My jaw tightens at the mention of Orson Warrick.
Twelve years ago, he executed my mother. Then he dragged Mercy and me from Oracle in Division Eight to Fort Canyon in Division One. Fort Canyon is named after the chasm of red rock formations that bracket us from the west. To the east are the Gold Plains and deserts. We have sweltering summers and dry winters. I get a lot of nosebleeds since we moved and tons of heat rashes.
Warrick, like most of the inhabitants in Division One, is Gifted—born with abilities the rest of the Continent fears. The regime created an implant called the Bind. A device designed to regulate the people's powers and ensure obedience. Officially, it’s a safeguard: a way to track location, regulate ability output, and destabilize powers if needed. But in truth, it is nothing more than a leash.
Sullivan has a Bind. A luminous blue flicker flashes under the pale skin of his throat. I don’t know how he is not afraid of it. Mercy and I were spared the procedure because we are both Commons.
The rebels avoid the Bind. They flee before mandatory testing because they fear being controlled by the regime.
“We don’t speak,” I say.
Warrick keeps us locked inside his estate and spends most of the year away on military campaigns. When he is here, I avoid him as best as I can.
Pathetic as it is, Sullivan is the closest thing I have to a father. He trains me and lets me eat in the barracks with him and the cadets. And when he leaves, I wait impatiently for him to return. The second I hear his chopper hovering above the helipad, I’m outside, racing towards him. Last time, I almost knocked him off his feet.
“He’s requested your attendance this evening,” Sullivan says, “for a private family dinner.”
“I’m busy.”
Warrick drags Mercy often to gatherings and functions. He never risks bringing me. He knows I’ll embarrass him. I won’t play the obedient daughter. Everyone claims that he is a saint for taking us in, even though he is our father. I don’t know how she stomachs being around them.
“I can attend as well,” Sullivan adds, clearly trying to soften the blow. “My schedule is clear.”
I fold my arms. “I can handle Warrick on my own. Besides, I’m not going to his stupid dinner.”
“It’s mandatory,” Mercy says quietly. “He said it’s important.”
Mercy cradles her book to her chest, as if it can protect her. My sister despises conflict. She only indulges Warrick, so he doesn’t force me to stand by his side and pretend to be his loyal daughter in public.
“Sounds ominous,” I mutter. “I’ll pass.”
Mercy catches my hand before I can leave.
“Can we talk?”
I sigh. “Fine.”
She pulls me under the lemon tree. Her eyes are green, identical to Warrick’s. It is proof that, despite all his lies, the one thing he never lied about was being our father.
I used to stay awake at night, wishing that this entire thing was a nightmare.
“He gave me this,” she says.
She presses an envelope into my hand.
I unfold the letter, my stomach dropping. Nobody does paper mail anymore. Except for one place. I break the wax seal, the two ends forming the sun—the symbol of the regime.
“You were conscripted?” I demand. “They’re sending you to the Forge?”
The Forge is a specialized training facility. It is a self-contained compound, located in Division Two, designed to turn civilians into soldiers. It is separated into two areas of focus: one intended for the Gifted and the other for the Commons.
I’ve begged Sullivan for years to accept my enrollment request, but Warrick gets the final say, and he has always refused.
“How?” I ask. “You’re a terrible shot.”
Mercy winces. “I know.”
“And you can’t throw a punch.”
