my hoarse throat can get out.

"Hey!" the guard snaps, finally realizing what's going on. "No talking! You know that's against the rules. 372, step back in line if you don't want to die."

We both ignore him. He doesn't matter anymore. She stands up, and our arms find our way around each other.

She lays her head against my chest, and I can feel her racing heart against mine. I rest my chin on top of her head, and the tears fall into her tangled hair. My world has shattered, and she's condemned us both but it's worth it, to see my Madison again.

To say goodbye.

"You idiot," I whisper brokenly, hugging her fiercely close. "You stupid idiot. You're going to die now too."

She just nods, the crown of her head bumping my chin, and I squeeze my eyes shut and speak against her hair, breathing her in, treasuring every second because after today I'll never see her again. "You know what this means. We're dead, Madison. He knows."

"I know," she whispers back, and her hand finds mine.