Dystopian, by definition, promises a darker story.

I'm suddenly finding it hard to know the difference between nightmares and consciousness.

Someday I'll tell you all of it," I say. "I'd like that," he says. "No," I say. "I promise you won't.

I wonder if she has figured out that I'll never love Linden, especially not in the way she does, and that he'll never love anyone the way he loves her. I wonder if she realizes, despite all her efforts to train me, that I can never take her place.

Kettle thingies. Yum.

Suddenly the clouds seem high above us. They’re moving over us in an arch, circling the planet. They have seen abysmal oceans and charred, scorched islands. They have seen how we destroyed the world. If I could see everything, as the clouds do, would I swirl around this remaining continent, still so full of color and life and seasons, wanting to protect it? Or would I just laugh at the futility of it all, and meander onward, down the earth’s sloping atmosphere?

It is the face of a girl who has seen the world, who realizes that it hates her, and who hates it in return.