“Keep counting, Dove.”
Her startled voice resumes. “Twenty-seven… twenty-eight… twenty-nine…”
That’s why I made her count, so I could track her emotional state every second.
The two remaining ones glance at their fallen comrades. In the next moment, they jump onto their bikes and tear off.
Cowards.
I survey the broken bodies groaning and writhing on the road. Then I turn back, walking toward my bike.
Avira sits frozen, helmet tilted slightly down. I remove it gently, wanting to see her face. As expected, her wide eyes are blown with shock.
I cup her face in my palms. “Forget whatever you saw today.”
Her eyes flicker. “Are they going to die?”
I shake my head. “No. They’ll just spend a few weeks in the hospital.”
Her small hands rise, pushing mine aside. She inspects my knuckles. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head again. “Let’s go home.”
She nods quietly.
I slide the helmet back over her head, making sure it’s secure before pulling mine on. One last glance at her, and I start the engine.
Tonight was the first and last time she ever had to witness something like this.
chapter 9
07 June 2044
Avira (13 years old)
I push open the door to his gym and step inside. Zoan is there, suspended upside down, gripping two metal bars, his head close to the ground while his legs stretch vertically toward the ceiling.
Every muscle in his arms flexes under the strain, veins standing out, sweat sliding from his neck down the sharp line of his jaw.
And then, in the blink of an eye, he’s upright again, standing tall. I don’t even register the speed of his movement. That’s how Zoan moves, like a cheetah.
“How was school?”
I smile, a little mischievously. “Toohappening.”
He lowers himself onto the floor, ready for push-ups. I climb onto his back, grinning. I do this all the time. I like to measure how strong my brother is.
“How?” he asks between steady rises and falls.
“Dex asked me to go on a coffee date with him.”
For a heartbeat, he pauses. Then he resumes. He doesn’t like me talking about boys. To him, they’re reckless, shallow, incapable of responsibility, and he believes I’ll only end up hurt if I let myself fall for someone at this age.
But what he doesn’t know is that it’s nearly impossible for me to fall for anyone. Because I compare everyone with him. And in front of Zoan, every boy feels small. Not only in size, but in thought, in depth, in understanding.
“But I refused him,” I add, almost proudly. “He’s too childish. I don’t like boys like him.”
“What kind of boys do you like?”
