18
Iwant to talk to my mother. It is an impulse I haven’t entertained in a long time, but without any friends of substance and a father who’d take my actions as treachery, my mother is the only one who would listen without judgment.
I want to tell her I met a girl. I want to tell her about the rebellion, about how they want the freedom she always dreamed the country could be capable of. I want to tell her how this girl saved my life, how she entangled me. I want to ask her how I should feel. I want to ask her what I should do. I want her to ferry me to the shores of decision and take my hand. But I know what she would say.
She would tell me to be happy. She would tell me to do what was right, not only in my head, but in my heart. She would tell me to trust my instincts.
Well, I resent my instincts. I resent the instinct that drew me to Taylor at the ball. I resent the instinct that buried my trust in her. I resent this rebellion for making me a traitor to my family and for its seductive ideals. I resent their stupid assassin for her pretty face and sincere compliments and risking her life to protect me.
Lucy…life is risky. Love is riskier. The gamble on love is not about what you risk to lose, but what you risk to gain.
I tell her that’s easy for her to say. It’s not her heart, and she’s dead.
Taylor and Hunter speak quietly, but constantly. From the car to the copter, they regale each other with tales of the past two years. Hunter’s petty insubordinations against Wolfshield and Taylor’s major victories for the rebellion. Mason’s injury. Faith’s demise. Taylor’s nearly fatal encounter with the local militia. I speak to no one, but not out of anger. As an only child, I’ve never witnessed a soul bond quite like theirs. The rapport is so easy and knowing, the affection so infectious, I almost hate my parents for not providing me with a sibling.
We arrive at HQ to an absurd amount of fanfare. Hunter is as well-liked as Taylor insinuated; people crowd us as the copter touches grass. Everyone is cheering and rowdy, offering bottles of liquor and struggling to get a glimpse of the prodigal daughter returned. Mason cuts through them and lifts Hunter off the ground with one arm. They embrace, watched by what’s becoming a large gathering.
As the crowd begins pushing toward the tree line, Taylor stays behind to speak to our pilot. Without a word, he jogs to catch up with Hunter’s welcoming party, who’ve nearly disappeared back toward HQ.
“I thought you’d be the one leading the chorus,” I say, daring to hope the jealousy in my tone isn’t as apparent as it feels.
Taylor worries her bottom lip. “We have to go.”
“We do? Where?” My bones ache at the thought of it. It’s nearly midnight and I’m exhausted. We’ve been traveling for weeks and I’m desperate to settle.
“New York.” A chill runs through me despite the warm spring air. Straightening up, Eos emerges from her like a ghost expelledfrom a possessed body. “Leader Piccolo and Theia reached an agreement. We have to leave.”
I gesture toward the forest. “Alone?”
“Would you rather an audience?”
Obviously, I would not. Whatever this is, it’s going to end poorly. As if it’s quite normal, Taylor climbs into the pilot’s seat and secures herself in. I return to my seat in the back and pull on a pair of headphones still warm from our recent arrival.
“You can fly this?” I ask into the mic.
The copter gently rises off the grass. “You should hope so.”
She is, of course, quite adept at flying a helicopter. We sail beneath impending clouds, heading east over the forests. An hour in, curiosity gets the better of me.
“Taylor, what’s happening?”
Her posture stiffens, but her gaze remains steadfastly out the windshield. “We are meeting Leader Piccolo at the airport.”
“And, what? Heading to the islands for a summer getaway?”
“No.” She holds up a hand at the protestations I do not give voice. “Please. You had time to come to terms with the reality of your father’s situation, and though I would much rather have left you at HQ, Leader Piccolo insisted on seeing you in person.”
A resentful anger rises in me. “He wants me to watch you kill him?”
“The agreement to surrender is dependent on his seeing you are alive and well.” She glances back at me. “He wants to say goodbye.”
“It’s not like I have a choice, do I?” I reply, sitting back in my seat. “I never do.”
Her posture deflates, while her grip on the controls tightens. “Hang tight, we’ll be there soon.”
My city is on fire.
Brilliant lights flicker, blotted out by thick smoke and overpowered by the blistering heat of mechanical wildfires. Taylor brings us around the top of the island, far from the fighting, but I can’t look away. Buildings smolder. Streets are clogged with soldiers exchanging fire. My home is a war zone. Despite the violence, the noise, and the fire, the city calls me home.
