Page 135 of Border Control

Dom and I share a look, both of us clinging to that sliver of hope. We’re not alone.

Samara’s voice rings out through the courtroom, cold and unyielding. “This clone has been given two direct orders. Two. He has disobeyed, refusing to follow through. He has not removed one of his hearts, and he has not obeyed the human’s order.”

“Those are shit orders,” I protest, but the Voice says, “The human will be silent for now.”

The Prif’s eyes skate over me, over my head toward the crowd. “The order to tear out one of his hearts would have been rescinded at the last moment. It was designed to be difficult to comply with, but we expected complete and absolute obedience to be bred and trained into every Parthiastock. The human’s order, however? Utterly unorthodox, and certainly not my suggestion. Perhaps that is how things are done on Earth.”

The courtroom dims, or is that just my vision? I press my palms to my thighs, trying to stop them from trembling, but everyone can see.

I’m failing. We’re losing.

The Prif’s voice cuts sharply through my gasping breaths. “Parthiastock clones above all are held to a higher standard. Our dear Parthia, the inspiration for these clones, was laser focused on upholding our laws. These particular clones are meant to police all clones. If we cannot trust one of them, which clone can we trust?”

Murmurs in the crowd rise like a wave, a tide that will drown us both. Dom bows his head.

The Prif points at him. “He has failed.”

THIRTY-FOUR

DOM

Her words strike like a lash,but I don’t flinch. I’ve known from the beginning how this would end, that she would twist every trial to make sure I could never pass. I’m a clone, just a disposable tool to her. I should feel anger, maybe even fear, but right now all I feel is a quiet resignation.

Calm settles over me as I look at Law-rah. She stands close, defiant, her presence a fire that blazes against the sterile coldness of this place. I can see the worry in her eyes, the way she clenches her hands, the struggle to hold herself back. She wants to fight for me.

And even though I know she’s doing this for my sake, for my safety, there’s a part of me that can’t cross the line she’s drawn. I don’t want her to have to sacrifice herself for me.

I love her too much.

Taking what is likely my last breath, I shake my head. “No, Law-rah. I can’t do it. I won’t cross your boundary.”

Her eyes widen, her mouth opening slightly, as if to protest. But I continue before she can speak, every hidden truth spilling out.

“I failed as a Base,” I admit. “I failed because I couldn’t respect your boundary. I want to be your mate, Law-rah, more than anything. Even though that’s crossing your line.” I swallow. “But it’s what I’d choose, if you’d let me.”

Silence falls in the room, thick and loaded. I know what I’m asking of her, what it would mean. I’m overstepping, this isn’t the place or the time, but I can’t hold it back anymore. Not when we’re standing on the edge of what feels like the end.

Her gaze softens. “Dom, please. I'm begging you. Fuck me.”

I shake my head and straighten, preparing myself for the inevitable. I’ll face whatever comes. As long as she knows that I chose this, that it’s my decision and no one else’s. That she is what I would choose, over and over again, given the chance.

I may have failed Samara’s rigged trial, and perhaps I failed her expectations of control. But as I look at Law-rah, I know I haven’t failed myself.

If this is the end, then so be it. But it will be on my terms.

“I won't do what you ask of me, Prif. I cannot follow that order. It's against all Parthiastock instincts to refuse, so this is true torture. Execute me, and bring me peace.”

“No!” Law-rah's still fighting for me, putting herself in the way of the good loyal Parthiastocks trying to reach me. I know they won't harm her, but it still hurts to think of some other male near her. Once I'm gone, I hope she finds a worthy husband.

One lifts her up, and I have to fight to stay in place. It's harder than not coming when Law-rah's fingers strum my nerves, harder than not moving or saying anything when all I want to do is scream.

“Dom, don't take it! You didn't fail, fight them!”

I cannot obey that order either. I brace myself, wishing the final blow will fall quickly, before I snap and rescue Law-rah, prolonging the inevitable. Samara’s face is a mask of triumph, her mouth twisting in satisfaction as she looks between Law-rahand me. The whole room is waiting, on edge, ready for blood—for my blood.

A voice cuts through the tension, soft and firm, with an unmistakable authority that commands attention.

“Enough.” The Voice’s tone is unwavering as she steps forward, glancing around the courtroom with a serene assurance.