Chapter Three #2
So I lift my chin and square my shoulders like I’ve seen Lachlan do. I need to carry myself differently now, doing away with the subtle, contained movements I’ve become accustomed to. I need to take up space, project confidence and strength.
I nod to myself before gathering my things. It’s only when I leave the bathroom that I grasp I need to leave some explanation; my family deserves that much, at least.
Staring at the blank piece of paper I grabbed from my notebook, I struggle to find words that could possibly explain what I’m doing. Or why.
How do I tell them I love them but need more? Or explain their protection has become a prison, though it’s kept me safe and alive all these years? How do I make them understand I need to do something, not just hide forever?
I write out a dozen versions, each attempt insufficient before I settle for the simple truth.
I’m sorry, I have to try. I love you.
Before I can think better of it, I place the note on my bed and hurry to the front door. I allow myself to pause for only a moment as I wheeze through pursed lips, the air in my lungs suddenly weighing too much.
For a second, fear overwhelms me. I could turn around, slip off the mask, dispose of the evidence, and pretend I never considered this madness. But at what cost?
I’m done questioning myself. The lock flips before my fingers tug the door open. Cool, fresh air rushes in, carrying scents I’ve only briefly been exposed to before. The predawn sky stretches above me, a twinkling canvas of deep blue fading to the first hints of light.
My foot steps across the threshold.
I’m outside.
I’m outside.
For the first time in my entire life, I’m outside.
The sensation is disorienting. Dizzying.
There’s no ceiling above me, no walls caging me in—just open space stretching in all directions.
It’s a vulnerable feeling, and hairs rise along my arms at how exposed I am.
And yet…I’m exhilarated. My heart pounds so loudly I’m certain anyone within city limits must hear, but perhaps not over the ragged breathing I’m failing to control.
There’s no one around. The street is empty; silent in the early morning hours, and my senses pick up no active emotion, only lingering remnants of others who occupied this street in the late hours of the night.
I thought there would be others heading to the Hall, eager to join this new team, but there’s not a soul in sight. There must be some men coming, right? They likely live within the inner parts of Pyrem, so I’ll see them soon enough.
But still I pause, uncertain. Is it the right day? Did I misunderstand what Hardan said?
No, I heard correctly. I’m certain of it. The others are just taking different routes or don’t wish to join a group that hunts women who’ve managed to escape.
I chuckle to myself. Like that would ever happen.
Peering left, I orient my mind toward the city center as planned. The route is burned into my memory—two blocks east, four north, then west one block. Easy. I can do this.
My first steps are awkward as Lachlan’s boots stomp heavily on the paved street.
Am I moving wrong? It feels as though anyone who sees me will instantly know I’m not what I appear to be.
Each attempt to walk as my twin does is strange, with longer strides and a slight swing to my arms. It feels unnatural, but I persist.
As I advance deeper into the city, buildings grow taller and more imposing.
Many are constructed of black glass and steel, reflecting the emerging dawn in streaks of orange and purple.
These are the administrative towers, where officials work and some men live.
Small apartments stacked one on top of another like the shelves of our bookcase at home.
I’m struck by a wave of gratitude for our modest house.
How could anyone have hidden me in one of these glass towers?
The thought fires shivering fear through me.
If not for my parents’ home, with its humbly renovated underground hatch, I would have been discovered years ago.
Or more likely, never given the chance to exist as anything but a usable hole and breeding stock.
“North on Basin Street,” I whisper to myself, reciting the directions continuously as I walk. “Four blocks. Then west on Syndicate Avenue. One block.”
The quiet repetition keeps my mind focused, preventing me from spiraling into lingering panic.
I pass darkened storefronts, their windows displaying goods I’ve seen only on television.
Clothing shops with mannequins dressed in men’s attire.
An electronic store with devices whose purpose I cannot even guess.
A grocer with fresh produce artfully arranged, the bright colors muted by the night.
There are streaks of blue at the edge of one building, as if someone attempted to wipe something away.
Each turn I feel more awed and enraged. This simple act of walking down a street, of seeing shops and buildings up close, burns away any hesitation I clung to since leaving my bed—this basic freedom has been denied to half the population.
My pace quickens, renewed anger fueling each step. This is why I’m leaving. This is why the risk is worth taking.
Pyrem Hall looms ahead, a massive structure of black stone and tinted glass. Unlike the other buildings, which gleam with polish and care, this one projects an intentional austerity. It’s meant to intimidate—to remind citizens of the Syndicate’s power.
It’s working.
My gait falters as I approach the final block.
In front of the building, a line of Enforcers stands at attention on the wide steps.
Their masks catch the growing light, always cold and featureless.
Two large vehicles wait at the curb, hoarding my attention as I study their angular body with narrow windows.
They are reminiscent of the slits in our masks, effectively blocking much of their surroundings, but leaving just enough of an opening to peek through.
The sides are sleek, black with no indents for handles or other features.
Is that to keep others from getting in? Is there a special device that only allows certain Enforcers to open the doors?
It’s only logical to assume they hold the same internal setup, enclosing their occupants inside the steel walls until someone with enough authority deigns to free them.
Muscles in my throat tighten. My heart’s somewhere between my ribs and teeth, beating loud enough to out me on the spot. I should turn around. Run. Get under my blanket and pretend I never even thought about this level of idiocy.
As the thought forms, another figure approaches from a side street. A man walking with purpose, advancing directly toward the line of Enforcers. He’s also in full uniform, and his determined stride suggests he’s here for the same reason I am.
Great. Now if I bolt, it’s not brave. It’s suspicious.
I force a breath in, spine straightening like I’ve got steel in it instead of soup, mimicking the confident posture I’ve seen my brother adopt. Chin up.
Be Lachlan. Be confident. Be someone whose heart isn’t threatening to explode across Syndicate Avenue.
These boots feel wrong. The mask is suffocating. And I’m seconds away from collapsing into a puddle of fear.
But I walk forward anyway. Because if I don’t, this whole plan dies right here.