by Kyla Stone
Finn was offered a seat on the Council after his inspiring speech at the Settlement, along with Senator López, Councilwoman Fabiola Pierre from the Settlement, who had chosen to relocate, Colonel Reid from the New Patriots, and Senator Steelman and General Daugherty.
Amelia had suspected both Senator Steelman and General Daugherty of complicity in the release of the Hydra virus, but there was no evidence of their guilt. Senator Steelman especially seemed shocked and appalled at former President Sloane’s actions against her own citizens. She was an austere woman, but she seemed genuine enough. Hopefully, the Coalition was gone for good this time.
Benjie was back in school. He’d already made twenty new friends, and was busy with homework, soccer, and of course, his magic tricks.
The doctors had examined Finn’s arm. Because of the extensive nerve damage to his right shoulder, even the Sanctuary’s advanced medical tech couldn’t repair it. But Finn seemed okay. “I already have everything I need,” he’d said, looking straight at her. She and Finn were good. Great, even. She’d been so worried that changing their relationship might ruin things, but she felt closer to him than ever. Finn was her person. With him, her little family was complete.
As for work, Willow had accepted a position on one of the scavenging teams. “I need a little excitement now and then,” she’d told Finn. “It’s in my blood.”
There was so much to be done. But there were so many good things, too. Like real food. Real beds with real mattresses. Hot showers. And most importantly, everyone still alive. Finn. Benjie. Micah and Amelia. Even Celeste.
Willow had been prepping one of the armored vehicles for her first scavenging run with Hogan, who was limping but alive, and a surprisingly decent guy for a Sanctuary soldier, when Celeste sauntered up to her.
“Glad our escape plan worked out after all,” she’d said with a pouty grin. Her wild mass of crimson curls was tamed into a few dozen braids and tied up in a bun. She looked different—older and more mature, but no less beautiful.
Willow finished stuffing several packets of water filtration tablets into her pack and straightened. “Thank you. We owe you.”
Celeste’s grin widened. “Damn straight you do.” She fisted her hands on her hips. Her nails were painted fuchsia, with tiny dancing flower digital tattoos. But Willow could make out a blackened rind on the underside of her perfect nails.
She cocked her brows. “Dirt under your nails? Really?”
Celeste nibbled on her bottom lip. “It’s not dirt. It’s grease. That girl, Fiona? She’s been working with me and Cleo in the engineering department. Designing bots and stuff. Fixing broken engines. Refurbishing the hydroponics stuff in the greenhouses. I thought I’d hate it. But you know what? I don’t.”
“You and Cleo?” Willow asked, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise. She still held a healthy dose of wary dislike for Cleo, but it appeared the girl was here to stay. Willow’s burn was a scar now. It would remain with her forever, but it no longer hurt. And who was Willow to deny Celeste her happiness? There’d been little of it for long enough. “And sweet, adorable Fiona has nothing to do with it either?”
Celeste twirled a stray curl that had escaped her braids. She grinned slyly, her eyes glinting. “I have nothing to say on that count.”
“You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
Willow and Celeste had smirked at each other, finally friends.
“Hawthorn berries,” Raven said now, pulling Willow back to the present.
Raven pulled a handful of large red berries off a branch as they passed. She grabbed another handful and shoved them in the pocket of her raincoat. “Good for jam. Just don’t eat the seeds.”
“Who are you, really?” Willow said to her back. She remembered how Raven had skinned rabbits all those months ago without batting an eyelash. All the things she knew about tracking and hunting and edible plants.
“My real name is Emiko Nakamura. My dad nicknamed me Raven. I liked to steal shiny pebbles and things when I was little.” She shrugged. “The name stuck.”
“And it was your father who taught you all of this survival stuff?”
“Yes” was the only answer Raven gave her. And then, to Willow’s surprise, she kept going. “He was a peacekeeper in the Democratic Republic of Congo after that Hand of God terrorist group set off those suitcase nukes fifteen years ago. He was flying a chopper full of medical aid to wounded soldiers when he crashed over the Congo Basin. He survived in the jungle for ninety-seven days. He always said his biggest regret was that he didn’t make it to one hundred.”
“He sounds like an amazing guy.”
“He kept to himself. He didn’t like people. But he liked teaching me what he knew. He always said it would come in handy. He was right.”
Willow hurried to keep up with her. The hoverboard was fast. “You should stay here. There’s so much you could teach us. And you could have a roof over your head. And indoor plumbing. And, you know, friends.”
Raven had started speaking a little more freely in the last few weeks, but she still wasn’t comfortable around people. She’d stepped foot inside the Sanctuary only once. And that, bizarrely enough, was to visit the prison and speak to Cerberus.
She shook her head. “I have something to do first. Someone to find.”
“That guy you mentioned before?”
Raven gave a small, enigmatic smile. “Damien. He found the courage to leave, after all.” She shook her head and shrugged. “Besides, there’s too much world out here. But I’ll tell people I meet about this place. The good ones.”
“How will you know? If they’re good?”
Raven glanced back over her shoulder. “I just know. Like I knew about you.”
“We wouldn’t have made it to the Settlement without you, you know,” Willow said. “They would’ve kicked us—me, mostly—out on our butts if you weren’t there, if you didn’t do what you did. Without the Settlement’s airjets, Sloane would have killed all of my friends and kept the cure for herself.” Willow spread her arms wide. “All of this is because of you.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe Raven was blushing.
Raven led her to a clearing between a copse of spruce trees. They cleared a steep ridge and crested the mountain.
Willow let out a gasp. It seemed like the whole world was laid out before them. Miles and miles of hills and valleys and mountains. The wind whipped her hair. The sun warmed her face. It was wild and raw and dangerous and stunningly, achingly beautiful.
“This is the world,” Raven said.
Up this high, you couldn’t see the death and destruction. You couldn’t see what was ruined. You only saw what could be. “It’s fantastic.”
“My father once told me the only person I could depend on was myself, that the world would only hurt me.” She paused for a moment, staring out over the mountains, her chin lifted. “I loved him, but he was wrong. You might be able to survive alone. But a person can’t be isolated and truly live. We need each other.”
Willow glanced sideways at Raven. “Is that why you saved me from the infected dogs that day?”
Shadow loped up the steep slope and pressed himself against Raven’s side. He stood tall and majestic, his ears pricked, his snout scenting the air as the breeze ruffled his glossy black fur. Raven placed her hand on the top of his regal head. “Something like that.”
Raven tugged off her pack, bent, and pulled out something white and furred. With great care, she unfolded it and spread it on the ground. It was the wolf pelt, the one Cerberus used to wear. Raven ran her hands over the pelt as the breeze ruffled the snow-white fur.
Shadow nosed it with a low whine in the back of his throat. He threw his great head back and howled a long, mournful note full of grief and loss.
Willow felt her own heart constrict. “You and Shadow knew this wolf.”
“We did,” Raven said quietly. She pulled herself to her feet and wiped her hands on her pant legs. “She deserves
to be free. In death at least, if not in life.”
Willow waited to see if Raven would explain, but she didn’t. There was so much more going on behind Raven’s eyes than she let on. She was a mystery, she and her wolf. Maybe someday, she would trust Willow enough to tell her story.
“You’re leaving now, aren’t you? That’s why you went to Cerberus. To find out about that boy you talked about before.”
An enigmatic expression crossed her face, one Willow couldn’t quite read. Apprehension mixed with anticipation. Longing mingled with loss. “It’s something I need to do.”
Willow tucked her unruly hair behind her ears. She inhaled softly and gazed out over the spectacular vista, letting the warmth of the sun sink into her skin. “Will you come back? To visit us at least?”
“Not to visit.” Raven turned and looked at Willow, a rare smile playing across her lips. “What good is the whole world without someplace to call home?”
37
Gabriel
“What are you doing?” Micah asked from the doorway.
Gabriel looked up from stuffing his meager belongings into a pack in the sparse apartment he’d shared with Micah for the last three weeks. “Micah. You startled me.”
Frowning, Micah shoved his glasses back into place with his thumb. “Why is your bag packed? Why does it look like you’re leaving?”
He swallowed. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation yet, but he had no choice. “Because I am. Because I have to.”
“No, you don’t!” Micah took a step through the doorway into Gabriel’s bedroom. The room was as spare as the rest of the small apartment: white walls, twin bed with a white comforter, gray tile floor, a closet. These housing units were built for the worker bees of the Sanctuary, not the elites. Even in paradise, some things never changed.
Gabriel wrapped the knife Cleo had given him yesterday afternoon in a soft cloth and placed it carefully in his pack. “It has a nice, even weight,” she’d told him in the hospital with a wry smile. “Good for throwing.”
She’d been discharged yesterday after a minor surgery to repair the bullet damage to her intestinal wall and stomach muscles. Because she hadn’t actually thrown the knife at Sloane, the Council had shown mercy, choosing to look the other way this once. After all, in that moment, everyone in the Sanctuary had wanted to kill Sloane.
“I’m glad you aren’t dead,” Gabriel said.
Cleo winced as she eased into a sitting position on the hospital bed, her hand pressed to the white bandage wrapped around her midsection. She’d refused to wear a medical gown, and was dressed in one of her favorite black, tight-fitting outfits Theo had brought for her. “I’m too stubborn to die.”
“I’m serious.”
“So is she,” Celeste chirped from her chair beside Cleo. She was curled up with a cashmere blanket, her right hand placed beneath a small whirring machine set on the table next to the bed. Tiny jets sprayed a perfect manicure in glossy pomegranate-red. Electric candles and incense sticks cluttered the table. The scent of toasted cinnamon and vanilla filled the room.
“Good to see you, Celeste,” Gabriel said. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, but her grin was full and genuine.
“She refuses to give me a moment of peace,” Cleo grumbled. “She and Theo are driving me insane.”
Celeste lifted one elegant shoulder and shifted her beaming smile to Cleo. “You know you love it.”
Cleo bit her bottom lip and frowned, embarrassed. But she gave no harsh retort. When she glanced at Celeste, the hard planes of her face softened somehow.
Celeste slipped her hand from the manicure machine, gracefully unfolded her long limbs, and stood. She was still wearing those white stiletto boots that made her taller than Gabriel. “I’m starving. I’ll go order something decent, not that hospital printed crap.” She blew on her fingernails as she sashayed out of the room. She paused in the doorway and winked at Cleo. “Remember what we talked about. No violence until you’ve fully recovered.”
Gabriel watched her go before turning back to Cleo. “She’s good for you.”
Cleo grunted. After a moment, she said, “I don’t know how to do this, any of it.” She gestured helplessly in the air, as if encompassing Celeste, Gabriel, all of mankind.
“You’ll get it.”
“I don’t know if I can.” Cleo pushed her braids over her shoulder and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She looked down at the tiled floor for a moment. Her fingers clenched the thin sheets. There was something in her face—a rawness he hadn’t seen before. “What am I going to do?” she asked bitterly. “There’s no place for me. I was made for war, not for peace.”
“You can make a place,” Gabriel said. “You’re a warrior, but you’re also a human being. You alone get to choose how you build the rest of your life. With hatred and bitterness and violence, or with something else. I chose something else. So can you.”
She looked at him again with an edge in her expression. It wasn’t so much hostile as haunted. A hint of vulnerability flashed in those dark eyes.
The puckered flesh of her scar, ridged and wrinkled and shiny, pulled at the undamaged skin around her left eye and tugged down the corner of her mouth. Maybe that was why she scowled so much. People assumed she did anyway; she might as well make it true. But it didn’t have to be that way anymore.
“Besides,” he said, “this peace doesn’t mean the end of conflict or threat. The world is still dangerous. Outside these walls, things are still broken and chaotic. The Pyros are out there. The Sanctuary still needs protectors.
“But you have to decide what you’re going to fight for. For life, for hope, for good, or for vengeance and destruction. No one can make that choice for you. No one can take it from you. It’s yours to make.”
She gave a short, sharp nod. The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smile at him but wasn’t ready yet. But she would be.
Cleo had a long road ahead of her. But she would find her way.
So would Gabriel.
“I don’t understand,” Micah said now, staring at him in frustration, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He shoved them back into place with a frown. “We’ve finally found a home. How can you leave?”
Gabriel smiled ruefully. “Home isn’t a place.” He stood and faced Micah. An unruly wave of hair spilled over his forehead. His face was leaner, Gabriel realized. His cheeks weren’t as full or boyish. His brother was as tall as he was now, broad-shouldered and strong. In these last six months, his little brother had become a man almost without Gabriel noticing. He looked like the man he was—strong, capable, brave. Gabriel tapped his brother’s chest with his finger. “It’s here. It’s with the people you love.”
“Here is where we are.”
Gabriel swallowed again, shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Micah’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What about Amelia?”
Gabriel managed a pained smile. It hurt. It hurt all the way through him. But he was no stranger to pain. He would get through it. “You’re a better person than I’ll ever be, Micah. I know you’ll take care of her. And she’ll take care of you.” He shrugged, hiding the hurt. “What more could I ask from the two people I love most in the world?”
Micah gaped at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I need time.” He would never harbor jealousy or resentment against Micah. He knew his brother loved Amelia, and that she loved him. He’d seen it on her face when she’d regained consciousness after her seizure. It was Micah she looked for first.
Gabriel loved them both. How could he not want joy and happiness for them?
But another part of him was heartbroken. He would get over her, someday. But he needed time. He needed space. He needed something more.
He shoved his hand in his pocket and closed his fist around Nadira’s blue cloth. “I need a purpose.”
Micah frowned, still not understanding. “What do you mean?”
Yesterday, Gabri
el had met with Senator López. He had gone before the Council and explained everything he’d done—the good and the bad, everything. He was waiting for their response.
“You should probably put me in prison,” Gabriel had said to López as they strolled through the gardens in one of the biodomes behind city hall.
López raised his thick, silver eyebrows. “Probably?”
With a pang, he thought of how Jericho had sworn to bring him to justice. “I know what I did. Everything I’ve done since—it doesn’t make up for my part in the Grand Voyager. I know that.”
“Justice can be a funny thing,” López said. “It can mean different things to different people. Not the term itself, but in how it should be meted out.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“There’s so much work to be done, here and everywhere. We have people to save. A civilization to rebuild. It seems such a shame to lock up a contributing citizen when we have so few. Especially one who has proven himself to be exemplary.”
Shame ate at him. “I am not, sir. I assure you—”
“Don’t forget,” López said sternly. “I was there. Do not undermine the gravity of my words with excuses.”
Gabriel’s cheeks reddened. He felt like a chastised child. “Of course, sir.”
López folded his hands behind his back and turned to face him. “The Council asked me to relay our decision. We sentence you to nine years, to be completed by your thirtieth birthday.”
Gabriel’s heart sank, but he nodded. He was willing to take full responsibility, to make amends, no matter the cost.
“The sentence is to be carried out as the Sanctuary Council sees fit. However, the Council has requested your input in this decision.”
Gabriel jerked his head up, confused. “Sir?”
“How would you choose to spend those nine years, Gabriel? How best do you think you might contribute to the rebuilding of society, to remaking this world into a better place for everyone?”