Ezra rushes forward, scooping me up for a kiss. My feet hover above the ground for a split second and in that second, I wonder how it feels to fly, to fight against the binds of gravity. I feel like I’m soaring in the skies with him—a power all of its own. (Sometimes I wish I was born with that ability instead.)
“I’m so happy for you,” he tells me once the excitement has settled into an enjoyable buzz.
“Thank you. I can’t wait to tell ma and pa,” I say.
“They’ll be so proud.”
Ma and pa have finally settled down after completing the work that needed to be done since abu's passing. Essentially, they needed to erase all traces of the bunker and contact the powered individuals abu had connections with, which is about the extent of my knowledge regarding the situation. I’ll be happy to hear from them when they arrive at Proctus to live here for good. It’s been nine months, so the excitement is tangible.
Ezra’s forearms are chiseled from the hard labor working in the fields. I find myself entranced for the umpteenth time at the musical notes and elongated lines that wrap and spiral up his arms—the evergreen trees and colorful, sporadic swirls that have been elegantly tattooed all over, admiring Claude’s handiwork. Ezra pulls away, looking me straight in the eyes. His one blue and one green iris are home. The way his hair frames his face perfectly steals a breath queued on my lips.
We have a good thing going on here. I never want it to end.
Chapter 67
Conin
The space is not a welcoming one; white painted cement walls were an attempt to brighten the room, but only worked in making it more unsettling. The floor’s gray, the metal table centered in the middle is gray, and I sit there with my leg jumping in place, waiting for the next set of arrivals to question. Leeanne and her crew have brought more and more people in since the rise of trafficking networks and the fall of recidivist protection laws.
Recidivists vs. Buford Elementary sparked an uproar all over the country. The court case created an unnerving surge of pandemonium. We may be isolated from the rest of the world, but that fear is still very present in our hearts.
And, of course, I’m one of the several selected to question these frightened refugees ever since I was critically injured at the warehouse nine months ago.
The news of my injuries infuriated many of the people here without special abilities. I placated them by saying it was mychoice that I went. It was a sacrifice I needed to make to ensure Proctus’s prosperity.
Now I’m no longer allowed outside these walls.
A knock sounds at the door—dull, almost muted, but I’ve picked up on its noise over time. Matt walks in with fresh faces. They’re a couple, perhaps somewhere in their late thirties. I hope the questioning will go by quickly, but two identical children trail after them. My heart plummets. It devastates me to see children affected by our world’s cruelty. I blink away the well of tears, focusing on the cordial smile I’ve practiced. The mother offers one back, but the father’s tense, stiff shoulders make me pause. Meanwhile, Matt goes in search of additional seating.
“Hi, welcome,” I say. Remembering to stand, I outstretch my hand for them to shake.
“Hello, dear. My goodness, you’re young,” the mother says grimly, then pops up as she stretches over the table to take my hand. The father follows reluctantly. The children stay glued to their sides.
“Well, we all have a part to play,” I reply.
She nods gravely. Matt returns with two smaller chairs for the kids, departing with a half smile. The family situates themselves on the seats, but the male twin looms behind his father with a skeptical glare. I clear my throat.
“So,” I say, “my name’s Conin. I’m going to be conducting a survey I’ll need each of you to answer so we can get to know you well while you’re at Proctus.”
“The same shit the government pulls?” the father grunts.
“Adam,” hisses the mother.
He smooths his features, though he stays rigid. I’ll have to be careful around him.
“We want to make sure we can accommodate everyone. The more we know, the better we can fill your needs. And, of course,we won’t have you wearing those nasty Scarlet ‘R’s’ around here. The Angelics want to see their people grow and thrive. They named it Proctus because it’s a derivative of the word ‘proctor.’”
I study the kids’ dubious expressions.
“A proctor is someone who watches students during a test or examination to make sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to. Now, you four are not here to be tested or examined, but we like to carry that same principle in how we conduct ourselves. Instead, our goal is to promote growth and not discipline, though we do expect everyone to follow our rules for safety purposes. Don’t worry, it’s not too overbearing. We really just want to ensure happy, full lives. Lives that were stripped from you in a world that doesn’t understand people like us. So, we called our little safe haven Proctus. It felt fitting,” I recite. None of it sounds natural, but I hope the point gets across.
“I like that,” the mother says.
Adam’s loosened, as if I knocked one of his walls down.
“Wonderful. Shall we start?” I ask.
“Hold on, dear,” the mother interrupts. “I don’t mean to intrude . . . you said people likeus?Matt said you were normal . . . like myself and Adam.”
