Chapter 10
chapter
ten
Haven
Iam armed to the teeth. I have a pistol in my holster and another in my boot, and six knives strapped to my vest. It’s excessive and tedious, lugging around all these weapons, but I refuse to be caught off guard.
It’s like at every corner someone wants to kill me.
Last week, a Gifted officer went ballistic on me. He could multiply into numerous people. Unlike Ender, they weren’t an illusion; they were flesh and blood. I was heading to the medical facility when the freak with the two-toned hair and demented smile popped out of nowhere.
It was right after I had another tussle with Rei in the mess hall. The enforcers didn’t bother to interfere, and the bitch slammed me against the wall, right after I broke her nose.
“Warrick.”
I jump, drawing out my pistol and pointing it behind me.
Ender leans against the building, unfazed by the fact that I am waving my barrel at him.
“Lower your weapon,” he says.
“Give me back my gun,” I reply. “The one you stole.”
He reaches behind him and holds my firearm. It dangles laxly from his finger.
“This one?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Strangely enough, I noticed something when I looked at the grip. There is an initial,” he says. “H.W.”
Shit.
“It belongs to my sister,” I say slowly. “She let me borrow it.”
“Hmm,” he muses.
The gun flies in the air, and I leap forward, catching it with my right hand.
“Let’s go,” he says. “You’ve been reassigned.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
I fall into step beside him anyway.
He disappears for weeks at a time, then reappears like a bad omen. I’ve been waiting for this, waiting to corner him, to demand he let me see Mercy.
His gaze drops to my tactical vest and lingers there.
“You look like a child playing dress-up,” he says. “Why the hell are you wearing that if you’re not going on a mission?”
“I’m a popular target, in case you haven’t heard,” I say. “I have to be prepared at all times.”
He lets out a quiet, humorless breath.
“Did you ever consider that maybe no one would pick on you if you didn’t act out so much?”
I stop short. He takes one more step before realizing I’m no longer beside him.
“Excuse me?” I say. “Are you saying I deserve to be beaten to a pulp?”
His eyes harden. “I’m saying you could try respecting your betters.”
Anger coils tight in my chest. I march ahead of him before spinning around, forcing him to stop and look down at me.
“You think you’re better than me, Vale?” I spit. “Because you’re a Gifted?”
He steps close enough that I have to tilt my head back. His eyes burn with something volatile.
“Among other things.”
“Why not have a fair fight then?” I taunt. “Why rely on your powers?”
“I don’t need my powers to knock you flat on your ass,” he growls.
“Prove it.”
His mouth tilts in a sardonic smile. His foot slides behind mine to trip me, but I anticipated the move. I slide my leg upwards to knee his groin, but he slips away like the snake that he is.
“Playing dirty?” Ender tsks.
“I would gouge out your eyes if I were taller,” I say.
He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, as if he is amused by my bloodthirsty words.
“Enough of this, sunshine,” Ender says. “I’m on a tight schedule. Come with me.”
“What did you just call me?”
“It’s sarcasm,” he explains. “You’re as bleak as a rainy morning.”
“Don’t ever call me that.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, because he seems delighted by the fact that I despise it.
“I don’t have all day to play games with you, sunshine,” he replies. “In case you forgot, I am the Commandant of the Forge.”
I resist the urge to comment on the unfortunate pet name again. It’ll only make him keep calling me that.
“Who can forget when you make a habit of reminding us so often?” I ask bitterly.
He quirks a brow. “Impressed, are you?”
“Disgusted.”
He leads me past the main building, where recruits swarm like ants.
Their gazes are low, and their footsteps are quick as they pass us, trying not to capture the attention of the Commandant.
It sickens me how the world bends to his every whim.
His mere existence makes them tremble, while people treat me like dirt just because I wasn’t born with powers.
Everyone has come to accept the hierarchy imposed by the regime.
They’ve turned a blind eye to the injustice of it all, and I despise the Gifted for it.
People may think the Resistance began to reject the Bind and to force people to accept Class Ones despite their dangerous gifts, but I like to think that it is also because the way our world is built is fundamentally wrong.
Commons have a higher tax rate even though they make smaller salaries. Fresh fruit and vegetables are exported to the wealthy families, while the poor ones eat cheap, packaged food like canned soup, and those nasty powdered meal packs that taste like mud.
The Gifted make up thirty percent of the population, yet the majority of our resources are funneled directly into their homes.
They have the best electricity providers while ours is cut off the second we make a late payment, along with access to higher education, and dyed, vibrant clothes that aren’t the same stale color waves we mass-produce.
It sickens me that while we were drowning in debt in Division Eight, the worst people alive were growing rich off the blood of the impoverished.
Ender presses a badge to a second gate. It is thicker and made of reinforced steel. In black lettering, the words “Block A” are written on an entrance sign.
My heart thuds as I realize exactly where he is taking me.
Block A is reserved for high-level personnel. Block B is for the Gifted recruits, and Block C is for the Commons.
“Are you bringing me here to torture me?” I ask.
“Why would I torture you?”
“Because you’re a sadistic asshole who likes to hurt sweet, innocent girls.”
“If that’s the case, why would I pick you?” He raises a brow. “You are neither sweet nor innocent.”
“Very funny,” I say dryly.
A low hum vibrates as his badge scans, and the gates grind upward.
The enforcer gives him a curt nod before we step inside the secure base.
The building is sunk into the ground at an unnatural angle.
It is windowless and unwelcoming. Watchtowers ring the perimeter, and armed enforcers track our every move.
A spike of anxiousness travels down my spine.
“I’m serious, Vale. Where are you taking me?”
We enter the building, and he scans his badge again.
The advanced level of security frightens me.
Whatever is in here, they want to keep it hidden.
Rumor has it that they have containment cells here.
Transport trucks come through every few weeks, escorting a handful of prisoners.
We see it every Tuesday like clockwork when we’re doing our outdoor training.
An enforcer sits at the front desk with a bored expression. He straightens when he sees the Commandant, dutifully pressing his fist to his chest in greeting.
Ender barely acknowledges him, leading me down the stairs and into an empty corridor.
Wherever he is taking me, nobody will be able to hear my screams from down here.
Doors line the walls, each marked with coded numbers, and somewhere below us, a generator drums, feeding power into the building.
The air is colder the lower we go, and I shiver.
I commit every detail to memory just in case I have to escape this place. I can’t help but wonder if Ender knows what my sister and I did. Surely, he wouldn’t dismember me, because I did a little twin swap, would he? He can’t be that uptight.
I eye him subtly. He moves like a panther, like a creature that belongs in the woods and not in civilized areas. I realize then that he would hurt me for tricking him. He is brutal. He had to be to climb the ranks so quickly.
Even if he is the Supreme Director’s son, there is nothing rich or pompous about Ender Vale. He is a soldier. He is a fighter.
I stop walking.
“Come along, Warrick,” he says harshly. “I don’t have all day.”
“I want to know where you’re taking me?”
The fluorescent light dances across his beautiful face as he turns to face me. He looks particularly wolfish today. And I take a reluctant step backwards. I don’t like this place. I don’t like him.
“Do you know what I do?” he asks. “In the military, that is?”
“Hunt rebels and collect medals,” I say.
A corner of his mouth lifts. It can hardly be considered a smile. But it is close.
“I don’t hunt,” he says. He stops an arm’s length away, close enough that I can smell the clean scent of his uniform and see the bone-white scar that traces his jawline.
“Well, perhaps sometimes if I am bored, but I am the one who crawls in here.” He taps my mind.
“You can’t even begin to imagine the horrors I can make you see. ”
A shiver runs through me.
“You’re here because you were hand-picked by a trusted member of my unit to join my training program,” he says, his tone low and even.
My eyes narrow. “Why would they pick me? I have no powers.”
Ender steps aside to reveal a glass door. He scans his badge again, and it slips open.
We step into an expensive indoor drill hall.
The ceiling is arched and high enough to swallow sound.
Strip lights line the ceiling, casting a white glow around the space.
The floor is a composite of dark stone and shock-absorbent plating.
Obstacle courses are placed across the floor with retractable walls, suspended platforms, and skeletal towers of metal and mesh designed for climbing and pursuit.
To one side is a sand-filled sparring pit, and beside it is a shooting range, with training dummies lined up in rigid rows. Each one is embedded with sensors that blink faintly, prepared to register damage.
Nine recruits wear muted gray practice clothes and stand in a circle. I feel a little ridiculous in my outfit. Maybe I slightly overdid it with the vest.