by Brenda Poppy
Ambling to the living room, she caught sight of Scar and Symphandra still asleep on the couch, arms twined around each other as if each could protect the other from the cruelness of the world. Not wanting to wake them, Burn tiptoed into the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea.
A short while later, tea in hand, she heard a ping from her tab and snatched it from her pocket to check the message. It was a refusal. Someone thought themselves immune to blackmail. Well, Burn thought, someone had to be the example to the others, a lesson on what happened when you didn’t comply. With a few taps of her fingers across the screen, she ruined his life.
Satisfied with herself, she sat down to wait. And wait. And wait. Scar awoke, followed closely by Symphandra, and the two prepared a breakfast of eggs and toast, all the while conversing in whispered voices and laughter. It was refreshing – laughter and love in the face of so much darkness – and it was contagious, easing some of Burn’s tension.
What seemed like hours later, but was more akin to 30 minutes, Burn’s tab lit up once more. Success. An eager hopefulness washed over her as she scanned the message.
“The transfer is happening in two hours,” she said, reading aloud. “There’ll be 10 guards and more than 30 prisoners.” Without waiting for a reply, she encoded the message and sent it ahead to Hale, drumming her fingers on the table as she waited for a reply.
This time, the response was almost instantaneous. “Message received. Ambush set. Stand by for updates.” Burn exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. They were one step closer to being able to stop this, one step further along the road to winning a war.
But compared to the utter relief of discovering a crucial piece of intel on your enemy, waiting around for someone else to act on it was agonizing. Burn was used to being the one in charge and was unaccustomed to sitting back and watching as someone else took control.
She felt fidgety and anxious, and not even Scar’s talk of robotics and weaponized tech could pull her thoughts away from the coming action. Time ticked by sluggishly, but it did tick by. Burn occupied herself by pacing and, when that became too painful, sitting on Symphandra’s couch and tapping her fingers in time with the beats of the clock.
She couldn’t see how Symphandra and Scar were so calm, how their stomachs weren’t tied in an array of tiny little knots and thrust up into their throats. Unlike her, they seemed so relaxed, like they were certain of a positive outcome. Maybe it was because they had each other, a tangible source of solace in the sea of unknowns. Or maybe it was because they hadn’t gone through what she had and didn’t know firsthand the atrocities that were coming.
Scar brewed her a cup of tea and made Burn drink it, but the hot liquid did nothing to calm her nerves. She sat then stood then sat again, uncomfortable with every position. Once again seated on the couch, she put her head back, trying to calm herself. Her eyes felt heavy and she closed them, concentrating on her breathing, which suddenly seemed labored. Without warning, she dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
✽✽✽
Burn awoke feeling groggy and out of sorts. She knew that she was supposed to be doing something, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what it was. It was as if the cogs in her brain were spinning but the movement was producing no discernible output.
Her tongue felt thick and her mouth fuzzy, and she reached out in front of her, searching for something to quench her thirst. Her hands closed on the teacup she’d been drinking from, and she brought it to her parched lips, sniffing. Something wasn’t right. Her foggy brain took too long to process the fact that there was another smell accompanying that of the tea, something chemical.
“You drugged me,” she said to no one in particular. Her thick tongue made the words slur and blend together, so she tried again, this time turning to address the kitchen. “Why did you drug me?”
Scar popped her head out, a small smile playing on her lips. “Good, you’re awake. You’ve been out for a few hours. Have a good nap?” She was playing innocent.
“You drugged me,” Burn tried again, hoping the same accusation would produce a different response.
Her sister stared back for a beat, choosing her words carefully. “You needed sleep. And you were never going to get it by pacing around. You also weren’t going to help the Lunaria by wearing a hole in Symphandra’s carpet. So we gave you a sleeping draft, just enough to help you relax and take your mind off the prisoner transfer.”
“The transfer!” That’s what Burn had been trying so hard to remember. “What happened? Has there been any news?”
“Not yet,” Symphandra said, coming in from the bedroom. “We expect to hear something soon, though. It’s been over an hour since the transfer. We’ve been keeping an eye on your tab in case you got any messages.”
She tossed the tab to Burn, and it landed with a soft bounce on the cushion beside her. She flipped it open, confirming Symphandra’s words, then settled herself back into the couch. As much as she hated to admit it, she did feel better. Some of the anxiety in her chest had dissipated, and a bit of the stiffness in her limbs had eased. She wasn’t in fighting form, but it was progress.
Scar convinced her to eat a bowl of porridge – although, having learned her lesson, Burn made her sister take a bite first before she went anywhere near it. The gooey substance stuck to her throat going down, but it restored a bit more of her energy and wiped the lingering fog from her brain.
She took a quick shower, hastened by the icy water, before getting dressed, borrowing yet another outfit from Symphandra’s closet. This one was also practical but favored ease of movement above all else, with tight black pants and a snug shirt. She entered the living room again, alert and ready for action.
A short while later, her tab buzzed. The message was short and succinct. “Mission successful. Prisoners at safe house B.” Burn was nearly out the door before remembering the two other people in the house. She updated Scar and Symphandra in as few words as possible and waited by the door like an eager dog until they were ready to depart.
Safe house B was located deeper in the city than their previous meeting point, but it offered a convenient perch from which to fight a war on the bottom of Kasis. It also had room for more people – a necessity when you were gathering an army. Still, the trip was long and tiring, especially considering Burn’s recent injuries, and an increased time on the streets meant an increased chance of them being discovered.
Their precarious situation was not lost on the trio, and they walked as swiftly as they could without drawing attention. The lower they went, the more the tension seemed to rise, not just among them but around them. They weren’t yet to the levels of the blockades, but they might as well have been. People scurried past, heads covered, whispering and glancing around as if danger was hot on their trail. The atmosphere was rigid, afraid, like they knew something big was on the horizon.
Arriving at the safe house was a relief. They glanced around before entering the unassuming space, checking yet again to make sure they hadn’t been followed. From the street, this safe house seemed like a small flat, only one or two rooms, the same as the houses around it. In reality, it spanned across and down, encompassing the building next to it and the one below.
The house was already buzzing with activity. There were people everywhere, set on every surface with even more overflowing onto the floor. Some were hurt and some were just dazed. Lunaria members that Burn knew, along with many that she didn’t, scurried through the rooms tending to the injured, making food, or ferrying supplies to and fro.
Burn stood for a moment trying to get her bearings. The smell of blood and antiseptic stung her nose, and the porridge in her stomach gave a weak lurch. Typically a little blood wouldn’t phase her, but the sheer number of wounded people, paired with her own recent bloody experiences, had the distinct effect of making the room feel like it was spinning.
She focused her attention past the commotion, searching for Hale. Such a large man should ha
ve been easy to spot, but he was nowhere to be seen. Burn moved further into the house, past the front room with its bloody people laid out on couches and into the kitchen, where slightly less bloody people were propped up on chairs and counters.
She located Brindle near the end of the first floor and paused to inquire about Hale. Brindle pointed toward the subfloor, and Burn descended a creaky wooden staircase to the lower level. It was darker down there, and fewer people padded through the halls. She glanced into a few secluded spaces to find people sleeping, passed out on beds, chairs, and rugs. She closed the doors quietly, not wanting to disturb them.
Then she heard him. Hale, with his low voice, was in a room near the end of the hall talking briskly to someone. No, that wasn’t right, Burn thought as she got closer. He was threatening someone.
“Hale?” she yelled in question, not wanting to walk in on something she clearly shouldn’t. He stopped talking to whomever was in the room, pausing for a second before coming to the door. Seeing it was her, he squeezed out and shut the door hurriedly behind him, like he didn’t want her to see past him into the room.
Burn looked inquisitively at him, raising an eyebrow in question, but he didn’t seem inclined to explain, so she asked simply, “What happened?”
He stood there for a beat, shoulders tense and arms crossed, before replying. When he did, his voice was brusque. “Your source was right about the time. We staked out the area around the Pit and caught them on their way to dispose of the prisoners. We got ‘em all without casualties. Well, without casualties on our side.”
“And the other side?”
“Confiscated their gear and tossed them in the Pit.” He said it so nonchalantly, like killing men for following orders was something he did every day. It sent a chill down Burn’s spine.
Hale continued to look at her, his brows furrowed. There was something else, something he wasn’t telling her. His attitude toward her had changed again, reversing course from friendly camaraderie to a cold indifference. She thought back on the few words she had said to him but couldn’t discern what had brought about the change.
Then he glanced ever so briefly toward the door. Burn followed his gaze and listened, her ears tuned for any sound coming from the room beyond. There was someone in there alright, someone bound and gagged. Someone struggling.
“I thought you said that you’d killed all the Peace Officers,” Burn said, a hint of accusation in her voice. He merely nodded but refused to elaborate. “So if they’re all dead,” she said, continuing her thought, “then who do you have tied up in there?” She pointed to the room he had just left, eyeing his face for any change in expression.
For a split second, Hale’s face contorted into a sneer, a look full of malice. An instant later it was gone, replaced by his usual scowl. “It’s just one of the prisoners we freed,” he said curtly.
“He doesn’t seem free to me.”
Hale considered this for a moment before replying. “He’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Burn was taken aback. “Hale, most of the people in this house are dangerous. That’s why they were locked up in the first place. We don’t even know what most of them can do. So how is this man more dangerous than the rest?”
“He’s dangerous in a different way.”
Burn let out a loud sigh of irritation. Talking to Hale was like talking to a brick wall. She could see she wasn’t going to get anywhere with this line of questioning. So she tried something else entirely: She tried to get past him.
Now, pushing past a guard wasn’t something Burn was typically good at. But it was all the more difficult when the guard in question could pick you up and set you back down again without breaking a sweat. Which was exactly what Hale did.
Burn slapped at his hands, her body cringing at the unwelcome touch. He let go of her waist and stood there, staring at her. She stared back, putting all of her anger and frustration into the glare. They stayed there, eyes locked, for a few tense seconds before Hale sighed and stood aside, reluctantly giving her access to the door.
“Don’t let him go,” was his only warning as she scanned her finger and pushed into the dim room.
It took a second for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she caught sight of a crumpled figure in the far corner of the room. He was lying on his side, curled up like a scared animal in the presence of a predator, and he held his head in his bound hands. Burn approached slowly, afraid to startle him.
As she got nearer, his features started to come into focus. He had thick dark hair, some of which was obscuring his face, and he appeared young and lean. He was wearing dark clothing that had once been nice but was now ripped and covered in blood. Whether it was his blood or someone else’s, Burn couldn’t tell.
She stopped a short way away from him, uncertain of how to proceed. She didn’t want to frighten him further, but she needed to know who he was – and why he was there. She cleared her throat, hoping it might get him to raise his head, but he remained motionless.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said, crouching down to his level. “I just want to talk.”
The figure stirred at the sound of her voice, struggling to sit up. He kept his head down, though, and his hair continued to conceal his features. He remained silent, as if waiting for her to speak again.
“What’s your name?” she tried, hoping that a direct question would spur him to talk.
The figure let out a short bark of laughter, followed by a painful coughing fit that sent him doubling over. Burn wanted to go to him, to help him, but she resisted. If he was as dangerous as Hale had said, she couldn’t take any chances.
Then the figure started to speak, his voice low and raspy. “I would have thought you would know that by now.”
Burn froze, her blood going cold. Then she rushed to him and pushed back his hair, taking his face in her hands. It was Kaz.
Chapter 22
One eye was swollen shut, and he had a large gash over the other eyebrow, which had bled down over his face. His lip was split and bleeding, and Burn could make out various other injuries down his neck and across his body.
Kaz flinched at her touch, pulling his face out of her hands. She moved back, uncertain.
“What happened?” she asked insistently. “How did you get here? Who did this to you?” Her heart was suddenly pounding, and confusion and rage warred in her brain.
Another laugh from Kaz, this one quieter. “You’re one of them.” He shook his head before looking up at her. “You’re a rebel, a traitor.” He stared at her with a look Burn had never seen before, something between hatred and sadness. It was betrayal, she realized with a shock.
“What happened?” she tried again, gentler this time.
“You happened,” he said coldly. The sharpness in his voice cut through her like a knife, and a sudden deep pain blossomed in her chest.
“Two of my fellow officers grabbed me after the ball,” he continued, no longer able to make eye contact. “They said it was on Cross’ orders. They told me that I had been found guilty of consorting with a criminal. You, of course.” He spat at the mention of her, and Burn could see blood mixed in with the saliva.
“They chucked me in a cell and left me there. No food, no water, no light. And all I could think the entire time was that they were wrong, that you could never be a traitor. I mean, your father worked on the force, for god’s sake.”
He looked up at her again, fire in his eyes. “I wasted what might have been my last breaths worrying about you. And you couldn’t have cared less about me. You used me. I was just your way in, wasn’t I?”
“No,” Burn choked, shaking her head emphatically. “That wasn’t it at all.”
“Oh, save it,” he cut her off. “You’ve been lying to me since we met. Chased by thieves? Yeah, right. I was an idiot to trust you. I should have turned you in the second you came through my door.”
A wave of emotions rushed through Burn, threatening to overtake her. He was right, of course. Sh
e had used him, just like she used everyone else: as a pawn in her own game. She was just like Cross. Hot shame rolled over her as the accusation struck, burrowing under her skin.
She had done this to him. Even if she hadn’t been the one to hit him or throw him in the cell, his blood was still on her hands, staining her with guilt. She tried to speak, but her throat felt dry and cracked.
“I…I never meant for this to happen. You have to know that. You weren’t supposed to get caught up in this.” She searched for a way to make this right, something she could say that would make him stop looking at her like she was the devil incarnate. “I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.
“Sorry? Sorry for what? For using me? For making me think that you cared? For sending me to my death? Or for betraying Kasis and your father and everything he worked for?”
That struck a nerve and Burn’s emotions spun, swirling from shame to anger to rage. Fire poured through her, coursing in her limbs and loosening her tongue.
“Betrayed Kasis? Kasis was betrayed long before I got here. It was betrayed by officers like you who thought they were gods and could do whatever they pleased to its citizens. It was betrayed when innocent people were locked up and killed because they were different. And it’s about to be betrayed again! But this time we’ll be there to stop it.”
Kaz shook his head, brushing off her words. “You’re just saying that to justify your own war. You lie to yourselves so you can feel like saviors when you cheat and kill and work to undo everything we’ve put in place. You’ve deluded yourselves into thinking that you’re making a difference, when in reality you’re just making a mess. And we’ll be the ones who have to clean it up.”
It was Burn’s turn to laugh without feeling. Deluded? She wasn’t the deluded one in this conversation. Kaz had been so brainwashed by the Peace Force’s company line that he couldn’t see what was happening right in front of him. It would be her pleasure to inform him, she decided.