by R. H. Scott
As the lights dimmed and the students quieted, the Order entered. Romani led the way, joining Stone on stage. In the dim light Sloan could see Jared, entering the room alone and taking his place at the foot of the stage. He looked perfect, with his dark hair and meticulous uniform, and she was so proud of him, despite knowing the Academy for what it truly was, and who his uncle was. He didn’t know—he had worked hard to earn his promotions. This level was something unprecedented, and it meant he had achieved greatness within this dark place.
“What are you staring at?” Elijah’s quiet voice spooked her. She immediately turned her gaze to him.
“Nothing.”
More lies.
Before they could speak further, Romani stepped to the front of the stage, his white gloves and ivory polished boots matching his uniform to give him an otherworldly appearance. Like a ghost, she thought. He scanned the room, his dark eyes traveling over them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are here to commend the efforts of one of our own. A young man who has excelled in the Academy with incomparable success, becoming the youngest ever to achieve the rank of major.” His tight voice was hurried but clear, a violin of drawn-out notes.
“Please, welcome your newest major, Jared Jacob Dawson,” he invited, extending his arm out. Jared leaped up the stairs, saluting Romani and the Order. He approached the marshal for his gold stripe. The entire room filled with the echoing claps of awestruck students, of cheers and whistles. Jared beamed as Romani added the stripe to his uniform.
Eventually, though, the clapping trickled to a halt, the cheers died out, and Jared began to shift uncomfortably on his feet—everyone waiting on Romani. Their marshal stood there in silence, a pleased smile painted across his face, his eyes honing in on the students as he looked them over. He rested one arm across his torso, the other propped up so that he could lay his chin on the back of his gloved hand. He continued to stand there, watching, seemingly enjoying the anxious tension his silence created. He glanced to Jared, whispered something, and Jared saluted before backing away and exiting the stage.
Sloan felt her muscles tense, uneasy. She knew Romani wasn’t about to excuse them all—the end of the ceremony was not the end of this night. She stared at Stone until he caught her gaze, and with somber eyes, he shook his head at her. She could feel her heart drop, immediately grabbing Elijah’s hand. Was this it—was it coming?
Romani rolled his fingers under his chin and took a step forward.
“Unfortunately, on what should just be a night of celebration, we have some regrettable news to address,” he finally spoke and all her fears were confirmed. Sloan could feel the students around her shifting uncomfortably, a wave of tension and confusion. She scanned the stands for Jared, to see where he might have taken a seat, but couldn’t find him.
“There is a traitor!”
The silence in the room thickened, overwhelming them all with uncertainty.
“A traitor has resided within these walls, one who has been spying on us all and reporting back to the enemy. One who has feigned loyalty and betrayed us. No—betrayed Dei Terra!” Romani was practically screaming, dramatically waving his hand out, pointing at the sea of students.
Sloan felt dizzy, her lungs tightening and her hand shaking in Elijah’s. Around her, students stirred, all whispers and gasping speculations. She felt her stomach convulse and, worried she would be sick, bowed her head down, leaning over. She took deep breaths, trying to soothe her nerves. A scuffle of noise drew her eyes up as the doors to the hall opened and rows of sentries entered, armed. Students stood, watching, waiting. She craned her neck around the boy in front of her to see the swarm of ivory guards surround the room, some making their way to the stage.
Elijah abruptly stood. “No . . .”
She pulled at his hand and brought him back to his seat, hoping he hadn’t drawn attention to himself. All the while, nausea was a knife in her side, and she winced in pain. After a deep breath, she whispered, “What is it?” but he said nothing. Elijah simply stared ahead. So she forced herself upright, breathing through the pain, and what she saw nearly made her double over once again.
Romani was attempting to silence the room and slowly students began to take their seats, but they struggled to remain quiet. For on the stage, kneeling, bound and gagged, was Donny—Elijah’s friend from Aviation. He was covered in fresh welts, cuts and bruises, and Sloan was surprised he could even hold himself up. Guards—as well as Colonel Don Luke, the head of Aviation—flanked him. She watched as Stone approached to stand beside the colonel, wondering desperately if he had a plan.
Romani paced the stage in front of Donny.
“Donald Roberts is a traitor!” His loud voice was venomous, filled with a vitriol that spread through the Academy like a virus. Students began to shout, knocking into one another, calling out epithets and threatening Donny. Elijah jerked but Sloan held him tightly beside her.
“Let go,” he whispered urgently.
She gripped him tighter. “Not a chance.” She wasn’t going to let him die too.
Romani continued to rile up the room. “For endangering the lives of each and every one of you,” he spoke, nodding at the students, “we, the Order, sentence Donald Roberts to death.”
Sloan knew what was happening, yet she couldn’t believe it. In her near decade and a half at the Academy, there had never been a public execution.
“Colonel,” Romani said loudly, “if you will.”
The colonel pulled his pistol. Donny thrashed out violently, screams muffled. The flanking sentries kicked him to the side, a foot in the back to hold him down.
Sloan wanted to move, to be sick, to save him. To save Elijah from the pain he was about to experience. Yet any movement would give them away.
And once more—I fail to save someone. . .
The colonel’s hand shook violently as he aimed his weapon. The older man took a deep breath but he was on the verge of tears. He was the head of Aviation; Donny was to him what West would have been to Stone. Sloan could tell the man was struggling between his duty and his conscience—but he needed to make a decision. If the Academy abhorred one thing, it was weakness, and this compassion would surely be seen as such.
Suddenly, Stone reached for the service pistol. He offered the colonel an understanding look. The two men held gazes, nodding. Stone trained the gun on the back of Donny’s head. The general shot one last look towards Sloan, dipped his head in apology and looked away.
Sloan squeezed Elijah’s hand—there was nothing she could do to save him from this horror. The body of students watched on, seemingly entranced. The room found a perfect stillness, and all was quiet barring the muffled protestations from Donny.
And then a single shot echoed through the room.
Stone stood still, his arm still outstretched, the gun still aimed. A pool of blood spread out around Donny’s fiery hair. It trickled towards Romani’s ivory boots. He took a small step back. Sloan could see, with perfect clarity, the body of Kevin Young, lying lifeless on the stage. She blinked away the dark vision. Turning to Elijah she found him wide-eyed and stone-faced. His glossy eyes filled with rage and devastation. She squeezed his hand tighter but it had no effect. He had joined a club; he had now suffered a loss that made him comparable to herself and Jared. A panic rushed over her at the thought of Elijah changing too.
“Let this go as a warning. We know you’re here and we will find you.” Romani’s voice cut through them. With a casual wave of his hand he turned from them.
“You’re dismissed.”
Elijah had practically dragged her through the sea of students, pulling rank to get the first available pod. They stepped into his living quarters and she watched him pace, his hands curled in tight, shaking fists, struggling to keep his outburst in lest whoever may be listening hear Elijah’s true nature. She approached him slowly,
offering her hand. His sad eyes fell on her and it was more than she thought she could stand to see. He took her hand and she led him to the bathroom. Twisting the shower taps on she stumbled into the water, pulling him under with her. It was too hot and it burnt her skin through her clothes but it didn’t matter. So few things mattered still.
The weight of his pain crumbled him, and they sunk to the floor in a soaked mess. He tucked his head against her and cried, holding on to her, cracking under her fingertips. She squeezed him tightly, hopeful that if she could do it just right, do for him what he had done for her, she could keep him from falling to pieces.
The three of them sat in Stone’s office in silence. It had been four days since Donny’s execution and while Jared had tried to talk to her every chance he got—Elijah had barely said a word. She hadn’t pressed him; his silence was much kinder than how she had handled her own sorrow.
“Romani found the jammer in his workshop,” Stone finally spoke. He had aged years in a week.
“This is my fault,” Elijah said. “That was the jammer I needed to speak to Sloan in the woods.” His voice sounded foreign to her ears—she hadn’t noticed how much she had missed hearing it.
“You’re not the one who put a bullet in his head,” Stone argued.
“I might as well have—”
Sloan pushed her chair back. “Stop it. This is neither of your faults . . . Romani is responsible for this.” The two men looked to her, hopeful, seeking forgiveness for things that had been out of their control. She had become an expert at recognizing that look—having seen it so often in her own reflection.
She stood. “I’m sorry this has happened—I could just as easily blame myself—but we can’t fix this. What we can do, though, is be more vigilant. All the jammers—barring yours, General—should be destroyed. Once that’s done, we need to formulate a plan, a way to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”
Stone stared up at her, nodding in agreement. “Good . . . that’s good, Radcliffe.”
“Okay . . . then I think I have a plan,” she announced. The thought had just come to her and she wasn’t sure how they would respond to it. They continued to watch her with expectant gazes.
“When can you gather us—and I mean all of us—in one place? We need a place to talk candidly as a group . . . and it’s time I meet the Others here.” At her words, Elijah grabbed her hand, supporting her decision.
But Stone seemed less sure. “Gather forty-three senior students in one sitting? I don’t think we can pull that off.”
The number startled Sloan, and her mind started racing. She knew there were more than just the three of them—but not that many more.
“Excursion,” Elijah blurted out.
“What?”
“Come up with a reason to lead an excursion in the woods, say you have something special in mind, or make up a reason we forty-three need to be with you, maybe need to train in something specific . . . I don’t know . . .” He rambled. Sloan looked from him to the general.
“Actually, there could be one way . . .” Stone agreed, finally nodding with some excitement.
“Yes. Yes, I think I have an idea. You two finish up here. I will be in touch,” Stone announced, standing. He made his way around the desk and to his door. He turned, though, and spoke once more. “Sloan?”
She turned to him.
“Well done.”
She smiled and watched him leave, thankful to have finally been of some help.
Elijah stood and turned to her, eyeing her up slowly.
She waited for him to say something but he remained silent—so she spoke. “What?”
He shrugged. “Why has Jared been trying to talk to you every day this week?”
Her heart began to race . . . Elijah had been understandably seeming to pay no attention to her since Donny. But it turned out he had been. Every time Jared tapped her shoulder in class and she shook it off, when he called out to her in the hall and she ducked into a room, when he tried to join her sparring sessions and she walked out . . .
“I don’t know,” she lied. Well, it was a half lie. She wasn’t exactly certain why he was trying to talk to her—even if she could make a few educated guesses.
“Sloan—I know how you feel about him, and we all know how he feels about you. Is there something I need to know?”
She took a deep breath. “He wants me back. That’s no secret . . . but I told him I was betrothed to you now.”
He nodded, seemingly done with this conversation. He moved past her but hesitated at the door. “Sloan?”
She turned, staring at him. “Yeah?”
“You know I’m in love with you, right? I’m still so in love with you.”
She nodded slowly. “I know you are . . .”
There were a few faces she recognized. Some she knew by name, some whose presence surprised her. Did she surprise them as well, or had they all known she would join them eventually? It had taken four days but Stone had finally managed to come up with a reason to get all forty-three of them out on excursion. His idea was as ingenious as it was chilling. He had convinced Romani that he could put together an elite team who would essentially spy on their peers to sift out the traitors, putting forward the potential hunted as hunters.
Romani had readily agreed.
She stood on the platform of the garage as Elijah hoisted their bags into the grey terrain vehicle. She wanted to say something, to distract him from whatever thoughts came from being in such close proximity to Donny’s place, but she didn’t know what to say.
She instead leaned against the vehicle and watched him thoughtfully, waiting for him to need something. While she did, the large group of surrounding students were packing up vehicles and talking loudly—they were excited. The voice that made her turn didn’t quite reflect that excitement.
“So I suppose we have you to thank for this little outing?”
The wry words belonged to a boy Sloan recognized from class—Samuel Chase. He was an adept fighter, but his gift was truly in academics, as he was one of the smartest of the senior students.
“No, not really.” She shrugged, not quite sure what any of them had been told. She realized that although she recognized these students—she didn’t really recognize them. She couldn’t help but wonder how many boys fit into that category at the Academy, how many of them she had categorized as “not-Jared.”
In Samuel’s case, she saw he was tall, with a mess of dark hair and grey eyes. As if understanding their seeming disconnect after all these years sitting in the same class, he held out his hand. “Well, I’m Samuel Chase.”
“I know, you’re on 55—” she began, taking his hand, but he cut her off.
“Lieutenant Sloan Radcliffe. We all know who you are.”
Sloan didn’t like the way he spoke and pulled her hand free from his grip. He studied her for a moment, taking in her features, nodding slowly.
“Hopefully you’re as good as they say you are.” He smiled.
She shrugged off his words. “Hopefully you’re as smart as they say you are.”
He laughed, raising his hands in a defeated motion. Before he could say anymore, Elijah appeared. “Leave her be, Chase.” He stood beside Sloan defensively. Chase shrugged, smiling at her, before nodding and turning away.
Sloan watched him join the others. A few of them turned, looking her over, whispering amongst themselves. She turned to Elijah. “Why do I get the feeling I am the center of attention here?”
He shrugged. “Because you are. These guys have waited a long time to meet Stone’s favorite—the Academy’s best.”
Sloan thought over his words. She had spent years in the near exclusive company of Jared—they had bonded over the treatment, both negative and positive, they received for their status. Now, she was with the Others—the ones
whom she had always felt judging her from a distance—and she wasn’t sure what being in their company would entail.
CHAPTER 12
As Elijah expertly navigated the vehicle, his large hand resting comfortably on the silver disc, Sloan couldn’t help but have flashbacks to their first trip together. He had told her so clearly, “The Academy, our lives . . . it’s all wrong.” She had resisted the truth wholeheartedly, like he knew she would, and then she had come round . . . like he knew she would. She watched him keenly. Elijah was brilliant and insightful, but she never gave him credit for it.
Because what would that require?
Being just his friend was hard—no, it was impossible. She knew she wasn’t just his friend. She was technically his betrothed; she was the object of his love and affection; she was the one thing he had always lusted after. She knew everything she was to him but struggled so greatly to decipher what he was to her.
As they drove on, a black, open-top vehicle pulled up alongside them. Sloan looked out her window to see three senior boys craning out their vehicle. She recognized the driver: Captain Joss Hendricks—he had lost a Fight Night to Jared last year. Flanking him was Samuel Chase and another boy Sloan recognized but couldn’t recall a name for. Joss beeped his horn and yelled over the wind.
“Race you to the front, Daniels?”
The three boys laughed, eyeing the queue of vehicles ahead of them. Elijah smiled, the first she could remember seeing since Donny. He glanced to her, once again looking for permission. She shrugged. “Go for it.” She would acquiesce to nearly anything that would keep him smiling.
“You got it!” Elijah yelled out the window past her.
Joss sped off and Elijah used his spare hand to fiddle with an array of complicated switches surrounding his steering disc. He revved the vehicle forward as Joss easily overtook the convoy. But they were now moving too, and Elijah followed, racing after them. Joss came out in front of the fleet, pulling into the middle of the road. There was only one other vehicle ahead of them—Stone’s.