Virtue of War

by L O Addison

  They stayed like that for a long while, just leaning into each other. Even through the smell of smoke and blood that coated their skin, Kaylin could still detect the familiar scent of Beck. Warm and woodsy, like a forest on a summer morning. It was comforting, in a strange way. Her entire life had changed in the span of just a few days, but Beck was still good old Beck, the same man who had taught her all she knew about sniping and saved her ass too many times to count.

  If she was going to have to die with someone, she was glad to be able to do it with him.

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, and Kaylin bolted upright, staring at the door. It slowly creaked open, and two guards walked inside.

  They were both boys, and both far too young to be carrying guns. One looked in his early teens, the other a year or two older. The older boy was tall and broad-chested, and he walked with all the arrogant swagger of a teenager who was convinced he was invincible. The younger one was shorter and slim, but there was something about him that set Kaylin on edge. He seemed to prowl as he walked, moving with the confident grace of a tiger stalking its prey.

  The shorter boy stayed back near the door, standing in the shadows, while the taller one strode forward toward the cell. He rapped the tip of his rifle against the bars, as if he was worried their attention wasn't already glued to him.

  Kaylin didn't stand. She didn't even meet the guards' eyes. She just leaned back against the wall and said in a bored tone, "Look, you two have already made plenty of noise stomping around in your boots like monkeys. No need to go clanging your toy against the bars, too."

  The effect was immediate: the boy's face reddened with anger and embarrassment. He may have been trained as a soldier, but he was still a teenage boy at heart. Nothing was going to unsettle him more easily than a girl mocking him.

  Part of her felt bad—she was literally making fun of a kid. But the other part recognized that this child was holding them hostage, and the more flustered he was, the more easy he would be to control and get information from.

  The boy pointed his gun at her. "This isn't a toy," he snarled. Under his angry tone, Kaylin detected an American accent. Southern, from the sound of it. She absently wondered if this boy might have come from Florida, the same god-forsaken place this hellish mission had started.

  Kaylin raised her eyebrows, refusing to show any fear. "Rule number one of bootcamp: don't ever point a loaded weapon at anything you're not ready to shoot." She smiled prettily at the boy. "Now, tell me, kid, are you actually ready to shoot me? Or is your Shepherd going to give you a spanking if you start knocking off his prisoners?"

  His blush deepened to a beet-red color, and he shook his rifle toward Kaylin. "Shut your mouth, or I'll shoot it off!"

  "Hmm," Kaylin said, tilting her head. "I'm curious how you plan to 'shoot off' my mouth. You've never actually shot anyone, have you? Because if you had, you'd know that body parts don't just start flying off like Lego blocks."

  Beside her, Beck raised his eyebrows just slightly. It was a familiar look he'd given her so many times before, one that said, "I hope to God you know what you're doing, you crazy idiot." She discreetly reached over and patted his thigh, letting him know that she knew exactly what she was doing.

  At least she hoped she did. She was pretty sure if she could get this boy worked up enough, he was going to start saying stuff he didn't mean to. Stuff that could give them vital information.

  Or he might just lose his shit and actually shoot her. But it was worth the risk.

  Hopefully.

  "I said shut the fuck up!" the boy snarled.

  Beck cleared his throat lightly and raised a finger. "I think what you actually said to her was, 'Shut your mouth.' There were no fucks involved."

  The boy snarled a curse at them both and slammed the butt of his gun against the bars of the cell. Kaylin's heart gave a kick of fear. Even though he was just a boy, he was still almost six feet tall, and he clearly had no issues handling a rifle. But she refused to let her fear show as she reached over and tapped her knuckles lightly against the cell bars.

  "This here is called 'steel,'" she said. "It's going to take more than knocking on these bars to break them."

  "I'm not trying to break them!" the boy snarled.

  "Oh," Kaylin said, feigning surprise. "So then what exactly are you doing?"

  The boy's mouth snapped shut, and his jaw ground back and forth as he struggled to find an answer. He seemed to know that saying, "I was trying to intimidate you," would just sound childish, but apparently he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  "Get away from them, Gavin." It was the shorter boy by the door who spoke, his words cutting through the air like a whip. "Can't you tell she's baiting you? You're making a fool of yourself."

  The boy spoke with bored contempt, as if he was sick and tired of having to give critique. He had an American accent, and there was something eerily familiar about his voice. Kaylin strained her mind, trying to figure out where she’d heard it before, but she couldn’t place it.

  Gavin whirled toward the other boy, his hands still clutched around his rifle in a death grip. For a single moment, Kaylin was sure that Gavin was going to start a fight. But when he met the other boy's eyes, his shoulders stiffened and he lowered his gaze to the ground.

  "Screw off," Gavin muttered, but his eyes remained cast toward the floor, as if he didn't dare meet the other boy’s glare. "It's not like you're doing anything to help."

  "You're not doing anything to help, either," the shorter boy said. "So shut up and let me do the talking."

  The boy stepped out of the shadows by the doorway and strode up to their cell, still casually cradling the rifle in his hands. "We need to know exactly who you are," he said, his tone stern and brisk. "Your names, your mission, your employers. The Shepherd is going to come in here in about ten minutes, and when that happens, you'd better have all that info ready to share. And no bullshitting, unless you want a bullet in your skull. Understood?"

  No. No, Kaylin didn't understand it at all. Now that she had a better view of the boy's face, she didn't just see a young soldier. She saw familiar hazel eyes, the exact same shade as her own, and light tan skin, and long eyelashes, and an oval face with sharp cheekbones.

  She saw her brother. Kaylin blinked, waiting for the similarities to fade, like they always did when she caught sight of someone who looked similar to Jaxon. But they didn't. It wasn't an illusion or wishful thinking. It was Jaxon, standing right in front of her, barely three feet away.

  But Jaxon was dead. He had been for three years. He'd been killed during the first week of the Syndicate War.

  Yet here he was, right in front of her. He looked older, of course. Last she'd seen him, he'd been twelve-years-old, which meant he was fifteen now. But even though he’d grown taller and broader, Kaylin knew it was him. She'd recognize him anywhere.

  Shock lit Jax’s face as he got a good look at her. He froze three steps from the cell, silently gaping at her.

  Beside him, Gavin spoke up. "What the hell are you trying to do, Jax? Stare them to death?”

  Jaxon ignored him and stepped closer to Kaylin, reaching out to grab one of the bars of the cell. His hand curled slowly around it, as if he was half-expecting it to disappear in a puff of smoke, like something out of a dream.

  Kaylin reached up and lightly pressed her fingertips against her brother’s hand. His skin felt warm. Real. Alive.

  "Jaxon?" she whispered.

  He swallowed hard and nodded, and his voice trembled slightly as he said, "Kaylin." It wasn't a question, just a statement of utter shock.

  "I thought you were dead."

  They both said the sentence at the exact same time, the words rushing out of their mouths. Kaylin shook her head, struggling to believe any of this was even happening. Her little brother was alive. And he was holding a rifle and standing guard in the Wardens’ base.

  "I'm sorry," Kaylin whispered, her voice trembling. She squeezed his hand as best
she could through the tightly-spaced bars. "I'm so, so sorry."

  She didn't really understand what she was apologizing for, because she had no idea how the hell he was even alive. She'd watched their apartment complex get hit by a bomb that had completely obliterated the building. Absolutely no one could have survived that blast, which meant...

  She didn't know. None of this made sense. None of it at all.

  "You know each other?"

  It was Beck who spoke. Kaylin jumped in surprise, having nearly forgotten he was sitting right next to her.

  Kaylin nodded, and she could hardly believe her own words as she said, "This is my brother."

  Beck's eyes widened in disbelief. He opened his mouth, as if to protest, but then he peered more closely at Jaxon. It only took him a second to come to the obvious conclusion: they looked far too similar to not be related.

  "Holy shit," Beck breathed, slowly shaking his head.

  Jaxon suddenly jerked backwards, yanking his hand away from the bar. He rubbed at his fingers with his other hand, as if trying to scrub away the feeling of Kaylin's touch, and his eyes narrowed in a suspicious stare.

  "This is some sort of trick, isn't it?" he hissed.

  Kaylin shook her head. "No, Jax. It's really me."

  Behind him, Gavin took a tentative step forward. "Jax, is that actually your sister?"

  "No," he barked, turning to shoot Gavin a sharp glare. "Of course it's not. It's some sort of illusion. A trick. It must be one of those alien devices they sell on the black market, one that can mess with people’s heads."

  “It’s not a trick, Jax,” Kaylin insisted. “I’m real. I promise you, this is real.”

  Jaxon shook his head frantically, and she saw panic flash across his expression. "My sister is dead. She's been dead for three freaking years. I don't know who the hell you are, but you’re not my sister.”

  Kaylin’s gut dropped at the familiar distress in his voice. More than anything in the world, Jaxon hated lies. When their mom had first been diagnosed with cancer, everyone had tried to console Jax by telling him the same thing over and over again: “It’s all going to be just fine. Hardly anyone dies from cancer these days.” Then the treatment had failed, leaving their mom dead and Jaxon traumatized and hypersensitive to lies.

  Kaylin kept her voice soft as she said, "I’m not lying, Jax. It's me. I swear to God, it's me."

  Gavin frowned as he glanced between the two of them. Then he pointed a hesitant finger at Kaylin. "She's been stripped of all her belongings. They both have. So I don't think she could have any sort of black market device on her."

  "Shut the hell up, Gavin!" Jaxon snarled. "How stupid are you? You're really going to fall for a trick that easily?”

  As he spoke, he stalked closer to Gavin, his fists clenched and his muscles taut with anger. Gavin took a step back, his eyes widening in fear. Even though Jaxon was nearly half a foot shorter, Gavin was clearly scared of his temper.

  Kaylin's shock slowly began to fade, but it was quickly replaced by pain that constricted her chest. This was Jaxon in front of her. The same little boy who'd spend days crafting the perfect cards for her birthday, who'd always brought extra snacks to school in case his friends forgot theirs, who cried at all the sad parts of every movie. He was the sweetest, gentlest kid Kaylin had ever known.

  And here he was, prowling around with a rifle, angry and volatile enough to make a fellow soldier scared.

  "Stop acting like that," she whispered. "Please. Just… don’t do this."

  She couldn't stand to watch his ferocious glare, to listen to the hollow anger that twisted his words. It seemed like fate was mocking her by bringing her brother back from the dead, only to turn him into some sort of demented version of his former self.

  His lip twisted in a vicious sneer as he whirled toward her. "Do what?" he demanded. "Call you on your bullshit?"

  Kaylin opened her mouth to beg him to quit acting so angry. But then some sort of big-sister instinct kicked in, and all that came out was, "Watch your language."

  Jaxon blinked a few times, shock crossing his face. Then his expression darkened. "What the fuck did you just say?"

  "I said, watch your language," Kaylin repeated, her tone growing sterner. "Quit swearing at everyone. Mom and I didn't raise you to talk like some disrespectful brat."

  He lunged forward, moving with the agility of an angry wildcat, and slammed the butt of his gun against the bars. "Stop messing with me. I know you're not my sister, so quit trying to pretend you are!"

  She shook her head and crossed her arms, meeting his glare with a stern look. "Look, maybe there's some cloaking technology out there that lets people look like other people. I'm sure it exists somewhere, but I don't have it. I'm just me. Kaylin. Your sister."

  Jaxon shook his head, but she could see uncertainty begin to overcome the anger in his expression. She took a deep breath and stood up. A small jolt of shock ran through her as she realized he was taller than her now. Jaxon had always been tiny for his age, and it'd been a habit for her to reach down and ruffle his soft brown hair. But he'd grown an incredible amount in the three years they'd been apart, and even though he was still a little shorter than most fifteen-year-olds, she had to look up to meet his eyes.

  "I am your sister," she said. She kept her tone firm, but she lowered her voice slightly, so only Jaxon could hear. "I know things about you absolutely no one else could know. I know that your favorite ice cream is chocolate with peanut butter chunks, but Mom didn't like you eating sugar, so you only got to eat it on holidays. I know that your favorite animal is the Siberian Tiger, but you hated going to see them at the zoo, because you didn’t like seeing them locked up. I know that math is your favorite subject in school, because there’s always a right or wrong answer. And I know that you absolutely hate jazz music, but you always pretended to like it, just to make Mom happy.”

  Jaxon’s eyes grew wider with each word she spoke, and he slowly shook his head back and forth. But she could see his disbelief slowly melting away, so she pushed on, the words coming out in a rush.

  “I know our mom died of cancer when you were just seven, and I know you were so freaking strong, and that you tried so hard to comfort me, even though I was ten-years-older and supposed to be the strong one. And I know I loved every minute I spent raising you after that, even though I had no idea what I was doing and was scared out of my mind. And I know that when I thought you died, it damn near killed me, too.”

  She swallowed hard and shook her head. “But you’re not dead. You’re right here. I don’t know how the hell that’s possible, but it’s happening.”

  Something warm trickled down her cheek, and she realized she was crying. She blinked a few times and ran a shaky hand over her cheek. Jaxon blinked rapidly, struggling to keep back tears of his own. He hesitantly reached his hand back toward her, slipping his fingers through the bars of the cell. Kaylin pressed her hand against his, trembling slightly as she felt the warmth of his touch.

  “I missed you,” he said. Suddenly, his voice was a shaky, hesitant whisper that belonged to a young boy.

  Kaylin wanted nothing more than to pull him into a tight hug and murmur words of comfort in his ear, like she used to when he was little. But she couldn't. Her situation slammed into her, bringing her crashing back to reality.

  She was locked in a cell in the Wardens’ base. Even if Lio and the others somehow managed to get the Virtue and get out, she and Beck were going to be left behind as prisoners, and they'd be sentenced to death. And that was the best-case scenario. More likely, the others would fail, the Resistance would bomb the base, and everyone inside would die.

  Including Jaxon.

  She bit back a torrent of curses. It just wasn't goddamn fair. Nothing ever was, but this hit her in the gut harder than ever. She'd only just found Jaxon, and now she was going to lose him again. This time permanently.

  Unless... Unless Jaxon could help stop that from happening. She squeezed Jaxon's hand more tigh
tly and leaned forward, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper.

  "You need to listen to me, and listen close," she said. "Your life is in danger. You need to let me out of here, so I can get you to safety."

  Some of the softness leaked out of Jaxon’s expression, leaving a sharp frown on his lips. He stared at Kaylin hard, glancing between her and Beck and the lock on the cage. "What are you even doing here?" he demanded, his voice hardening. "Why were you trying to sneak onto our base?"

  "Good question," Gavin said, stepping forward. He raised his eyebrows at Jaxon. "And I also want to ask you how the hell your sister managed to get so close to breaking in."

  "I don't know," Jaxon snapped, turning to shoot Gavin a glare. "Why else would I be questioning her?”

  Gavin snorted. "You really expect me to believe that you don’t know?" he said, his tone turning mocking. "So it's just a total coincidence that right after the Shepherd put you on a security team, your sister breaks through the tunnel security system, disables all our cameras, kills a bunch of guards, and nearly makes it into the damn base?"

  A fierce protectiveness welled in Kaylin's chest, the same sort of hot anger she'd felt whenever Jaxon used to tell her he was getting picked on at school.

  "Yes," Kaylin said, raising her voice and staring straight at Gavin. "It's a coincidence, and you're a fool if you think it's an impossible one."

  Gavin's eyes narrowed, but Kaylin rushed on, mentally putting together the pieces of the puzzle.

  "Where are you from?" she demanded, gesturing to Gavin. "Tampa?"

  His smirk turned into a frown. "How the hell do you know that?"

  "Because your accent sounds Southern, and because the Wardens aren't exactly subtle in their recruiting process," Kaylin said. "Pretty much everyone knows the cities they recruited from the most after the Syndicate War. Tampa, New York, Charlotte, Chicago, and Cleveland were the main ones. The most decimated cities with the most desperate people.”

  She gestured between her and Jaxon. "We're from Cleveland. Born and raised there. And I'm guessing you know at least a few dozen other Wardens who were recruited out of Cleveland."