Book 18: We've Met

Skye

I cock my head and laugh as Abby braces her hands on my doorframe. Her fair skin is flushed pink from the cold, which means she was likely outside, possibly in one of the “bubble labs” as we call them, where a few of the departments do their experiments on the ice. Or, more probable, in the terrifying ice labs beneath the surface, where tunnels of ancient ice go on for miles.

The gray slate walls behind her gleam in the pale light in the hallway of our apartment–which isn’t much, but we have windows to the outside world, which is a privilege.

The student dormitories are in the tunnels weaving beneath the university where the sun never shines even in the summer, and the lights are specially made to give students who live there a minuscule amount of synthetic sunlight to aid the copious amounts of vitamin D supplements everyone keeps in their