Chapter 4
chapter
four
Haven
It is almost time for the switch.
We need to stop before we reach Division Two so Mercy and I can change into our clothes and settle into our new roles.
Mercy will be going to Ender’s house, which is near the Forge. She will reside there until the public marriage ceremony that will occur in three months. And I will be off to the Forge to train as a soldier.
We kept our disguise for the benefit of Warrick, but now that we are far from the house, it is time to change and put our plan in motion.
We’ve passed through four different boroughs. I peek at the digital map on the console. Our vehicle is a small, green blip. We’re nine and a half hours from North Mire.
White oak trees flash across the window. They are full and bushy like a thick beard, unlike the lank and rangy vegetation of Oracle. Most of the foliage in Division Eight is sallow and blanched from the pollution.
Ender keeps glancing at Mercy and me in the rearview mirror, lips pressed thin, as if we are cargo he regrets agreeing to transport.
The feeling is entirely mutual.
“We need to take a break,” I say. “I can’t feel my legs, and my back hurts.”
“Not my problem,” Ender says.
“It will be when I am pregnant with your offspring, and my body gives out,” I threaten.
Knox chokes on his spit. Ender doesn’t react to my outlandish statement.
By my tenth complaint, he finally assents to a break.
“Fine,” he barks. “We’ll stop if you shut up.”
The truck turns off the main intersection, sliding down the dark throat of an empty road, tires crunching through dirt and roots. Pines crowd close, their branches knitting together overhead, blotting out the moon like smudged ink on paper, pulling us deeper into the shadows.
The gable-front house emerges slowly, cropping out from the soil like a mushroom.
It’s built of weathered wood and pale stone.
Narrow windows are carved into the sides, revealing an unlit interior.
The roof sags slightly at one corner, ivy crawling up the walls, thick enough to disguise the security sensors embedded beneath the leaves.
But a small red flash gives away their presence.
This has to be a military safe house.
“Is it okay to stay here?” Mercy asks. “What if something eats us?”
Ender turns around to pin her with a piercing stare.
“The only thing you should fear in this place is me.”
Mercy shivers at his words, quickly averting her gaze.
“Don’t scare my sister,” I snap.
He ignores me and cuts the ignition while I study my new enemy.
Ender Vale is a terribly beautiful man. Tall, big, and built for war. His raven hair is cropped on the sides and slightly thicker on the top. Dark stubble frames his mouth, softening his pretty lips. A scar cuts along his jaw, old enough to have faded to a milky-white line.
At his neck, just beneath the collar of his jacket, I catch the faint nick of his implant. Every few seconds, the blue light stirs beneath his skin like a trapped moth.
Months after the regime seized control, a mysterious plague swept across the land called the Red Fever.
It earned its name from the bloodshot eyes that marked the first wave of the infection.
A noxious chemical had seeped into the waterways, poisoning the water supply.
It was how Redwater got its name in Division Three.
The laboratory stationed there had suffered an incident, though the chemical was never disclosed.
Entire boroughs fell silent within days. There had been fifteen divisions before, and now only eight remained. Some people perished immediately, others lingered in delirium, and a small fraction of those who lived were altered.
It was around the time the first few powers began to crop up. Some could manipulate elements, bend metal, or read thoughts. These powers were feared and revered in equal measure.
The Director’s Council blamed the old president, claiming that he developed a bioweapon because resources were dwindling after the war, and he wanted to reduce the population.
Bane Vale immediately established control over those they called the “Gifted”.
Survivors of the plague who were modified were registered and trained, with dangerous abilities eradicated before they could be misused.
At first, military service was mandatory, but over the years, it became optional for the Gifted.
And only the Commons were forced to serve.
“What are your powers?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
Knox shifts beside him. He has the Bind, too, which means they are both Gifted.
He’s different than Ender. His hair is dyed a vibrant blue, and his left brow has a silver barbell stretching across his dark brows.
“I can turn invisible,” Knox says with a boyish grin. “Want to see?”
Before I can answer, he vanishes.
I clap at his performance. That was quite impressive.
Knox reappears in the same spot, bowing slightly.
“Ender can—”
“None of your business,” Ender cuts in. “Do not speak with her.”
The word her slips past his lips like venom.
“Am I your wife,” I ask evenly, “or a prisoner?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he says.
He opens his door and steps out into the dark, slamming it shut behind him before I can respond.
“Come on,” Knox says with a warm smile. “I’ll show you, girls, around.”
“Is he always like that?” Mercy asks.
“You mean, is he always so charming and polite?” Knox says. “Every day of the week.”
I snort, and Mercy smiles.
“It takes a second to adjust to Ender, he’s…guarded,” Knox explains.
The door is a reinforced steel frame disguised with wood paneling, and the windows are all barred. They went to great lengths to keep this place a secret.
The lamps are fitted with bare bulbs, and the floors are scuffed with boot marks. Mercy peeks into the cabinets, revealing a row of preserved rations.
Maps are pinned to the walls, layered over older ones, their corners curled and annotated in different hands.
It’s strange to see paper instead of a digital grid.
The reception here must be terrible. Old beer bottles are lying in a pile, their logos peeling off the glass, revealing the sticky residue underneath.
Dust-covered military coats are draped across the old couches.
Knox opens the door to our bedroom. The space is small. There are two narrow beds along with a single window boarded from the outside but cracked just enough to let in a thread of frosty air.
Knox returns shortly after with our travel cases, setting them side by side at the foot of the beds.
“In case you wish to change,” he explains.
“Thank you,” Mercy says.
“Let me know if you girls need anything,” he says.
I look at Mercy the second the door clicks shut.
“Why couldn’t he be the husband?” I sigh. “He’s so much more tolerable than that brute.”
“You shouldn’t goad Ender,” Mercy says. “He is frightening.”
I roll my eyes. I lived with Warrick for twelve years. Nothing scares me anymore.
“I’m not afraid.”
I sit on the bed, the springs digging painfully into my thighs.
“Do you think everyone will fall for it?” she asks.
I nod. They will. This plan is foolproof.
“Let’s get some rest,” I say, lying down on the hard mattress. “Tomorrow everything changes.”
Light filters through the window in ribbons of gold. A bird trills on the ledge, and I blink at the unfamiliar surroundings until it hits me. Today is the day I go to the Forge. For years, I prepared for this moment, and now it is finally happening.
I owe it to my mother to become a weapon strong enough to take down Warrick and the Supreme Director one day.
Knox raps twice against the door.
“Up and breathing,” he calls. “It’s a great day to have a great day!”
I groan at his cherry voice. The sun hasn’t even fully risen.
Of course, Ender refuses to let us sleep in after the long drive from Division One to Division Two. We took the transit road that cuts through the territories like a scar. It is a six-lane stretch of pavement that runs from the capital to the farthest division.
Even though Ender took the express route reserved for military personnel, we still had to stop at two checkpoints, presenting our Smart Card––which carries our identification, credit balance, and travel clearance––before we could proceed.
Each card has a matte-black surface with a white sun etched on an iridescent circuit, while the fingerprint sensor flags any unauthorized use.
The border patrol studied Mercy and me the longest, seemingly disturbed by our similarities. I guess he’s never seen a pair of twins before.
I slip into my favorite cargo pants. The fabric is heavy against my skin. The holster settles against my hip like an old friend.
My fingers brush the grip of my gun, feeling something dangerously close to affection.
My hair is plaited, bangs drifting along my eyes like a hazy dream. Our mother always cut it for us when we were young. She’d sit us on the floor and warn us not to squirm, or we’d regret it when we looked in the mirror. That was a long time ago. Mercy and I kept the style ever since.
Behind me, Mercy adjusts the folds of her dress, smoothing the canary-yellow fabric and adjusting the matching ribbon in her hair. It suits her well. Soft and dainty. She looks like she belongs in a fairytale, sliding between meadows and chasing white-speckled gazelles.
“Remember,” I murmur, tightening the end of my braid, “insult him often, but be creative or you’ll ruin my reputation.”
“And you?”
“I’ll say as little as possible.”
That earns me a smile.
I soften my face, erasing my hard expression, and then we descend the stairs together. Halfway down, I lean closer.
“Why are you grimacing?” I ask.
“I’m smirking,” she hisses back. “The way you always do.”
I swallow back a laugh and resist the urge to fix her expression myself.
Knox is waiting near the door, arms folded across his chest. His blue hair is lazily ruffled, and his mouth is drawn in a crooked smile.
His gaze drops immediately to my hip.