Chapter 19
NINETEEN
ATLAS
“It is the responsibility of Basell College to produce graduates who can work together to build a better world for the Gifted. Look around you now; your classmates aren’t just your friends or your academic rivals, they are your future allies in our ongoing struggles to free ourselves from the oppression of the non-Gifted and their sympathizers. ”
The images on the lecture hall screen rotate through the usual depictions of violence, and it’s hard to keep the derision from my face.
Political Strategies is my least favorite class, which is no easy feat.
Now that I’m aware I’ve been funneled into the ‘Resistance Soldier Pipeline’, it’s impossible to ignore all of the propaganda and indoctrination I’m being fed here alongside thousands of other Gifted students.
The professor is engaging, funny, and a true believer in the cause. All of the staff here are. The utmost care has been taken in who is going to be molding the brains of the next generation of mindless soldiers.
Looking around the room as he moves on to the next explanation of how ‘unity’ is so important, I wonder how many Gifted here realize they’re already being assessed and their bright minds are the least of Basell College’s concerns.
I wonder if they know that while some will be saved by their Parental Bonded Group’s reputation, the size of cheque they made on admission, or the usefulness of their Gift, most will be sent straight to Silas Davies upon graduation to be employed as cannon fodder on the frontlines.
Of course, that’s only if they make it that far.
Zariah nudges me with her elbow, tipping her head at my bag where my phone is lighting up visibly in the open front pocket, but I shrug back without ever looking her way.
It’s probably my Bond messaging me, who I won’t risk by answering while I’m surrounded like this no matter how much I want to speak with her.
My own bond rumbles with discontent under my skin, but this isn’t about showing her respect, it’s about her safety.
I’d never risk her like this just to appease my own desperate cravings.
The other option is that it’s my mom trying to guilt me into staying here with her.
She really doesn’t get that there’s no angle she can work that would change my plans.
My bags are already packed and I’m more than ready to be at my Bond’s side.
If there were any way to get to her right now without rousing any suspicions, I’d already be gone.
Fuck, if only she could accept that and stop putting up new obstacles for me to deal with, this hell would be over with already.
Zariah huffs and pulls out her own phone, zero concern for the lecture, and starts texting. The longer I ignore her, the more furiously her fingers move. I can’t stand the sight of her, and the fact she’s sitting next to me right now is a sign of just how desperate she’s becoming.
Apparently the public shaming on me turning her down, vocally and at every chance, isn’t enough for her to give the hell up.
Ignoring both her and Walker’s side-eye of my reactions, I try to focus on the professor’s little speech again, but his message just makes me want to puke.
“Knowing what your comrades are capable of is just as valuable as knowing your enemy.”
From the other side of Walker, Kyle scoffs under his breath, leaning over their shared desk with a smirk and a barely lowered voice.
“Knowing Jeong and his lot only hold their Top Tier status because of the money they feed into the cause is definitely valuable. Wouldn’t want any of their incapable group backing you up if Draven shows up here again. ”
The professor shoots him a disapproving look from the front of the hall before he taps on his laptop and the slide on the screen changes to a video.
The picture is distorted and there’s no sound to it, but after a minute of what looks like signal disruption, it clears to show a dozen men covered in weapons and lightweight body armor practically strolling into the frame.
I’ve seen more than enough security videos, so it doesn’t elicit a response from me, but murmurs ripple through the other students.
The professor pauses dramatically, staring around at each of the hundred students as though he’s trying to speak to us all individually before he continues.
“These thugs are the Tactical Response Personnel, given license by the West Coast Council to terrorize any Gifted who doesn’t fall into line with their narrow views. ”
I’m too busy watching Walker and Kyle mutter to each other at first to notice, but when the murmurs turn into gasps and shrill tones, my attention snaps back to the screen.
Nox Draven walks onto the screen, the distortion like a halo around him and not enough to obscure the gut-wrenching horror of his void eyes.
He looks every inch the monster they all say he is.
Rage blinds me instantly, the heat of its depths lighting my blood on fire, and my hands curl into fists so quickly that I forget to hold back my Gift. A dozen sets of eyes hit me at once, the crunching of my desk snapping under my strength echoing through the room.
“Holy shit, man, get it together before you demolish the room!”
Blinking, I let out a breath and fix an unaffected smirk over my face that I’m sure is fooling no one, but they all turn away from me regardless.
I probably look like some cocky asshole trying to cover a fear-induced power slip, which is fine by me.
My last name is enough to stop anyone from gossiping or getting in my face about it, and so long as they never find out the real trigger, I’d put up with that crap anyway.
The professor clears his throat and clicks his laptop again, the image of my Bond’s antagonizer disappearing and a grainy photo of a carved up field replacing it.
“That’s probably a better segue than I could’ve hoped for. Can anyone tell me how the riots in the seventies began?”
Some asshole got drunk and attacked a non-Gifted woman at a party.
Their community rose up and began to campaign for the ‘tagging’ of Gifted, a database to catalog our abilities and keep track of us for their protection.
While the Gifted community agreed this was out of the question, how to negotiate a resolution divided the population into two camps.
The West Coast council believed we needed to strengthen our relationship with the non-Gifted and to live peacefully alongside them.
The East Coast council wanted segregation; the Gifted set wholly apart from the non-Gifted, untouchable by their laws or concerns.
Zariah calls out with a smirk, “A power slip. A simple mistake.”
When she shoots me a flirty grin, like I should be impressed by the company line spewing out of her on command, I give her a scathing look in return.
I barely remember to fix my face before I turn back to the professor, but Kyle jeers at Zariah’s pissy attitude and starts talking crap about our ‘little spat’ all over again.
That helps to cover my ass more than anything I could ever say, and when I finally get a smirk over my lips, I’m sure to the other students it looks as though I’m gloating over the lies and propaganda being dished out like I’m in on the joke.
The professor nods at me with a satisfied look of his own, bought and paid for by the worst Gifted in the world.
Walker glances over and chuckles under his breath with me at the spectacle, only his amusement is genuine.
All of the chuckling and jokes being murmured around the room is at the expense of everyone ‘below’ us—whatever the fuck that means.
It’s not just non-Gifted who die at the Resistance’s hands, or the Lower Tiers, or even just Draven’s armed forces.
I doubt even half of the students in this room will make it to thirty, not if Davies’ plan for war goes ahead.
I wonder how funny they’d all find that?
My phone begins to flash in my bag again, and irritation works its way down my spine at my mom because with this persistence, it has to be her calling.
I’m about to pack my shit up and fake a family emergency just to get out of here when the sound of heavy footsteps interrupts the lecture.
The professor stops mid-sentence, glancing over at the door just in time to see it burst open and half a dozen men dressed in militia fatigues march in.
I shoot a look at Walker by habit, but he’s scowling at the sight as well.
Then, after a beat of shocked silence, three Gifted practically stroll into the lecture hall. I recognize them immediately.
All three men are Testers, the sniffer-dog subset of Neuros who have lucked into capitalizing on a Gift that outside of war is completely fucking useless.
Thanks to Davies, they’re practically bounty hunters now, and each of them has his own crew of underlings who go out on scouting trips to find rare Gifts that might impress Davies or my father enough to gain favor.
It’s a witch hunt, only the traitor to the cause is very real. I’m not interested in being hauled out of here and questioned by these assholes.
Ducking down, I finally grab my phone to find a dozen messages and missed calls. All of them are from my mom just like I suspected, only she’s not trying to convince me of a thing. Instead, there’s a desperate stream of messages trying to warn me of what’s coming my way so I cover my ass.
Leave class and come home now. Your father’s scouting teams are purging the school to find out where the leak is. If you get caught up in that mess, you’ll be late for dinner.
There’s no way my mom gives a shit about when we eat, but Davies knows how fussy my father and the rest of the blue-blooded families are, so the excuse is crafted perfectly.
Fuck, my mom could do some serious damage to their plans if she could only grow a conscience and realize she’s a piece of shit for staying here and supporting what they do.