Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Emilia
The fear from earlier has numbed my senses, twisting into a knot beneath my ribs. I cross my arms over my chest and slouch against the hard wooden bench.
Elissa Germain’s black stilettos click sharply against the polished stage, a dark green pencil dress clinging to her skinny frame.
Her hair is scraped into a tight updo, pursed lips painted pale pink.
She walks with the kind of arrogance that only comes from having too much power.
A ruthless bitch, a teacher turned dictator.
Before the war, she was a secondary school science teacher who used to fumble over her words.
She was no match for the rowdy, restless boys in my class.
I would chew gum as she dealt with them, sliding off my own stool and leaving my roaring Bunsen Burner with my annoyed partner whilst I sauntered over to Rayden in my too-short-for-school skirt.
He’d grin as I suggested we ditch the rest of the lesson.
Mrs Germain was useless.
But then, Mr McCready was trampled by soldiers during the fourth month of the war—or so I heard—and she stepped up as headteacher.
From there, Elissa Germain’s power only grew, until she was no longer a teacher at all, but a ruler over the North, watching as her Enforcers press their flaming boots down on top of us.
I have no idea how she did it. No idea what the remaining dregs of government officials were thinking when they chose her out of everyone that was left in the ‘North’ to be our leader.
I’ve stewed over it many a night, wondering whether she bullied people, murdered her way to the top, hypnotised the government, or created a drug that lets her control minds.
When it really comes down to it, their pool of options was probably just limited—all viable options killed during the war.
Regardless, it still makes no sense to me.
“Welcome all to our annual Matching ceremony.” Germain’s voice booms through the City Hall, echoing off the white pillars and glass windows. I fight a shiver at her familiar, droll tone; the same voice that once lectured me about safety goggles now announcing my entire fate.
She smiles, fingers coiling around the microphone before lifting it from its stand. I grip my knees, bracing myself for the same rehearsed lines I heard last year.
“As you know, earlier today and yesterday, you all underwent the compatibility interview.”
Piece of shit.
She pauses, eyes sweeping over the benches as if we’re samples under a microscope. I nearly scoff at the thought; I doubt she’s looked through one of those for years, she’s way too good for them now.
Her Enforcers line the walls, silent and armed to the hilt. Somewhere behind me, someone coughs.
“This interview has been designed over the years to assess your skills, attitude, and every aspect of your personality so that we can drill down to find any and all compatible matches within our great city.” Her voice is loud and bright and her smile widens with satisfaction. My nails dig into my palms.
“It is with great pleasure,” she declares, “that I can confirm, this year we have made seventeen matches.” A murmur ripples through the benches, some excited, some nervous.
My breath catches, my pulse skitters, and nausea threatens to fill my throat. Please, not me. Please, don’t let it be me.
Elissa waits until the room quiets before continuing.
“Once I have finished reading out all paired couples, those chosen must proceed to the assignment table in the main entrance,” she says.
“There, you will receive information on your new home. You have until sunset to pack your belongings and move into your new accommodation.”
Her words hang in the air, tension as thick as an approaching thunderstorm. My stomach lurches. Around me, a few girls exchange hopeful glances. Others, like me, just stare straight ahead, praying for another year of freedom.
I twine my hands together in my lap before picking at my sleeve.
Please, please, not me.
“Let us begin,” Mrs Germain exclaims.
An Enforcer steps up, boots thudding on the stage, and hands her a green file. She accepts it with a smile, before slipping a pair of wiry glasses onto her nose. I remember her wearing them years ago to read over one of my hypotheses that I copied from the student beside me.
She opens the folder. The hall is deathly silent.
“Rayden Adams.”
Oh, hell.
My stomach drops clean out of me, and bile fills my mouth.
I struggle to swallow. From the middle of the boys’ rows, he rises—the blond Adonis himself—hands buried in his pockets, shoulders squared, face unreadable.
His jaw flexes once, twice. His gaze moves left, scanning over us with slow precision, row by row, until those deep green eyes find mine.
They don’t widen, but they stop.
Something inside my chest shifts, and my fingers curl back around the edge of the bench, knuckles white as heat creeps up my neck.
“You will be paired with Nina Paddington,” Germain announces.
The name slashes like a knife through my chest.
Two rows ahead, a high-pitched squeal breaks out as a short brunette springs to her feet, grinning wide. Rayden’s jaw tightens, those eyes—still on me—dimming ever so slightly as a dark shadow clouds his expression.
It feels like a punch to the gut.
He tears his gaze to Nina, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, shoulders stiffening as the girl beams at him.
Slowly, he smiles back. I stare at the back of her head, my throat thick, her delighted laugh irritating me.
A curse slips through my lips as they both sit, and my stomach twists all over again.
Briony glances at me with a frown, but I keep my gaze fixed forward, ignoring her.
He’s not my soulmate.
He’s not. I’m not the one for him. I know that.
I’m not upset.
I’m not.
“Brian Bachfield,” Germain calls. A small blond boy leaps up, shoving his glasses up his nose, smiling like he’s won the lottery. “Elizabeth Hudson.”
The list continues—names, gasps, squeals, shuffling feet. One by one, they’re called out, and I sink lower in my seat, the wooden back harsh against my spine. Each new couple means there’s less chance I’ll be called. Relief starts to slowly creep in, a hint of calm beneath the racing of my heart.
Beside me, Briony chews her lip raw, leg bouncing so fast it rattles the bench. It grates against my nerves, but I say nothing, just stare straight ahead and count all the names that aren’t mine.
“Samuel Gill.”
My head snaps up, spine bolt straight as my best friend rises, lips pressed into a grim line as though he’s trying to contain every ounce of frustration and dread over what’s coming.
I bite my lip, holding back a curse.
Sam. Fuck.
He drops his chin to his chest, but when he looks back up, his face is a picture of steady composure.
Germain smiles at him. “Heidi James,” she announces.
Air catches in my throat, and I nearly choke. Eight rows forward, my brunette roommate rises, her grin bright and fearless. Sam’s shoulders ease fractionally, relieved.
They know each other because of me. Three years of sharing a cramped room, of her lecturing me for sleeping with Rayden, stealing my clothes, hugging me whenever I come home with a black eye… She’s practically my sister.
And now… now the State has decided to pair them together.
Sam. Heidi. Together.
She’s always found Sam attractive and funny, turning coy when he enters our room and giggling at his jokes.
And now… she has him.
I’ll be left behind, a gaping hole in my heart as they move to the Married Sector of the city, Rayden in tow. I swallow hard, gut curdling at the prospect of losing my friends.
My eyes dart between Heidi and Sam, taking in the grin passing between them, how his shoulders have dropped, how she tucks a strand of curly hair behind her ear. When they sit, I slump back against the bench. Briony glares at me, clearly concerned by how loud I’m being.
But there’s nothing to worry about. Everyone I care about has already been claimed, their fates changed.
I force myself to sit still, thumb fiddling with the inside of my sleeve, tracing the uneven stitching over, and over, trying to ground myself whilst my heart hammers beneath my ribcage.
I miss the next name, but whispers suddenly start rippling through the hall, heads darting around, eyes shooting back and forth as tension spreads through the rows of boys. Briony leans around me to peer across.
I follow her gaze.
No one has stood up.
“Zachary Hastings,” Germain calls again, louder, voice sharp as a whip. A few Enforcers shift forward, boots thudding against the floor, eyes scanning the boys as though daring Zachary to stay hidden and let them root him out.
A deep, husky voice suddenly mutters, “Shit, sorry.”
A tall, broad-shouldered dark-blond man finally rises, his movements slow and deliberate, his stare locked on Germain like she’s not worth a second of his time.
He shifts slightly, towering over the Enforcers who have approached, but he doesn’t spare them a glance, as though their presence doesn’t affect him at all.
As though he couldn’t care less that they’re poised for any wrong move, batons at the ready.
“Alright,” Germain says, failing to hide her irritation, jaw tensing. She glances back at her folder. “You have been partnered with Emilia Burton.”
I freeze. The name slams into me harder than a bomb ever could.
That’s not possible.
I could have sworn I just heard…
“Emilia,” Briony hisses, roughly shoving my shoulder. “It’s you! Get up!”
Time stops, contorting into something that doesn’t make any sense. My stomach knots so tight it aches. My legs are heavy as lead, and yet somehow, I’m moving, rising from the seat as every head snaps towards me. Blood roars through my body, making my ears ring.
I blink, trying to focus on my smiling science teacher. The folder, the smart dress, the lipstick, the guards surrounding her… it’s too unreal.
Against my better judgement, I glance towards Zachary. The subtle roll of muscle under his long sleeves as he leans forward, the way his head dips as he talks. His gaze is on the guy beside him, both of them talking in hushed tones.
There’s not a flicker of attention in my direction. Not even a glance. Fucking fantastic.
Slowly, I sink back to my seat, ears still ringing as Germain continues down her list. My head pounds, and the scar tissue on my ribs feels like it’s tightening, constricting, squeezing until I can no longer breathe on my own. I exhale, lungs spluttering like never before.