Page 106 of Fractured Future

My brother is afraid.

Perhaps rightly so.

That isn’t going to stop me from taking this chance, though. His fear is exactly that—his. Not mine. And he will have to learn to control it before he permanently hurts the people he loves.

Fisting my hair, I press my fingers into my head, hoping to relieve the deep ache. I easily find the gnarly lump across the back of my skull where Gael’s physician stitched my gory head wound.

After releasing my head, I begin to randomly throw belongings into the boxes that Warner assembled. I unpacked acouple of weeks ago, having nowhere else to go. Now my entire life is back in cardboard boxes once again.

A gentle knock on the door draws my attention.

“Red?”

“Go away.”

“Not likely. Can I come in?”

“I’m packing,” I call back.

“Need help? Tom left. Warner’s gone after him.”

Great. They can verbally kill each other in public instead.

“Fine, come in.”

The thud of Hyland’s usual rubber-soled army boots is unmistakable. I’m focused on haphazardly folding a wool sweater when he lightly taps my shoulder.

“You doing okay?”

“Just peachy.” My voice comes out strained. “What the hell is Tom’s problem?”

Moving to sit at the foot of the bed, Hyland watches me pack with visible concern. “He’s protective. I get it.”

“There’s protective, and then there’s fucking insane. You of all people should get that.”

“Ouch. Thanks for that.”

“Welcome,” I snark back.

“Talk to me, Ember. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“This isn’t some stupid, rash decision!” I erupt in frustration. “I’m trying to find purpose. I have skills to offer.”

“We know that.” He shifts, crossing his ankles. “And he will come to that realisation too. Right now, he’s just worried sick.”

“And lashing out like a total dick?”

“Well, yes. That too.”

Giving up, I lob the sweater into a box. “That stuff he spewed about Sabre and your job was fucked up.”

Hyland hesitates before replying, his hand massaging the back of his neck. “He’s not wrong. We’ve lost a lot of people in the line of fire.”

“That isn’t your fault.”

“I’m not sure Warner sees it that way.”

“Why?” I exclaim. “He isn’t to blame.”