Prison changed her, like it changed us all.
“Sure, Cameron.”
It feels like I talk for hours, spilling everything I’ve been keeping inside. The fear, the anger, the sick sensation I get every time I think about what I can do and what I’ve done. How it used to thrill me. How such power made me feel invincible, indestructible—and now it makes me feel ashamed. It feels like stabbing myself in the stomach and letting my guts fall out. I avoid her eyes as I speak, keeping my gaze firmly on my feet as we pace the training grounds. As we press on, more and more soldiers flood the field. Newbloods and Reds, all going through their morning exercises. In their uniforms, green coveralls provided by Montfort, it’s hard to tell which is which. We all look the same, united. “I want to protect my brother. He tells me we should go, leave . . .” My voice weakens, trailing off until there are no more words.
Mare is forceful in her reply. “My sister says the same thing. Every day. She wants to take up Davidson’s offer. Relocate. Let other people fight.” Her eyes darken with intensity. They wobble over the landscape full of green uniforms. She is mechanical in her observations, whether she knows it or not, reading risks and threats. “She said we’ve given enough.”
“So what will you do?”
“I can’t turn my back.” She bites her lip, thoughtful. “There’s too much anger in me. If I don’t find a way to get rid of it, it might poison me for the rest of my life. But that probably isn’t what you want to hear.” It would be an accusation from anyone else. From Cal, or Farley. From who Mare was six months ago. Instead her words are softer.
“Holding on will eat me alive,” I admit. “Continuing on this way, using my ability to kill . . . it will make me a monster.”
Monster. She shivers when I say it, withdrawing inside herself. Mare Barrow has had her fair share of monsters. She looks away, idly tugging on a braid of hair curling with sweat and humidity.
“Monsters are so easily made, especially in people like us,” she mumbles. But she recovers quickly. “You didn’t fight in Archeon. Or if you did, I didn’t see you.”
“No, I was just there to . . .” Keep you in check. In the moment, a good plan. But now that I know what she went through, I feel terrible.
She doesn’t push.
“Kilorn’s idea back in Trial,” I say. “He works well branching the newbloods and Reds, and he knew I wanted to take a step back. So I went along—but not to fight, not to kill, unless absolutely necessary.”
“And you want to continue on that path.” Not a question.
Slowly, I nod. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed. “I think it’s better this way. Defend, not destroy.” At my side, my fingers flex. Silence pools beneath my flesh. I don’t hate my ability, but I can hate what it does.
Mare fixes me with a grin. “I’m not your commander. I can’t tell you what to do, or how to fight. But I think it’s a good idea. And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, point them my way.”
I smile. Somehow I feel a weight lift. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, by the way,” she adds, coming closer. “I’m the reason you’re here. I know now, what I did to you, forcing you to join up—it was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
“You’re absolutely right. You did wrong, that’s for bleeding sure. But I got what I wanted, in the end.”
“Morrey.” She sighs. “I’m glad you got him back.” Her smile doesn’t disappear, but it certainly fades, weakened by all mention of brothers.
On the low rise ahead, Morrey waits, now standing in silhouette against the base buildings spread out behind him. Cal is gone. Good.
Even though he’s been with us for months, Cal is awkward without purpose, bad at conversation, and always on edge when he doesn’t have a strategy to mull over. Part of me still thinks he sees us all as disposable—cards to picked up and thrown away as strategy dictates. But he loves Mare, I remind myself. He loves a girl with Red blood.
That must count for something.
Before we make it back to my brother, one last fear bubbles up in my throat.
“Am I abandoning you all? The newbloods.”
My ability is silent death. I am a weapon, like it or not. I can be used. I can be useful. Is it selfish to walk away?
I get the feeling it’s a question Mare has asked herself many times. But her answer is for me, and me alone.
“Of course not,” she mutters. “You’re still here. And you’re one less monster for us to worry about. One less ghost.”