I stiffen. So,thatis what his power is. I’m surprised he hid it and didn’t brag about it. Most existing powers have been documented in the Registry, which is the regime’s official ledger, maintained in Division Three’s Archives. Each power is categorized, and certain abilities are flagged as illegal if they pose a threat to public safety, the regime’s control, or the balance between the divisions.
Even the Bind is not an option for those who are Untamed. Only death.
“No wonder he’s so arrogant,” I murmur.
“He came to the Flatlands once. There was a food shortage, and people were upset; riots began shortly after,” she whispers. “The enforcers tried to quell them, but it didn’t work. Ender was sent in. By the time he left, no one knew what had happened. The streets were quiet, and order was restored. He twisted reality and made them believe that it is better to serve than to question.”
A shiver runs down my spine as I wonder what kind of monster I left my sister with.
The mess hall is loud and chaotic by the time we arrive. Rows of steel tables are bolted to the floor, and steam hisses from the pipes that run along the ceiling like veins. The smell of boiled oats, stale coffee, and burnt bread hangs heavy in the air.
There’s a jarring divide between the sides. The Gifted sit on the left, their black uniforms crisp and clean-cut. Every fold and seam displays power and authority. On the other side, the Commons are a mass of drab browns, their uniforms likely salvaged from dead soldiers. We blend in with them, yet the cut and color of our fabric and the poor quality of our gear mark us as different.
It’s strange to witness the gap between the factions, especially since I’ve lived both lives. I grew up in Division Eight, surviving on meager rations and hole-ridden trousers. I’ve also lived in Division One, surrounded by servants and chefs, my belly full and my skin warm.
Sora finds us a seat at an empty table.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
I cross the room towards Knox. He’s standing with another soldier. They are both wearing black tactical jackets, short at the waist, heavy at the shoulders, with an arm-patch on the sleeve that bears the regime’s emblem.
Most of the Commons naturally avert their eyes, but some study our interaction from the other side, eyes wide in horror as if I committed a grave crime.
“Can I speak with you?” I ask.
“You’re not allowed on this side, recruit,” the red-haired boy beside Knox admonishes.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It seems that the lowly Commons aren’t allowed near the precious Gifted.
“It’s important, Knox,” I say, ignoring his friend.
“Come on, we’ll talk on your side,” Knox says.
He leads me by the elbow to where the Commons sit.
“You shouldn’t make an enemy of the Gifted,” Knox chides. “They will take it on themselves to remind you of your place.”
“I dare them to try,” I say.
Knox frowns at the venom in my tone. I suppose I didn’t sound like Mercy just then.
“I mean, my sister will fight them, like she fought my tormenters in grade school,” I correct. “That is why I wanted to speak to you. I’d like to know when I can see my sister. Maybe I can visit her after classes are done, or you can get the admin people to grant me access to call her?”
I reach for my messenger bag to show him my tablet, before his words bring me to a halt.
“I’d have to ask Ender for permission.”
“He’s not her keeper,” I say bitterly. “She can have visitors.”
“It is his house, and personal calls are not allowed on any cadet’s device in the Forge,” Knox says. “Look, he’ll probably be fine with it. I’ll ask him.”
I glance at his handheld radio, designed to communicate across any distance. Small and compact enough to carry around.
“Can I speak to her on that?”
“Yes, if Ender agrees,” he says.
I’m annoyed that I need to get his approval to speak to Mercy, but as long as I have a way to communicate with her, I’ll be fine.
