But at night, when I closed my eyes, it flashed in neon across my mind.
Hope.
12
Common Ground
The Brotherhood Cross is not just an emblem. It is the heart of our unity. Under its shadow, defiance is crushed.
—RICHARD HAYNES, CAPITOL HILL ADDRESS
Lily Wyatt was the worst person I’d ever met—and I kept regular company with a man who could, by definition, be accurately termed a serial killer.
The girl had been fully indoctrinated into the intolerant NAO culture. Hateful and brash, she lashed out at us like a petite blond snake. She was irate she’d been rescued—or, to use her term,kidnapped—and spat insults at us designed to disparage our lifestyles, our religions, our sexual orientations, even her own gender. She kicked and hissed at anyone who came near, while her pleas to return her to her father fell on deaf ears. Sobbing, she beat her fists on her locked door, yelling we’d stolen her from her purpose in life.
I tried not to dwell on the psychological damage that went into a sixteen-year-old thinking herpurpose in lifewas to serve a man.
Prior to relocating her to a base further from the active combat zone, we kept her in a small room with a twenty-four-hour guard. Her enraged screams echoed through the entire sleeping wing, day and night. I loathed her. Maybe it was unfair, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t wait for the day I never had to hear her voice again.
That Thursday, the house on Evanston was locked and empty. Extracting the key Lucas gave me, I checked over my shoulder before letting myself in.
The house was dark, the windows allowing for scant bits of summer evening light. I waited for Lucas for two minutes before taking the opportunity to explore. The house was a large ranch-style, mostly still furnished. The kitchen and back bedroom were familiar to me, as were the master bedroom and large closet Lucas had converted into a communications room. The rest, however, remained a mystery.
I strolled the hallway, glancing at the pictures on the walls—paintings and dusty portraits of a happy family. I wondered where they’d gone. Maybe they found a safe place far away from the war.
Or maybe they were dead.
The end of the hall opened into a cheerful den lined with shelves full of books, vinyls and knickknacks. A plush sectional dominated the center of the room. Off in the corner, almost as if it had been forgotten, stood a shiny black grand piano, the only part of the room not covered in dust.
Sheet music was propped on the music rack. My fingers trailed the keys.
“That’s why I chose this house.”
I spun with a gasp, my heart in my throat. Lucas leaned on the doorjamb, arms crossed, shadows playing hide-and-seek across his face.
“Don’t sneak up on me!” I said.
He raised a lazy hand. “I’m not sneaking. I’m walking.”
“You walk like a jungle cat.”
His brows raised. “You startle like a deer.”
With my hand pressed to my chest, I willed my heart rate to return to normal. Only then did I register what he said. “The piano? That’s why you picked this house?”
“Most of the abandoned neighborhoods have been gutted or burned, but this one somehow survived. Isuspectit’s because we’re close to the Defiance center of operations?”
I crossed my arms, silent.
He chuckled at my nonresponse. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Dangerous territory for a Hunter, but the grand piano was hard to resist.”
“You play?”
“Sometimes.”
“Play for me?”
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
