He doesn’t have to spell it out. If the Councilors find out about the Order, there’s not a doubt in either of our minds they’ll attempt to either destroy or manipulate us. They’re already angered by our presence, as the public’s approval of us extends much further than for them. Austin is giving me an ultimatum.
Lai? Are you there?
I’m here. There’s a long pause before she continues, but I know what she’ll say. Tell him we’ll do it. But he better get his soldiers there fast. We’ll buy him twenty minutes, max, and then we’re pulling out.
I relay her decision to Austin and he smiles thinly. “Twenty minutes will be more than enough,” Austin says. “If you can exhaust their forces, there should be less loss on our side, too.”
A plan that’s much more advantageous for the military than the Order—especially since the Council will likely claim this victory as entirely its own. However, if this arrangement can protect the sector from harm and the Order from discovery, we don’t have much choice in the matter.
“I’m sorry to say, but I do have a meeting to get to,” Austin says. He stands from his desk, nearly toppling a stack of coffee-stained mugs that Noah just barely manages to catch in time. “I hadn’t anticipated you coming tonight.”
“A meeting this late?” I ask.
“War doesn’t care about time, sadly.”
He isn’t the general of Sector Eight’s military for nothing, I suppose. The exhaustion dripping from his presence reminds me of Lai. However, I say nothing of it. Everyone’s doing their best right now.
“Thank you for tonight, General Austin,” I say. “The Order appreciates your support, as always.”
“And I appreciate their intel.” Austin’s presence is tinged with amusement. His hand rests on the doorknob. “Don’t forget to collect the next order of supplies tomorrow, same place and time as usual. Tell Lai I say hi and that I hope she’s doing well. Noah, if you could see Kitahara out?”
“Of course, sir.”
With a final nod, Austin leaves the office and locks the door behind him. It’s just me and Noah.
For the past two months, I’ve been searching for every scrap of information I can on Noah. Yet despite the Order’s extensive intelligence network and my asking those in the Order who were in the military long before I was, there’s nothing. I know more about him from what Austin told me than I do from my fruitless search. In some ways, it makes sense. If Noah was born into the military, then of course the military would have all his files—and they’d all be confidential, given his high-ranking position as the general’s secretary and his role as a direct subordinate of the High Council.
Without more information, I can’t trust him, and yet, nothing negative has come so far of his joining my and Austin’s meetings. Nothing suspicious has occurred with our exchange of information or the supplies the military has given the Order. The Council appears no more knowledgeable about the Order than the rest of the sector. There’s no indication he’s done anything that would harm us. Yet.
I glance at Noah, but he’s merely placing the mugs he caught earlier in an already-existing pile of dirty dishes in the corner of the room. Prior to the war, he was always the one who kept Austin’s office organized and clean. Now, it appears even he doesn’t have time to take care of such mundane tasks.
“Have you been doing well lately?” I ask. “You look exhausted.”
“Who isn’t these days?” Noah asks. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
I need to take advantage of us being alone for once to learn more about him—which means we need to talk about something that will hit close to home for him. Erik and the High Council are clearly sore spots for him. We haven’t talked one-on-one since those first couple of meetings, so I don’t know the reason. However, I can find out. I don’t like cornering others with my gift, but if it’s a choice between that or potentially being betrayed, it’s not truly a choice at all. Besides, I’m worried about his connection with my friend. What if he could hurt Erik?
“Erik’s been complaining about all the work lately, too,” I say. “He keeps saying he’d rather just build furniture.”
As expected, Noah’s presence spikes when I say Erik’s name. But his smile becomes a real one. “That sounds like him,” he says. “He’s better suited to art than fighting, don’t you think?”
“I do,” I say. That, at least, isn’t a lie. “So he was drawing and building even when you knew him?”
“Always.”
“Really? How long ago did you two meet?”
Noah’s presence abruptly withdraws into itself. Cautious. His smile drops. “A few years. I don’t remember exactly when.”
He’s not lying, but that doesn’t tell me much, either. “How did you two meet? You never said.” It shouldn’t have been possible with Erik having been a rebel and Noah being a soldier. How they met could say a lot about their relationship and who exactly Noah is. By this point in our alliance, I don’t think he could possibly be a rebel, but that doesn’t mean he’s not suspicious for other reasons.
“No,” Noah says slowly. “I didn’t.”
I hold up my hands placatingly. “I’m merely curious. The only Erik I know is the one right in front of me. I just wanted to learn more about him, if he was different before he lost his memories.”
Noah looks me up and down, likely attempting to decide how sincere I am and whether or not I can be trusted. I smile; however, I don’t know if that helps or hurts. I’m not very good at creating a fake impression of trustworthiness.
Finally, he says, “He was very different then. You wouldn’t have even recognized him.” He’s not lying, but when he adds, “Sometimes, I think maybe it’s better he forgot his past so he could get this new start,” his presence plummets into a deep violet of guilt and anxiety. It overwhelms anything else he’s feeling. But why?
“I didn’t realize there was that much of a difference,” I say. “Is the reason you never wanted to talk to Erik after he lost his memories because he wasn’t like the friend you remembered?”
“No. That wasn’t it.”
Still not lying. But none of this is helpful. “Then why the secrecy? I don’t understand.”
“Like I said before, it would complicate—”
“That’s not an answer. If I suddenly lost my memories, I would still want Lai, Al, Erik, and all my other friends to talk to me. I would want them to remind me of what I lost.”
“What if it’s better Erik doesn’t remember what he lost?” Noah asks. His presence vacillates between sincerity and that guilt. “What if reminding him of all that just makes him miserable? He wasn’t—content. Before. If I came back into his life or told him about his past, wouldn’t that just ruin his chance to start over and be happy?”
“Is that really something for you to decide?” I ask.
Noah’s presence switches into sudden, explosive anger, though his expression doesn’t show it. His fingers twitch. I tense in case he attacks. “You don’t know anything,” he says.
“You’re right,” I say. “Like I said, the only Erik I know is the one who exists right now. And I’m worried about him.” There’s little point in being subtle anymore. Besides, from his presence, I can tell Noah truly is concerned about Erik. That relationship, whatever form it took, is important to him. So long as he understands that I’m speaking from a place of worry for Erik, I believe he might be more honest with me. At the very least, I don’t think he’ll turn on me. “You said you were friends, yet you don’t want him to know about you. You’re cagey about your history with him. You work directly for the Council—the ones who turned on Erik and the rest of us. Isn’t it a given I would want to know more? To confirm whether or not I can trust you and whether you mean any harm to Erik?”
Noah glares daggers at me, but I hold his gaze. In the past two months I’ve spent meeting with him and Austin, there are things I’ve come to understand about Noah. Most importantly, that he doesn’t seem like a bad person. I don’t
know where his loyalties lie or what he might do, but I don’t believe he wishes to harm others.
Sure enough, his presence begins to dim. The fury fades out, replaced with his former exhaustion. It’s heavier now, more solid than before.
“You can sense if someone is lying, right?” Noah eventually asks.
I hesitate. Nod.
“Then you’ll know I’m telling the truth. I’d never deliberately hurt Erik. I’ve done what I have because I care about him deeply. I don’t have any intention of betraying him, you, or the Order. Even if the Council finds out about all of you, I won’t say or do anything to help them. I hate the Council.” His hands crumple into fists. “It’s true I follow their orders. The Council raised me to be … the perfect spy. My job is to get Nytes from other sectors over into Sector Eight’s military. By any means. If I don’t, they’ll kill me. If I mess up, I’m punished.” His thumb traces raised scars over his hands, and shock spikes through me. Kill him? The Council is terrible, but I never thought they’d have me killed if I didn’t carry out my orders. Why would they take such extreme measures against Noah over recruiting other gifted? I can’t ask before he continues. “I’ve never obeyed them because I wanted to. I have my reasons for not wanting Erik to know we were friends—but they have nothing to do with you or this war. Is that good enough for you? Can you stop prying now?”
He truly didn’t lie at any point. Every word he said rang with truth, not only through my gift, but in the sincerity with which he spoke. There are still more things I don’t know about him than things I do. However, I’m aware he won’t tell me more than this, and he’s already said what I need to know. He won’t betray Erik or the Order.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to make you upset or push you. I didn’t know about your circumstances, either. I just…”
Noah releases a slow stream of breath. “No. I understand. You want to protect the people important to you. I get that.”
“Thank you. And thank you for being honest with me. I don’t know what exactly you’re going through, but I hope it gets better.” An empty condolence. However, it’s the only thing I can think to say.
“Thanks.” Noah doesn’t look at me. “You’d better go. It’s getting late.”
19
AL
I’M EXHAUSTED AFTER today’s training session. We didn’t go too hard because of the huge fight tomorrow, but my worry for everyone drained me. Fixing postures, testing their strength and reflexes, watching them spar—every small thing wore me out.
When practice finishes, I clap my hands to get everyone’s attention. A few hundred people look to me. Something swells inside my chest as I take them all in. They’ve been working hard these last few months. They’ve come so far, and they’ve been so brave and dedicated. “Good work today, everyone. You’ve got a big day up ahead, so rest and make sure you’ve got everything ready. Remember what you learned. Try not to overstress. You’re all going to do great.”
They cheer even though I wasn’t expecting them to. Maybe I should’ve tried to say something more motivational. But I’m not really good at that kind of stuff—that’s more Walker’s thing. I’m better at being straightforward and trying to give them advice on what to do to stay alive.
My students pick up their water and towels. Some hang around and chat. Most leave. If they’re on the ambush team to stall the rebels’ big attack, they’ve probably got a lot to do. Supplies to prepare, goodbyes to say. Just in case.
As many students as I have now, there used to be more. I close my eyes as each face comes to mind. Sam, a redheaded woman with a good eye for throwing knives. Iljean, an older man who worked hard to make up for the fact that he wasn’t as fit as everyone else. Arman, a boy around my age whose defense was always just a little too weak, his sword positioning too easy to break through. I wonder if that’s what got him in the end.
I watch my remaining students. How many of them won’t come back to me? Who won’t I see again? I’ve done what I can, and they’ve all gotten stronger. But this is war. I’m not so naive as to think no one will die.
I join one of the chatting groups. Irina, Arman’s older sister, stands with them. She’s been a lot quieter since her brother’s death, but she hasn’t missed a single practice. “Irina,” I say. “Mind if I talk to you for a minute?”
She nods and leaves her group with a wave. They don’t say anything, but their eyes follow us. I make sure we’re far enough away that no one can eavesdrop before I turn back to her. “Hey. Are you doing okay? I heard you volunteered for the battle.”
“Yes.” Irina looks at me like I just said something as obvious as “the Order’s at war with the rebels.”
I shake my head. “You’re not being reckless, are you? Running off into a fight to avenge your brother? This isn’t like the Order’s other missions. This isn’t a surprise raid on a small group of rebels. They’re going to be attacking the sector with a huge strike force. If you rush in, you’re not going to make it out. Arman wouldn’t want that.”
Irina tilts her head. Her eyes run me up and down, like she’s reassessing me. I don’t like it.
“I know it’s different,” she says. “And I know it’s important. That’s why I’m going. I love my brother. I miss him a lot, and I appreciate you remembering us and checking in on me. But I’m not fighting for something like revenge.”
I narrow my eyes. “Really.”
“Really.” She says it so simply I almost have to believe her. “Even if I knew who killed my brother, it’s not like killing that person would bring him back. Revenge wouldn’t change anything.”
Something jerks in my stomach. “It wouldn’t bring Arman back, but you’d be delivering justice, wouldn’t you?”
“What kind of justice would that be? Killing someone because they’re fighting for what they believe in at the risk of their own life, just like we are? Whoever killed Arman probably had friends and family waiting for them to return. They fought so they could live. That’s all. My brother knew the risk of fighting, and so do I. Is that it?”
She acts tough—a girl after my own heart—but I hear the hitch in her voice. She’s trying not to cry.
“I just wanted to make sure you’d be okay,” I say. “I’m sorry if I assumed something you don’t like. You can go—be sure to get plenty of rest.”
She nods tightly and goes back to her group. She barely stops to grab her stuff before leaving her friends and heading out.
I sigh. Did I really say something that bad? She seemed pretty upset. Was it just because I brought up Arman? Or is she that against the idea of revenge? Well, either way, I’m glad it doesn’t sound like she’s going into the fight to find her brother’s killer.
What about you? a voice says in the back of my head. If you’re so relieved she’s not looking for revenge, how come you’re still going after it?
Irina’s situation is different. This is war—of course people are going to kill and be killed. Mother and Father didn’t do anything wrong when my brother suddenly murdered them. And then he ran away like a coward. I’m going to deliver the justice they deserve. That’s all.
But the doubt won’t stop nagging me. Why did my brother kill our parents? We were a happy family. I always thought he loved them as much as I did. Our parents tried to do whatever they could to make us happy even though we didn’t have money—they picked up odd jobs to buy us books, toys, sweets. They didn’t even care that I was a Nyte. They never treated me any differently. If they knew my brother was a Nyte, they never showed it.
Something sticks in my throat, and I start straightening up the practice weapons rack so I can keep my hands busy. How could I not have known my own brother was a Nyte? What’s his gift? When did he know he was a Nyte? Was it before he killed our parents or after? Was he hiding it from us? Does him being gifted have something to do with why he killed Mother and Father?
A headache pounds at the back of my head. Along with Irina’s words. Revenge wouldn’t cha
nge anything.
It’s not like I ever expected our parents to come back. I’m not stupid. But for so long, revenge was all I had. And once I joined the military, there was no backing out. There was nothing else I even wanted to try doing.
But it’s not like that anymore. I left the military. I’m free. I’m fighting for something I actually believe in, with friends I love and students I’m proud of. I have so much now. I don’t need revenge to keep living anymore.
What about my brother—the choices he’s made? I used to just be filled with anger and hate when I thought of him. Now, the hate is still there, but duller. Less urgent than the questions of why.
He’s still a murderer. He’s still a rebel. But for the first time, more than wanting to kill him, I want to talk to him. I want to know what he was thinking, how my kind, thoughtful older brother turned into a monster. I’ll probably still have to kill him—he’s a rebel, so we’re enemies no matter what. But there are things I want to ask him before that.
“Al? You got a minute?”
I stop messing with the practice weapons and turn around to see Lai and Jay waiting. Lai’s arms are crossed, and her heel taps against the floor like standing still for five seconds is going to kill her.
“Sure,” I say. “What is it?”
“Not here.” Lai jerks her chin toward the training room’s entrance.
I look to Jay, but he shrugs like he doesn’t know what’s going on, either. I shrug back and we follow her out into the halls until we get to an empty room.
Lai doesn’t talk until the door’s closed. “With all the prep for tomorrow’s battle, there’s something I think you both should know,” she says. “Just in case the worst happens.” She talks briskly, like she’s giving orders to troops. But she won’t really meet our eyes, and her shoulders slump with exhaustion. She’s making me worried.
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