I choked back a sob and waited for him to proceed.
“Don’t let it break my parents apart,” he continued, emotion lodged in his own throat, his mask of composure slipping slightly. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes and I fought, lips quivering, not to let them fall. “I know you can’t stop that, not truly. But they’re shaky enough as it is, with my dad so bitter and my mom so devout. I don’t know what losing me will do to them.”
I sniffled. I couldn’t help it.
Darius finally turned away from the window and looked at me.
“You’ll take me, won’t you?” he asked.
“I really think your family should—”
“I don’t want them to see.” He shook his head as a tear rolled slowly down his cheek. “I don’t want them to remember me that way.”
Silence descended upon us like a thick fog. It threatened to suffocate me. I almost wanted it to. But it just became a haze and settled in my mind, so I could get through my next few movements without thinking about them too much.
I nodded, only vaguely aware of the motion.
Darius crossed the room and embraced me. I held him for a beat too long and a bit too tightly before he released me. Neither of us spoke as I slipped back into my room to change out last night’s clothes.
When I returned to the living room, he was already waiting at the door. He beckoned for me to join him.
My ears rang as we stepped out of the apartment and into the stairwell. It was early and quiet. No sounds could be heard from the units around ours, no neighbors up and about to meet us in the narrow halls. Even Rosemary Marin’s tabby was nowhere to be found.
A numb silence settled between us as Darius led me out onto the street.
The Fellowship was out in full force. The black uniforms of their armed officers littered the streets as people sank away back into their homes in an effort to avoid having their faith questioned. The Fellowship always brought out their finest for days like this. They were chosen by the Geist to enforce the will of the gods, to keep us all in our places, to ensure every Culling, every Oathtaking, and every Trial ran smoothly. I glanced at the nearest one, who frowned back at me as his eyes flicked to the brand on Darius’s forehead.
I turned away from the officer to meet the stares of the few people still roaming the streets. Darius walked on as if he hadn’t noticed, but I knew he had. That was the point of the brand: you couldn’t hide it.
Darius pretended not to acknowledge the sympathetic gawking while I shot glares at the spectators and enjoyed ahint of satisfaction at the ones who turned away, mortified and repentant. But that fleeting sense of gratification dissolved the moment I recalled where we were going.
There was no point in delaying, and if we’d tried to remain in our apartment, staring at one another and prolonging the inevitable, eventually the officers would have arrived at our door and dragged him out anyway. No one knew how the Fellowship found those who’d been Culled, but they were meticulous in hunting down the unfortunate souls and hurling them into the void themselves if need be. And that wasn’t how Darius wanted to meet his fate. He wanted to go with dignity. The least I could do would be to muster up some form of it myself.
I hid my shaking hands and bit my quivering lip as we walked slowly around the Third Ring, curving toward the nearest set of stairs that led down to the Deck and the twelfth tunnel carved into it’s stone walls. We took our time, neither of us in a rush to get where we were going.
The stares on the Deck were more pronounced, clearly full of fear and pity. They greeted us the moment we descended and began the long trek around the eastern side to the tunnel at the north point of the city. Children shrunk away as if brushing against Darius would curse them with the mark next. Women bowed their heads as we passed, tears streaking down their dirty cheeks. Men watched stoically, seemingly on the verge of fury at the unfairness of it all.
Still, we walked.
There was a meager congregation already assembled when we arrived. The spirit of the mob contrasted notably from the one last night. No one was chatting or laughing, no one was eager for the coming revelry, telling stories or calling to nearby friends. Everyone simply stood about, stoic or crying, hugging their friends and families, saying their goodbyes.
Darius, to his credit, kept his chin high despite the gloomy atmosphere. I watched him in stunned silence, wondering where he’d found such strength.
I stared up at the archway carved into the stone of the twelfth side of the dodecagon. Each were numbered and served a specific purpose. Twelve was for the Culling, the very top of Sanctuary, the northernmost point. It sat between eleven, which housed the Oathstone, and one, where the first Trial took place. I’d witnessed the Oathtakings before but never a Culling. I’d never wished to see one.
I turned back to Darius, watching him as he glared at the ancient stone archway. I should’ve said something but goodbye was too painful and anything else felt pointless. So I remained silent and busied myself with peering around at the others waiting to be culled, trying to keep the tears at bay for just a little longer. For him.
There was a rabble of Deckers all huddled together. They were gawking at the archway, eyes wide and terrified and, I noticed, they were all young. Very young. Nineteen or twenty, perhaps one or two even eighteen.
I whirled around to the others.
Three more stood near one another but still distinctly apart, with their families. Class separation, even here, indicated they were from the Third Ring as well. All of them looked to be Darius’s age—my age. Another was from the Second Ring, obvious because of her fine clothes made of a deep purple that wasn’t the cerulean, maroon, or emerald that the Major Houses favored. She was easily eighteen but not a day older. Past her, there were five from the First Ring. They all stood tall, proud. But just as the rest, none of them were even twenty-one.
I turned back to Darius.
“How many people usually get culled?” I asked.
He turned to me with a shrug, as if glad to have something to talk about, something to fill this accursed silence.
