by Bree Moore
“Tyson, come out of it.” Tom snapped in front of Tyson’s face. “Listen, I’ve been where you are. Too many times to count.”
Tyson blinked. “Really?”
“Yes. My book gives the impression that I’ve only ever seen success, but that’s because the sponsor of the study buried the suicide numbers. They’re there if you look closely. This isn’t that uncommon.”
Tyson’s stomach clenched. Hearing him say it didn’t make it hurt less. Each breath Tyson drew felt more shallow than the last. “Fletcher was my first real case, you know? You gave him to me because he was a shoe-in for Naturalization. He just needed a nudge to stay on track. If I can’t help him…” Tyson swallowed. “What am I doing here?”
Tom came around to Tyson’s side of the desk. He clapped a hand on Tyson’s shoulder, letting it rest there like a weight. “I ask myself the same thing every day. Kids like Fletcher kept me here. Watching them enter society is rewarding, but also devastating. I know what they have to give up to get there. No one is talking about after Naturalization, how these kids—adults too—are dying. I presented it at this conference. Blew the place up. No one wants to face reality. We’re killing more than we’re saving.”
“Then what’s the point?” Tyson choked on the words. This was all he had dreamed of for the past several years, to be part of the change.
“Sometimes we’re called to do things in our lives, and the journey we embark on is not the journey we end up taking.” Tom patted Tyson’s shoulder again. “Give yourself time, son. This is no small thing.” Silence passed between them. “Was there any indication of what he was planning? In your professional opinion?”
Tyson didn’t feel like a professional. He felt like a fraud. He ran his fingers through his hair, then flattened it. Fletcher had met with Tyson in the morning after classes started.
“How are you feeling?” Tyson asked. He watched Fletcher’s body language carefully, noticing the way his eyes flickered away, the wince as he moved. He was in a lot of pain.
“The painkillers help some, but it’s going to take time, isn’t it?” He shrugged, the nonchalant gesture causing him to suck air between his teeth.
“Do you want to talk about the procedure? Anything about your experience?”
“It…it wasn’t anything like I expected.”
“Were you awake?”
He shook his head. “No, they put me under. I had to make the change first, you know? Climbing onto that table with my wings out felt so…wrong. Then I woke up alone and there was just pain.”
“That must have been frightening.” Tyson made a note on Fletcher’s chart. It was harder than Tyson expected to hear Fletcher talk about it. Tyson kept seeing his blue, black, and white feathers in his mind’s eye. Stretched out, ready for surgery. Tyson shuddered and finished taking the notes he started.
“They…they had to sedate me, at first. It just hurt so much. I didn’t feel like myself.”
“Do you feel like yourself now?”
Fletcher screwed his face up. Tyson waited while he breathed through the wave of pain. “More than yesterday. Seeing my friends helps.”
“How is it being back?”
Fletcher’s face contorted with amusement. “It’s strange, you know, being a celebrity for something so…morbid. People are curious. They want to know. It’s hard to say it so many times. Relive it.” He chuckled dryly. “I just want to sleep.”
“Then sleep. Do whatever you feel like doing. You don’t owe them anything.” Fletcher fell silent and closed his eyes. “Do you regret it?” Tyson asked. “You don’t have to know, yet. Anything you feel is valid.”
A moment passed, then another, and then Tyson caught a slight nod of Fletcher’s chin. His face trembled, and he pulled his lips in. His shoulders began to shake.
“Hey, it’s okay to cry.”
Tyson pulled himself out of the memory, looking up at Tom through damp eyes. “He was hurting. It was…normal. Expected. No one left him alone the entire day. Harper spent some time with him.” What did she say to him? Could it have pushed him so far? It didn’t seem like they had fought. Their relationship had apparently developed since Tyson saw them two days ago. When Tyson peeked in on the movie night, looking for Fletcher, he found him leaning his head on Harper as if they were just a normal couple out on a date. How close were they? Did he tell Harper he felt like ending his life?
Tyson would have to speak with Harper, though she wouldn’t like it.
Tom walked back to the other side of the desk and leaned against a cabinet on the wall. “Tell me about Harper. Bird shifter, right?”
Tyson scrubbed at his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about her. But if he didn’t, Tom would know something was up. “Yeah. Like her brother, Quinn.”
“Ah. Yes. Stubborn like him, too? Could she have influenced Fletcher?”
Tyson shrugged. “She seemed supportive. Even though she didn’t like the choice he made.”
Tom’s eyes analyzed Tyson’s face exactly the way Tyson examined Fletcher’s yesterday. “You’re worried about her.”
“Of course I am. They were friends. Harper was a reluctant capture. She has a violent history, tried to escape her first day. No doubt she’s planning to again, after this. I’m not sure she’ll ever accept Naturalization.”
“Sometimes they surprise you.”
Tyson had nothing to say to that.
Tom sighed, running a hand through his thinning grey hair. “You know, Tyson, this is a difficult time, and I hate that I have to do this now, but I think it will be easier coming from me.
“This was a test. The conference was the ideal opportunity to see how you would do on your own, and I’m afraid we don’t like what we’ve seen happen the past few days.”
A lump lodged in Tyson’s throat. He tried to swallow past it. “A test?”
Tom nudged a pencil across the desk. “You’re a good counselor, Tyson, just not good enough for the pressure of this work. After hearing of the events of the past few days, I’m pushing back my retirement. I’ll be here for a couple years, maybe longer, to help smooth this over and train a new replacement.”
Tom’s sympathetic gaze passed right through Tyson. A new replacement. “I-I can do better, Tom. I can.”
“Once you’ve gotten too close, and my information says you’re…” He trailed off and held up two intertwined fingers.
Tyson shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. I’ve had to work more with the latest resident, that’s all. I’ve remained professional.” But as soon as the words left Tyson’s mouth, he knew they were a lie. His cheeks burned hot as he scrambled to save his shredded future. “Give me a chance to prove it. This career is all I have wanted my whole life. I just want to make a difference.”
Harper’s face came to mind, her characteristic scowl chastising Tyson for the second lie. Tyson couldn’t even be honest with himself anymore. What sort of difference did he want to make? Was this it?
“Consider this your two-week’s notice. You’ll get an official letter in the mail in a day or two, but I didn’t want you to find out that way. You’re a good kid, Tyson. Heart’s in the right place, but you’re just not the right person for this job.” Tom’s tone made it clear the conversation was done.
Tyson blinked, then raised a trembling hand. “Thanks for everything, Tom.”
“Sure, Tyson. It’s been a real pleasure. Count on me for a recommendation, whatever you need.”
Tyson snorted. “Better you than Violet.”
Tom’s smile was more of a grimace. “Oh, one last thing. Your lanyard,” he gestured.
Tyson reached up and touched the hard plastic. “But I’m still employed. Two weeks, you said.”
“Certain privileges are revoked upon termination, for the safety of the residents. You understand.”
Tyson did, but it sucked. He looped the lanyard over his head and handed it to Tom. He took it from Tyson, tapping the card on his palm and looking as if
he’d like to say more, but instead he opened the office door and stepped into the hall.
“Hey!” Tom barked.
Tyson glanced up as Harper barreled into Tom. She mumbled an apology and darted around him, not glancing toward the office at all. Where was she going? Her shoulders hunched, Tyson couldn’t see her face to notice whether or not she’d been crying. She pivoted at the staircase and headed down before she disappeared from view.
There was one person here who definitely needed Tyson’s help. He squared his shoulders and stood, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t left any important papers out for others to see, then turned toward the door.
A figure blocked Tyson’s way, hair loose and ragged, clothing rumpled, eyes red-rimmed. Violet.
“V-Violet. I didn’t expect you. How can I help?” Tyson might have just been fired, but as long as he was here, he was still a counselor at Camp Silver Lake.
She bared her teeth. “What did you do?”
“Excuse me?”
“He was ready for Reformation. You evaluated him, said he was mentally and emotionally fit for the operation. How could you have miscalculated like this?” Violet stalked into the room, clenched fists swinging at her side.
Was it what Tom had said? Tyson didn’t want to accept that answer. He leaned on the desk for support. “No one can predict how the Reformation will go. I had every positive indication that Fletcher would be fine. He checked every box. That’s why we have them come back to camp after, to see how they’re doing before we send them out into the world. He had family coming. How could I possibly know he felt that badly about it?”
Violet’s eyes widened. “It’s your job to know!” Her voice rose to the level of a shriek, and she surged forward. “Do you understand what this means? What they’ll do? We’ll be lucky to get an evaluation before they shut us down.”
“If it helps any, I’ve been fired.” Tyson shot back.
She froze, then a smile spread across her face and she cackled. The cackle devolved into tears. This wasn’t the first time Tyson had a sobbing witch in his office—not his office, he reminded himself— but this was his first time facing a sobbing superior.
The mad laughter ceased abruptly. “You don’t understand anything, do you?” Violet’s voice dropped to a guttural low. “They are about to pass new legislation to go hand-in-hand with the distance extension for Naturalized citizens. They want camps to be run stricter, candidates screened better. They’re changing some of the Naturalization criteria. We only have six months to determine compatibility, for one. Everything is being given more weight, escape attempts, acts of violence, compliance…” Her gaze drifted off toward one wall, then snapped back to Tyson. “Suicides show a camp’s ineffectiveness. We will be assigned an evaluator, who will stay on for weeks, possibly months, nitpicking everything. I’ve heard of them going to work in other camps. They’re leeches. They clamp on and don’t let go until you’re ruined.”
“But this camp is one of the best in the country. If it were shut down…”
“Exactly,” she hissed. “Now you see. Now that it’s too late.”
Tyson raised his hands defensively. “I couldn’t have done anything more with Fletcher.” I’m a failure. The thought latched onto his brain like a leech. Fletcher deserved better.
“Tell that to his family.” Violet’s finger jutted toward the door where Fletcher’s parents had left half an hour ago, sobbing as they followed their son’s lifeless body to their car.
“We’re all hurting, Violet.” As the words left Tyson’s mouth he realized they were the wrong thing to say.
Violet let out a sudden howl, an inhuman sound of grief and rage, and leapt for him. Tyson’s fingers scrabbled under the desk’s surface to find the safety button, and he slapped it. The wards activated, but they didn’t touch Violet.
Of course. Her lanyard swung from her neck. Tyson’s had left with Tom.
Violet’s hands closed around his throat, coated in glowing green light. The wards lit the room in an emerald glow. Her grip tightened, and Tyson’s vision pulsed. That green light would be the last thing he saw. He choked and gurgled, helpless to stop her.
A knock on the door. She must have closed it when she came in, though Tyson didn’t remember seeing it. Violet’s face contorted, thumbs pressing into his windpipe to crush it. Dark blobs formed in front of his eyes. His head throbbed. Any moment he would lose consciousness and never regain it. The knock came again, and someone jiggled the handle.
“Agh!” Violet released Tyson with a sound of disgust and wheeled around, hair flying about her face. She stalked toward the door and flung it open. “What?” she snapped.
Tyson gasped, still frozen. His eyes strained at the corners to glimpse two men in suits standing in the doorway wearing black sunglasses. Typical government Hunters by all appearances.
“We’re here to speak with Violet or James Petrov about the aberration.”
Aberration. Harper. This was the management team that had come for Harper. The Raven born.
Violet grabbed the door handle, and her hand glowed again briefly. The lock mechanism clicked. “No one will be able to open this until I return,” she hissed. “We can continue our conversation when I’m finished.” She shut the door.
Tyson swallowed past the soreness in his throat. His ears rang in the silent room, and his thoughts spun. Violet had always been prone to irritation, but he’d never known her to be violent. Had Fletcher’s death sent her off the deep end or was it the mounting pressure from the government?
His phone buzzed in his pocket. His fingers twitched. Fortunately, the faintly lit wards on the floor had started fading. They weren’t designed to last long, only a few minutes were typically needed for help to arrive. James and Lilith should have felt the wards triggered, too. Would one of them come to Tyson’s aid, or did they hate him as much as Violet apparently did? Who else blamed him for Fletcher’s death and the demise of Camp Silver Lake?
Tyson’s phone stopped ringing, and he was left in silence. The paralysis drained gradually, allowing him to move his wrists and flex his hands. When he could bend at the elbow, he angled his arm to reach into his pocket and slid his phone out, but his fingers fumbled and it fell to the floor, face-down.
Tyson focused his breathing, feeling the minutes tick by. Harper was who-knew-where, now. What would she want in the basement? Time alone? Dread trickled into his heart. The pool. She wouldn’t kill herself. Not with Quinn coming for her.
Would she?
A tingling sensation in his feet and shoulders told him the warding was lifting in those areas. A moment later, he wiggled his toes. The paralysis bled away faster until his hips were the only area locked in place. He sighed, placing his hands on the table as the muscles slowly released. His jello legs gave way, and he stood trembling against the desk, then bent down to pick up his phone.
The missed call was from Becca. Tyson recognized the number she used last time. He punched redial and held the phone up to his ear, wincing at the muscle cramps in his legs and arms as he moved them.
“Hello?” She sounded breathless.
“Are you running?”
“Yes.”
“Should I call back later?”
“No! I need to talk to you. Is there any way we can bump this operation to today?”
“Sure, why not. We’re having a wake this afternoon. Aberration Management just arrived for Harper. Might as well join the party,” Tyson muttered, rolling his shoulder opposite the arm holding the phone, pushing through the stiffness.
“Who died?”
“Fletcher.” The line fell silent. Tyson swallowed past the emotion welling up. “It’s a mess. We’re all a mess. His Reformation appointment went well, but he didn’t tolerate the procedure as well as we thought he would.”
Shouting in the background on the other line drew Tyson’s attention, and Becca took a moment to respond. Was she being chased? He almost missed it whe
n she finally said something. “That doesn’t sound like Fletcher.”
“I know. I know. We just can’t predict…”
“Are you certain no one else could be involved?” She still sounded breathless, but the shouts were gone, as well as any noises that indicated she was outside.
Trying to figure out where she was, Tyson's mind took a moment to catch up to what she implied. “You think Fletcher was murdered? Why would anyone do that?”
“Who would profit from it?”
“Violet says they’re going to shut down the camp. It can’t be her. She’s furious. She locked me in my office and…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Tried to kill me. Could she have murdered Fletcher, after all? Maybe she had well and truly snapped. Harper was right, after all. Violet needed to be evaluated as soon as possible. Tyson might not have made the cut as a camp counselor, but he could still recognize a psychotic break when he saw one.
“She’s been under review for violent behavior before,” Becca said quietly.
Tyson thought back to Reya’s file. After years of running this camp, doing everything she could to please the government and keep it as safe as possible for those who survived the older Naturalization procedures… Had it become too much?
“How did I not know this? How does everyone know everything before I do?”
“You’re just the intern. But that’s not critical right now. We need to get you out. Wake or no wake, it sounds like you need us to break you out before Violet gets back. And Harper’s probably not doing so great, either.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her.” Too busy being locked up.
“Can you get a message to her? Never mind, you’re locked in. We’re close, so it shouldn’t be long. Just have to gather some things. Expect us in half an hour.”
“What are you going to—” Becca hung up before Tyson finished. He set the phone down and swung his arms, praying half an hour would get them there before Violet returned.
Could Violet really be a killer? Reya came to mind, her sweet face, framed with red hair. Violet ran the camp when it happened, when they killed her. She could have been the one to pull the trigger, so to speak. Or at least order it. She had proved she would do damn near anything to keep this camp running in the past, but murder?
