Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Emilia
I’m twenty minutes early for work, which is a first for me. My heart’s still pounding, lungs burning, and feet aching from the run down here.
Zac was gone when I woke. I don’t even know if he came back last night—after shooting me a quick, awkward hello as I returned from work, he’d slipped past me, vanishing down the street.
His hide and seek game is still going strong.
And my chicken stew was terrible.
The barn smells of hay and disinfectant as I step inside.
Morning light slices through gaps in the wood, catching on dust. Peering around the corner, I spot the slim blonde, her hair scraped into a short ponytail, strands falling loose around her face.
She’s halfway through shoving her feet into the State issued trainers, overalls already thrown over her white T-Shirt.
I take another step forward. No one else is here yet, and her head snaps up at the sound of my boots, eyes widening.
“Emilia,” she breathes out. Then she exhales, shoulders dropping. Since our time together in The Cell, something just feels… different between us.
“Kayla,” I greet.
“I… I’m so sorry,” she stammers. “I… I had no idea he was your husband.”
“You remember it, then?”
“Unfortunately.”
I smile, and the shock that flashes across her face nearly makes me laugh. With our history, she probably expected a slap, or at the very least, a sneer.
“That’s rough,” I say.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Wish I hadn’t… drank that much.”
“We’ve all been there.”
She scoffs, glancing sideways at me. “Yeah. Right.” Her voice lowers. “Like you’ve ever broken a State law in front of multiple witnesses.”
I hum, lowering to the bench beside her.
“Alright. Maybe not in front of witnesses,” I admit, and Kayla groans, dropping her head into her hands.
The action’s heavy, and full of defeat. “Don’t stress about it,” I tell her softly.
“Most of the people there knew you. And those who didn’t…
Rayden tells me he was quick to shut them up.
They all know you weren’t in the right frame of mind. ”
Her jaw tightens, and she swallows. Her gaze fixes on her hands, fingers fidgeting in her lap.
“Any news?” I ask quietly. “On your mum?”
She just shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, Kayla.” It’s all I can manage.
“Thanks.” Her voice is hoarse, almost hollow.
We sit there, old enemies, in silence, the scent of hay and dust thick in the air.
“I’m sorry about kissing your husband,” she finally mutters.
I scoff, shaking my head. “Kayla, I’m not in love with the guy; I don’t even like him.” Even as I say it, something tightens in my chest, but I ignore it, forcing my expression into something carefree.
She glances up. Her eyes are red rimmed, and swollen. “Even so, I never would’ve done it if I knew. If I’d been sober—”
“Kayla. It’s fine,” I insist. “We’re good.”
“We are?”
“Yeah.”
She gives a short, disbelieving laugh. “We’ve never been good.” I can’t help but smile. It’s true.
“How’s… Jace?” I ask after a beat.
She grimaces, running a hand over her face. “Pissed,” she admits. “But I don’t blame him.”
“It’s not like you were thinking clearly—”
“Don’t make excuses for me, Mils,” she cuts in, her voice tight. “He lost his parents to Enforcers two years ago. Cried about it with Rayden at Brook House. He didn’t run around drunk off his ass, making a fool of himself. Didn’t disrespect anybody.”
“Everyone reacts differently to…” I trail off, but we both know what I’m not saying.
Grief.
She shrugs.
“We haven’t exactly been in these relationships long, Kay. It’s not like you two are in love.”
“No,” she says after a pause, voice hoarse. “But I do like him.” She pauses. “Drunk me, spur of the moment, thought it was some kind of rebellion against the State. Didn’t even think about the repercussions. How Jace would feel. You. Zac. The fucking State.”
“They won’t find out,” I tell her.
“Hopefully,” she murmurs. Lifting a hand, she swipes at a tear that’s escaped. Then, with a weak smile, she adds, “For what it’s worth, he was like kissing a brick wall.” She glances at me. “Zac, that is.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, and I shift to the edge of the bench, shaking my head. “That’s not exactly a glowing recommendation, Kayla. I’m not sure I’ll bother—”
“Wait.” Her eyes widen. “You… you haven’t?”
“Fuck, no,” I say, standing from the bench and grabbing my overalls from their hook.
“Emilia Burton—Grafton House slut, Rayden’s favourite girl—hasn’t slept with her husband?”
I turn, arching a brow. “You telling me you were one of those bitches who spread those rumours the last couple of years?”
“No,” she scoffs, brushing hay from her legs as she straightens. “Can’t say I stood up for you, though.”
“That’s fair.”
Her face suddenly morphs into one of horror right before something slams into the back of my knees. My legs buckle and pain shoots up my thighs as I crash to the ground, a strangled sound tearing from my throat.
Kayla yelps as she goes down beside me, clutching her leg. We both twist to see Engleberry standing there in a purple pencil dress, a sneer on her face. Beside her, an Enforcer grins, baton still raised.
“What do you think this is? A social?” she spits. “Get to work! Now.” She turns sharply, heels clicking as she marches off, Enforcer trailing behind.
For a few seconds, we stay there, legs groaning with pain. Kayla’s face is pale as I push myself upright, biting back a hiss as my calves throb. Leaning down, I help her up in silence. My hands shake as I grab my overalls from the floor, shaking out the dust before forcing my legs into them.
Kayla gives me a small, tight smile before turning towards the fields. I follow her out, the silence between us heavier than before.
I’m halfway through shoving the last piece of cheesy pasta into my mouth when the front door opens. My fork clatters against the bowl as my chest tightens. For one sharp, breathless second, everything inside me freezes.
The Enforcers would knock; they always knock.
It can’t be them.
“Zac?” I call cautiously.
“Hey,” he says gruffly, before appearing in the kitchen doorway.
He gives me a small nod and disappears again.
I exhale, slow and shaky, my panic taking longer to fade these days.
Pushing the chair back, I stand and take my bowl to the sink.
The sound of running water fills the quiet, and I scrub the bowl before leaving it to drain.
“How was work?”
I glance over my shoulder at his words and practically stop dead.
He’s pulling a black top over his head, the fabric stretching across his shoulders, every sharp edge of his inked pecs on show. Artwork curls over his tanned skin, and something traitorous in me tugs at the sight.
“Uh—”
There’s a bird on his right pec. Dark wings stretch outward, the ink intricate, and I follow them down to where flames curl up beneath it, twisting around the body of the bird— No, the phoenix.
My breath catches, and my eyes slide left, catching on flowers—
He tugs the top down, so casual and ignorant of the fact that he’s just frozen my brain. Something stirs low in my stomach, a sharp, restless urge to move closer, to move the fabric back up, to trace the lines with my fingers.
“It was… alright,” I manage, quickly turning back to the sink. “You?”
“Long,” he says. “Started at five this morning.”
I sneak a glance as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. The movement flexes the muscle beneath the fabric of the sleeve, and my gaze lingers a fraction too long, heat creeping up my neck. I blink, forcing myself to look forward at the sink.
“Do you mind if I have some of this?” he asks, nodding at the saucepan on the hob.
“Sure,” I say. “It’s no culinary delight you’d whip up, but when I’m cooking, you can’t go wrong with pasta and cheese.”
I drop back into my chair, watching as he grabs a bowl and scrapes the tiny portion from the pan. He sits opposite me and digs in, eating like he hasn’t had a proper meal in days.
“Sorry I didn’t do more. I didn’t know you’d be back for dinner.”
“That’s okay.” He shoots me a tight smile. “They feed us on the delivery routes.”
“They do?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “If you travel more than three hours one way.”
“Where did you go today?” I ask before I can help myself, curiosity gnawing at me. I haven’t left the city of Nottingham in over six years. The Enforcers would no doubt catch me if I tried.
“Newcastle,” he says simply, not looking up as he shovels another spoonful into his mouth.
“What’s it like?” I ask.
I visited Newcastle once before the war, but the grey, rainy day made it difficult to remember anything apart from the ice cream my parents bought for my brother and I to keep us quiet in the shopping centre.
Zac swallows and shrugs. “The same as here.”
I bite my lip. Nowhere has maintained its pre-war dignity; everywhere lost its heritage. I remember the old shopping centre in Nottingham, my favourite place to shop for clothes with my friends after school, but all that’s left of that area of the city is ash and rubble.
“Day off tomorrow,” Zac murmurs.
I nod, stretching my arms across the table. “Finally. This week has been dull—”
“Dull?” He smirks, an eyebrow lifting as he leans back in his chair. “Seriously, blondie, what kind of fucking drama did you get yourself into before all this?”
“What the fuck—”
“Dull?” he repeats, voice low. “We went to Nina and Rayden’s party. Someone stuck their tongue down my throat at said party. I wish this week had been duller.”
I purse my lips. “I just mean… I hate my job,” I mutter.
“Don’t we all?”
“I’d prefer to drive a truck with no one breathing down my neck, making sure I dig faster.”
“You think that’s better?” Zac’s voice hardens. “Last winter, I had to drive to Manchester with a truck full of frozen food. It was snowing, ice thick as a rink, but apparently that wasn’t a good enough excuse not to go.”
He pauses, fork hovering over his bowl.
“I made it a mile out of Nottingham before I crashed. Spent six hours, frozen to the fucking bone, desperately trying to reverse the crushed cab out of a ditch, but it was pointless—utterly mangled, and going nowhere.” His voice turns rough.
“Eventually, I walked back to the depot. Left that night with two black eyes, some broken ribs and a busted collarbone.”
He shoves food into his mouth, chewing like he hasn’t just told me he nearly died alone on the road. Or at the Enforcers’ hands.
My mouth falls open. “Zac… I…”
He waves the fork at me, dismissive. “You don’t have to respond. But it isn’t sunshine and fucking rainbows, Emilia. Trust me.”
I exhale sharply, arms slamming onto the table. “We can’t live like this.” He doesn’t respond, just takes another bite. “I’m serious,” I press. “How long until I snap at the Enforcers on the farm?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I retort, leaning forward. “And anyway, how long until one of your trucks breaks down, or you crash again?”
His fork clatters into the empty bowl, and the sound echoes in the quiet kitchen. “I deal with it, Emilia,” he mutters, tone clipped.
“You shouldn’t have to,” I say. “I’m surprised you didn’t fight back. When they beat you—”
His eyes flick up, meeting mine. There’s something raw inside, almost feral. “I wanted to. Took everything inside me to keep from doing it, too. But there were five of them.” His brow cocks, and he huffs out a humourless laugh. “I wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
“Five against one? How noble of them,” I mutter, and he smirks, standing from the table, grabbing his bowl and rinsing it at the sink.
“Training, tomorrow? Still up for it, blondie?” His voice is gruff, teasing, but there’s an edge to it.
I stand, cross my arms, and lean against the wall. “Yeah.”
Grabbing the tea towel, he dries his hands as he turns towards me. He seems to freeze, eyes slipping over me, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of my chest just enough that it’s obvious. Heat crawls up my neck, an unwanted flutter deep in my stomach.
The sharp intensity in his gaze makes something ache low inside of me, unsettling and dangerous. Part of me wants to step closer, or tighten my arms around my chest, just to see whether his eyes flicker, or whether he’ll react.
“See something you like?” I tease, echoing his own words from a couple of weeks ago.
As though a switch flips, he stiffens. His jaw tenses, eyes tearing from mine, as he chucks the towel on the side. “I’m going for a run,” he mutters.
“You just fucking ate.” He doesn’t even glance at me. Just grabs the back door handle, shoulders tensed. “You’re not wearing shoes—”
The door slams before I get another word out.
“What the fuck?” I exhale.
Slowly, I turn, mind reeling as I drag my feet to the sofa and curl up with my book, trying to bury myself in the words and ignore the traitorous pull that’s still lingering in my gut.