We will survive the grief, and we will live.
Somehow.
A small door on the outer wall of the compound bursts open, and soldiers run out, coughing and stumbling. Some collapse, while others set their hands on their heads, dropping to their knees as Southern soldiers pour from the aircraft, taking control of the crowd.
Cash leaves to help monitor the wounded, burned Watchers fleeing the fire. Bo appears from another side of the compound, followed by several Watchers wearing white bands. I think back on how I didn’t trust him. I’m relieved he didn’t betray us.
Takeshi grabs my wrist, pulling. “Come meet my father.”
Nervous currents cross my chest. Come meet the king, is what he's saying, and I don't know how to believe it. But he’s so excited, almost giddy for the first time in weeks. I follow him through the crowd, and my mind races, thinking over all the things I don't know. I don't know how to talk to a king. I don't know how to address him. How do I act?
The crowd thins the closer we come to the large aircraft, and my gaze settles on a man with dark hair and the same face as Takeshi, only older. Refined. His posture is strong, eyes fierce when they take in the surroundings. His clothes resemble the other soldiers: navy uniform and several holstered weapons. Nothing sets him apart except the gentle smile he offers Takeshi when we enter his line of vision.
“Son!”
Arms wrap tight, hands ball into fists, and their eyes close. I stand a few steps back, watching and missing that kind of embrace. The kind parents give.
“Well done, Takeshi,” the king says, his hand cupping his son's neck. Takeshi shakes his head.
“We lost so many, Father. I'm sorry.”
His expression falls, dropping to sadness, but the king only presses a hand firm to the prince's shoulder and levels their eyes.
“And you saved many. I said well done.”
The king's eyes flick to mine, and I hold his gaze. Wind blows my hair in all directions. My body is wounded and dirty, blood stains streaking my skin and clothes. But the look he gives me erases all the anxiety I felt. His gaze is kind.
“Father, I want you to meet Hannah.” They move toward me together, and I square my shoulders, chin up. I will not be weak before him.
“You must be exhausted,” says the king, stretching a hand for me to shake.
I lower my head a little, because it feels right. “As much as anyone.”
“Where do you come from?”
A long pause passes, gazes held steady. He's waiting, and I'm struggling inside, fighting back emotions welling at the wrong moment. I swallow. Again.
“Tower fifteen.”
Another stretch of silence.
“A Worker,” he murmurs.
Pride fills me.
“I am.”
He doesn't examine me, look me over, or assess me. There is no curiosity making his eyes widen. Only respect and a hand on my arm.
“Such an honor to meet you,” he says, touching the other hand to his heart. “And I'm sorry. This should never have happened.”
“Hannah's close with Cash Gray,” Takeshi says. “Their friendship has been inspiring countless Watchers to join us.”
The king's eyebrow raises. “Is that so? I would imagine growing close with a Watcher would be difficult for you, to say the least.”
“Not with him,” I say.
He nods, a gentle knowing passing over his expression.
“You must be ready to leave. Takeshi will place you safely on an aircraft. It's been my pleasure. I hope we meet again soon.”
I smile. “Me too.”
His hand pats my shoulder when he leaves. I don't follow him with my gaze, but stand motionless, thinking over our visit. He's just what I hoped.
Takeshi grins. “Feeling real now?”
Finally, after all the heaviness, I allow room for excitement.
“Where do we go? Cash and me...”
“Ride with me,” he says. “Father will want to talk with Cash anyway.”
Around us as we walk, Southern soldiers take in the scene with varied reactions. Some are angry, others driven and focused. There are some who stare awestruck at the grand disaster laid before them.
A few yards ahead, a woman stands unmoving, her gaze glued to the wildfire raging behind the wall. She turns her paled face to us as we pass. Her eyebrows lift in astonishment.
“Sir,” she says to Takeshi. He stops at her side, and I stand at his.
“What was this?” she asks.
“Watcher compound,” says Takeshi. “Held their barracks, airfield, armory—all of it.”
“You did this?”
“The Council,” I say, and our eyes meet.
“They burned their own compound?”
A few beats pass, and Takeshi turns away from the fires. “And everything in it,” he says, gaze touching mine.
“People?” she says. I let my look tell her.
More Watchers escape, spilling from doors, and the rebels rush to receive them. It's different this time; surrender with no choice means nothing compared to the ones who joined us on purpose; these soldiers in black are met by drawn weapons.
I wander the street, unsure what my role is now. Maybe I'm done, finished trying to be something I am not. I am not a soldier trained for war. But I am something more than I was, and one Watcher played a large role in making it so.
My head turns, glancing back to catch a glimpse of him.
What I see is Sterling, the commander of the Council's forces, staggering with a gun from an open compound door.
He fires. And Cash falls.
25
What if he doesn’t love me?
It was my greatest fear when my parents told me about assigned coupling. They’d been lucky enough to choose.
What have we taught you about love? My father asked, kneeling by my cot. What must you always remember?
I closed my eyes, searching for the lesson. The one thing. Father chuckled. Touched his palm to the side of my head.
Love is a gift. And even if it’s not returned, we can’t stop. Right now, it’s the only weapon we have.
He smiled. Who knows. Maybe your love will free him.
My chest cracks, so violent I stumble, blind. I can’t see past these tears.
Faces fly past in a haze of colors, but I don’t register them.
I run, staring at the place he fell, where soldiers rush, shouting orders, calling for medics. Sterling took a dozen bullets. His body lies sprawled on the ground.
My feet won’t go faster, and I feel like I’m stuck in a dream. I’m trapped in a nightmare and cannot escape it.
I drop the street at his side, saying his name.
Saying his name.
Screaming his name.
He doesn’t respond.
He’s shaking, gaze erratic, unfocused—until he sees me.
He locks on my eyes like hands gripping, and I am the only thing keeping him from slipping. But I’m not enough to hold him.
Never enough.
“Hannah,” he whispers, and I’m spinning, crashing, dying from the inside out. I lean until our foreheads nearly touch, until I can’t see the blood or the medics or the crowd. He touches my cheek. Touches my jaw. Scarring my skin with this memory.
“I love you, soldier,” he says, and my sobs are quiet. But only because I’m exhausted. I’m tired, and we were almost out. I could close my eyes and sleep here, draped over his body, and maybe then the grief wouldn’t come. I want to grab this minute, this second, and make time stop. Go back. Let me warn him.
“We leave together,” I say. I pull back to see him.
“Hannah—”
“Say it.”
Tears drain from his eyes. “You have to see it for me.” I almost respond, fighting back, but his look stops me. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers.
Pain cuts off his words. I tremble because he’s wrong. I won’t be okay if everyone I love dies in this valley. Why is he leaving me too? It was
over. We were done.
“Get him up!” someone shouts. They lift him, hauling his body off the cold ground. He grunts, crying out when pain hits.
I stand with them, keeping contact until he’s out of reach.
“Clear a path,” a voice bellows, and they're running with him, rushing him toward an aircraft. I chase after them.
A hand flies out, stopping me. “You can't take this flight, miss. Grab another, and we'll reconnect you on the other side.”
My heart hammers, feeling the yards stretching between us.
“He wants me with him. Ask him. Please, I have to go!”
“It's full. This is a med flight.”
“Let me on!”
Someone grabs me from behind just before I lunge at the man, ready to shove my way if I have to. I can't see him anymore. Can't see if he's breathing or crying or needing comfort. Can't see if they're being careful or quick or wise. I have to help. Have to be there, but someone pulls me back. All the way to the ground, holding me down.
“Let him go,” Takeshi says. “They'll take good care of him, Hannah. I promise.”
The door of the aircraft slams shut and the engine fires up. My heart splits, tears down the middle, and one half is leaving on that flight. Despair is a broken kind of feeling. I can't take any more of it.
“Say it,” I whisper in quiet sobs, my brain spinning out of reason, stuck. “We leave together. Say it.”
But he’s gone.
My face contorts, and the pain is gutting. My body bends under the strain.
They lift into the air, and I stare through tears as he disappears over the mountains.
“Come on,” Takeshi urges. “Let’s go!”
He pulls me from the ground, and I run after him, losing energy with every step. We reach the large aircraft where we met the king, and stairs lead us up and in.
“We’ll leave as soon as my father is ready.” Takeshi guides me through a short, narrow hall, and we enter into an area covered in plush, blue seats.
“Sit here,” he says, gesturing to a wide chair by an oval window.
It’s quiet in this place; the walls block the outside noise, and already I feel removed from the valley. Tear-stained and weak, I lower slow to the chair and stare ahead, processing.
Takeshi kneels beside me.
“Ben,” I say. “When will they get the others? I want Ben to come to me.”
“I’ll see to it,” he murmurs, eyebrows pulled in. He touches my arm, like he’s going to speak.
“And Sam,” I blurt out. “His siblings. They should be with me too.”
“I understand.”
I could go on naming names, asking for favors, but the words stop, because Cash fills my thoughts. He told me, just days ago, that he wouldn’t want the South without me. But the tables have turned, and until I know what’s become of him, I can’t enjoy it.
“I’m sorry, Hannah,” the prince says. “I’m sorry this happened. Especially to the two of you, after everything you’ve been through.”
Silence.
His exhausted gaze mirrors all the things I feel. We sit here blood-stained and bruised. Damaged and tired.
My voice is barely a sound when I whisper, “I don’t know what to do without him.”
It isn’t that I need him—that I am incapable without his help. I have survived over a decade on my own. But I want him with me, and I don’t know the South. I don’t want to navigate it without him. I don’t want to see new things and breathe new air unless we can share it.
I want him to experience life beyond the shadow of his father.
I swallow the next sob, and it hurts.
Takeshi nods. “I know. I promise I’ll tell you as soon as I hear anything. The very minute.”
A pause, and my heart pounding.
“But Hannah,” he continues, “I need you to know that you can do anything. I’ve seen it. And Cash believes it. No matter what comes, you were always meant to be free.”
He touches my shoulder and leaves me to the silence.
PART TWO
26
The aircraft dips, and my stomach falls with it. I hold my breath until I’m sure we won’t plummet to the ground, then sink farther into my seat.
Before we took off, the room filled with high-ranking Southerners, including the king, who sits with Takeshi just six feet away. A soldier lowers by my chair and offers a bottle of water. When I don’t take it, he sets it beside me.
“We should be nearing the border any minute. Keep an eye out that window.” He leaves.
I stare at the back of the seat ahead of me, trapped in a toxic haze of emotions. I haven’t moved in thirty minutes, since we lifted to the sky. A steady hum numbs my thoughts. Pain throbs throughout my body, too many places to identify. My breaths are shallow. All of this is wrong.
My eyes shift to Takeshi.
The king and his son sit with their heads bent close, deep in conversation. My thoughts cycle through all the things that happened, all the close calls over the last days.
Cash cannot die. It isn’t fair. I’m suspended in a confusion of feelings, torn by the things I crave. I want the South and all it offers, but I want Cash more. If I had to choose, I would choose him.
As the soldiers move to windows to look out over the border, gazing into the inky night sky to catch a glimpse of the scene below, I curl on my side, a hand pressed over my eyes.
I don’t want to see it yet.
The movement of the aircraft lulls me, and soon I'm drifting to sleep. I feel the fall, feel myself giving into rest. It's like sinking, and it reminds me of my blood being drained.
My body jerks, panicking, and my eyes fly open. I drag myself to sitting and pull my uninjured knee to my chest, burying my face in my arms.
27
“Why are they here?” Frustration edges Takeshi's voice.
A sigh. “It was unavoidable this time. But I limited the allowance. There should only be two.”
A pause. People move around, breezing past my curled body.
“She doesn't need this,” Takeshi whispers.
“I know, son. But it's too late to undo it.”
The conversation hits my ears, bouncing away before reason can sort it out. Behind my closed eyelids, images assault me.
The Workers on the mountains.
Outcasts lying dead on the street.
Edan bleeding, and Drew falling in the snow, his arms full of the slave girl.
Titus lying wide-eyed, lifeless in the flurry.
Rebels running back to the Council, deceived soldiers lured home to their masters.
It all compounds, until one single scene replays itself in an endless cycle, and my eyes fly open, trying to stop seeing it: Cash's body taking bullets. Jerking. Falling.
A hand touches my shoulder, and I sit up slow, my breath catching when a stabbing pain bursts in my head.
Takeshi’s face hovers close. Deep shadows frame his eyes.
“We’ve arrived,” he says. “Did you get some rest?”
Anxiety blossoms through my chest. I settle my eyes on his and stay there; everything else is foreign.
“A little,” I say. He nods, holding my gaze like he gets it. He gets that I’m afraid to leave this seat, but he must convince me.
“Where’s Cash?” I whisper.
He bites his lip. Fear cuts across my body. Takeshi’s fingers gently squeeze my arm.
“Last I heard he was still hanging on. He’s strong, Hannah. And he has a lot to live for. “
“Is he here?”
A head shake, and my heart on the floor.
“He was taken to a large hospital closer to the border. He needed care fast.”
I know that’s better. My mind can accept the logic. But the rest of me shouts, needing him near me. We were supposed to do this together.
“The others,” I say. “Will they be here?”
Another hesitation.
“Takeshi?”
His gaze holds steady on m
ine while he searches for the right answer. But the right answer is always truth, and I wait in the silence until he’s ready to give it.
“Evacuations are well underway. The survivors should be arriving at their facility already.”
I straighten. “I want to go to them.”
Together we stand, but Takeshi blocks my path to the narrow hall. Around us, soldiers prepare to exit. The king is no longer in sight.
“They aren’t here, Hannah. You’re the only one that came this far in.”
“Why?” I ask too firmly. Too harsh.
“I promised him I’d take care of you,” he quietly says. “He made me promise to look out for you if anything happened. This felt like the right thing to do at the time.” His eyebrows arch in worry. Maybe he feels he did the wrong thing. But respecting Cash’s request is something I can appreciate. I soften.
“You can rest here,” he continues. “Let yourself heal, then I’ll take you to them. I promise.”
He guides me to the door, but before we reach it, blocks my path again. “I’m sorry about this. Stay close to me. You’re under no obligation to respond to them.”
I lean past him to see. “Who’s out there?”
“Reporters,” he says. “Cameras. They always gather when my family returns from a journey.”
“Who do they report to?”
He winces, like the answer might hurt me. “The whole nation. On screens. It’s the national news.”
I stare back, confused.
“Reporters keep the citizens informed about what’s going on around the country. Cameras allow them to capture a scene and spread the news quickly.”
I roll my eyes, and my head aches. “Really?” I whisper, annoyed.
“Yeah,” he answers sheepishly.
“They won’t leave?”
He shakes his head. “They’re waiting for me to exit. Keep your head down and walk strong. It’s better not to give them anything to talk about.”
Opening a narrow closet, he removes a navy coat, unzips it, and holds it open for me.
“This might make you less conspicuous.”
The Slave Series Page 48
