Page 16 of Origin (Deridia #13)

“This might be your only chance,” Hana urged, holding out a utensil and waving it lightly.

He scowled at her, which was only half visible because he refused to vacate his post at the window. “I will not take your food,” he said. Again.

She’d answered something ridiculous before. How she had more than a few meals she could skip without issue, glancing down at herself and grimacing. As if there was anything about her softness that shouldn’t have been there.

Ridiculous.

And he’d told her so.

So she’d changed tactics. “I will not eat if you won’t,” she tried instead. “Because I’d rather us both go hungry than be the only one full.”

Which was almost as ridiculous as her first argument, but she seemed quite serious. “A taste,” he allowed. “But only because you’re letting it get even colder.”

They’d stood at the window for longer than either would care to admit. She’d even persuaded him to unbolt the door when prisoners were marched out of the mess doors, heads bowed and shuffling behind one another as guards flanked on either side.

The guards’ faces held no emotions. The hard plates that made up their outsides couldn’t allow for that. But there was a fluttering tension in their movements. The way their palps chattered. Their feelers emerged, tasting the air, even drifting against the last of the prisoners, marching them all into the yard.

He could well understand why Hana did not want them angered when already in such a state. She would act impeccably. Allow no room for fault when they came to summon her to record all the bodies.

Then the ones that were destined for the tunnels.

The prisoners were sorted into groups. They all looked miserable. Some sporting abrasions, mostly to cheeks and too near to eyes. A few noses already looked swollen, which would lead to a horrid black, later as they healed poorly.

He unlocked the door.

Went back to stand with her.

Reminded she’d have work to do, later. That’s what they’d call it. Nothing about horrors. How she’d retreat into herself, and he’d slip into her cupboard again to comfort her.

There would be work.

And she should eat.

And even if it felt somewhat morbid to do it while they watched the others be grouped and shuffled about, the guards arguing amongst themselves about who bore guilt and who didn’t.

Practical. That was him. And he didn’t want her hungry.

His appetite was removed, but he would indulge her. If it meant she ate, he’d even take half of that biscuit looking thing he saw at the edge of her plate. It would be better warm—he wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did. Warm, with sticky syrup from...

The thought ended.

But it had been there.

They weren’t just finer foods. They were bits of home. Offered as a boon for her service.

Were the others really so noble they’d stick to principle over the comforts she’d been afforded?

She’d pulled up chairs without his notice. Touched his shoulder to urge him to sit. “We can watch just as easily sitting down.

He hummed at that. It wasn’t the watching, it was racing to the door if someone broke off and sought shelter that concerned him.

He judged the distance.

Judged the look in her eyes, too.

And he sat.

And took the utensil she offered, and even though it was tepid at best, there was something about the edges that was familiar. A taste? A flavour? Something that he knew. From before.

Which was...

“You’re right,” he granted, handing it back to her. It surprised him that she didn’t mind sharing. Not the food—that was like her. But the utensil. She didn’t even wipe it off between uses, just delved back into her portion and took a bite.

Maybe that’s because they’d kissed earlier.

It felt a lifetime ago.

“About what?” Hana asked, seeming not to take as much pleasure in her bite as he had.

“It is better,” Ellion finished. “So now I’ll get to know that every meal we have, so thank you for that.” It wasn’t nearly as bitter as it might have been, not when he was only teasing.

But she seemed to take him seriously because she looked stricken, staring down at the plate. “Hana,” Ellion continued, nudging her with his elbow because she’d placed their seats so close that he could. “I’m only fooling. It’s good, but it’s not that good. I care more for the company than the food.”

She caught his eye. Her relief came with a smile, and he was struck again by how lovely he found her.

She fixed him another bite rather than answer him, and that was all right. He’d pleased her. Soothed something that he decided had very little to do with him, and quite a lot to do with something else. Someone else?

He should ask. Not now. Not when the guards seemed to have settled on their groupings and lectured. “Do you know what they’re saying?” Ellion asked.

“You’ll each get the day off. Breakfast in bed. With fresh pastries. And if you’re kitchen crew, we’ll be flying in a replicator so you can have the day off, too.” He gave her a look. “What? I can’t hear any better than you can.”

“I meant, have you been around for anything like this?”

“Oh.” Hana took a breath. Then a bite. Then a sip. “It’ll be something about order. How there is work to do, and it is against the rules to interfere with assigned duties. Then quite a lot about what punishments will look like for offenders.” She swallowed. Ducked her head. “It’s mostly to dissuade people from interfering. Since they’ll get punished too, for getting involved. Better to stay out of it. Face the wall, they call it. Wait for them to handle it.”

“You good at that?” Ellion asked. Was he? Not if she was involved. He knew that much.

“I got good,” she answered, obviously ashamed of herself for it. “You going to tell me that doesn’t make me a bad person?”

“You see a man on the ground, getting kicked by four other people. What are you going to do?”

She swallowed. Stared down at the tray. “Fetch a guard.”

He quirked a brow at her, waiting for her to look at him. “And you think the only thing a good person would do is throw themselves over the one getting kicked? Take them yourself?”

She shrugged, because it was more than evident that’s exactly what she thought. “That’s how you end up with two battered people. And no guard to come break it up, and no infirmary to patch you up afterwards for being noble.”

She sniffed. Wiped at her nose with her sleeve.

Waited a moment before she gave him another bite, this one bigger than the last. He’d watch close to make sure her next was similar, otherwise he’d call her out on being overly generous. “Why do you worry so much about it?” Ellion asked, watching as a guard clubbed a leg that stepped too far out of line. The woman crumpled and somehow managed to take the man beside her as she fell.

More words. Orders. Get up. Do as they were told. Did they want to switch groups? Have a jaunt down at the tunnels? Then get up.

They did.

Not together. The man was clearly furious at being involved, and he didn’t help her to her feet. She stumbled once, but she managed it, keeping her weight to her other leg, swaying lightly.

“And you don’t? You telling me it doesn’t eat you up inside to know what these mean?” She nodded toward his forearm. To the numbers that gave him the only hint he’d ever know about his crime.

He couldn’t argue with her. Not about that. Because he did want to know. Or, at least, he wanted to know what it wasn’t . There were plenty of terrible acts in the world. Ones he knew in the depths of him, even if it took a while to conjure them.

All of it sent a sick feeling through his stomach that made him shake his head at her next offering. She handed him the cup instead, and that was better. “Do you want to tell me what you did?” Ellion asked at last. Not quite asking directly. A hedge. A work around.

She blew out a breath. “I thought you’d ask ages ago.”

He took another sip and put the cup back on the tray. “Didn’t seem fair, seeing as I couldn’t tell you mine after.”

She didn’t answer him right away, and he didn’t really expect her to. This was personal, far more so than they usually discussed. And clearly, it bothered her. A stickler to the rules, to order. He had a difficult time imagining her bending them. Unless the situation had been dire?

He wished he remembered city life. If there were desperate people there. Or was it all idyllic? Where only the amoral committed an offence, simply for the pleasure of doing so.

That wasn’t Hana. He didn’t need any memories at all to tell him that.

Unless she’d changed so much?

Had he?

She didn’t get to answer him. They had warning enough, a guard splitting off from the rest and moving toward the office. Not the dorms. Not the washroom.

They’d known she’d be here.

The door opened smoothly, and she’d put down the tray on the floor, hiding it behind the desk. They’d finished, mostly. Nothing that would spoil and give them away before they could see it back to the kitchen for a proper cleaning.

“Come,” he instructed, keeping the door open and waiting for them to exit.

He closed it again. Didn’t have a key. Or didn’t bother with one?

He was moving to the mess hall, and Hana didn’t take the time to lock the door, either. She was given an order, and she would follow it. But he’d be the one to enter first, next time. Clear the room. Make sure no one was hiding in the corners, ready to pounce.

He’d allowed her no paper. No method to write down the numbers. Hopefully, that meant the casualties were few.

It was eerie, walking into the room. He’d yet to see it without the tables full of people, without the hum of chatter.

It felt strangely cold to be free of anyone, save those on the floor.

Uncovered.

Shouldn’t they be covered?

He didn’t know why he thought so, but he was sure of it. A cloth. Black. Draped over each body. He rubbed at the back of his neck and willed no pain to settle in his temples.

The guard gestured for Hana to get to work, and she did so as efficiently as possible. Four in total. He’d expected more, although he couldn’t say why. They hadn’t turned any of them, left them how they’d fallen, and of course the first was lying on the arm she needed. She pushed. No, she shoved, and it—he?—barely moved.

Ellion moved forward, waiting for the guard to chastise him for it. “Let me help,” Ellion murmured, and together they got the body flipped over. There was no cuff to push up. Whether it had been torn off on purpose or by accident, Ellion couldn’t know. But it was gone, and he watched Hana murmur the name as well as the number.

Then something about peace and justice and...

A prayer.

And she thought herself a bad person?

They’d have more words about that. Not now. Not when there was more to do.

But later.

He might even kiss her again. Not that the situation was particularly arousing, but because she was everything that was bright and good, and she was a ridiculous woman for thinking otherwise. And somehow he thought kisses might help in the persuasion, but he could be wrong about that.

She moved to the next. He helped to situate the body. Which, he decided, had very little to do with being able to see a name and numbers, and very much to do with her. She wanted them lying there. Looking as peaceful as she could make them. While she breathed out her prayers and cast surreptitious looks to the guard every few seconds.

By the third, he was more used to her rituals.

By the fourth, he would have considered himself an expert, had the body not groaned when they turned it. Him. Reached out. Grabbed hold of Hana with unseeing eyes. Blood coated his face, and his lungs made a horrid rasp, it was a wonder they hadn’t heard him before.

She was pale with horror, but she was recovering quickly. Trying to soothe, press him back down, because he was going to make his injuries worse if he moved around like that.

Ellion would not wait for coherence. Not when he was pulling so hard at Hana’s collar that her neck had to bow toward him. When blood was spittle against her cheek as he breathed. He leaned forward and inserted his thumb into the man’s grip, pulling outward. Just enough so she could pull herself free. She didn’t go far, not when there was someone in need, but it was enough that she wasn’t being wrenched about. He would check the back of her neck later for abrasions—where seam met delicate skin

They were spared having to summon the guard. They lacked an infirmary. Hana said so. But she would try, he was certain. Negotiate some sort of deal with the one medic they had. Food? She couldn’t trade that. Her clothing was inadequate now that it was bloodied as well as torn. What did she have left?

The guard moved forward. Made a sort of grunt. Rasp? A flutter of palps and sound that rattled through his chest.

Hana seemed to realise what would happen before Ellion did.

Her eyes were wide, and every bit of her poised for action. To hurl herself over the dying man. But she stopped herself. Moved back and got to her feet, a sob lodged in her chest. He could see it. In the stuttering breaths, the stiff posture. He went to her, because he’d promised she would face none of this alone, and he’d meant it.

He watched her rather than the rest of it. But he could hear it. The crunch of bone. Lungs that pushed out their last.

While Hana watched. Witnessed. Tears streaming down her cheeks, because she might be able to contain the sob, but not those.

He didn’t dare hold her. Not now. But he reached out and squeezed her arm, just once. Enough for her eyes to flicker to his. For her lip to wobble, and she was leaning ever so slightly toward him.

Wanting his arms about her.

For comfort.

He didn’t know if that would bring trouble. If the guards would care if they had formed a deeper relationship. But he couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not when violence came easy.

But he could lean in more closely. Could whisper in her ear while the guard contended himself the man was really dead. “I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t enough, but it was what he had.

And she nodded and reached for his hand, gripping it for just a moment.

A lifeline. That’s how it felt. To something else. Something sweet and kind. Not this.

He looked at the body. Lifeless. Broken.

And he wished he could feel as she did.

Could mourn a nameless man.

That he wasn’t so selfish. Because what he felt most was certain he’d seen something like it before. And he was running out of reasons that left room for any sort of goodness.

Should he tell her? Not now. But... later.

Admit it to her. His suspicions.

He didn’t have time to wrestle with it. Not when Hana was moving back to the body. When she smoothed blood away from the tattoo so she could read it better. Then stared down at the same digit, as if not sure what to do with it now.

Ellion went to her. Knelt, because she was kneeling.

Took his own shirt and shook his head because she was going to protest, and that was ridiculous. He’d take her to the washroom, after. Again. And he’d make sure the water went for two cycles if she wanted it and hiss at anyone that wanted to rush her out of it.

But for now, he could take the hem of his shirt and wipe at her thumb. Until the skin looked like hers, warm and golden.

And he was the one to murmur the prayer. Because her throat didn’t seem to be working, and he knew it was important to her, even if she couldn’t manage it herself.

“Have you committed their identities to memory?” the guard asked.

Hana swallowed. Didn’t nod, but made herself answer him properly. “Yes.”

“Then you will make proper notations in the log.”

Ellion helped her to her feet. Kept hold of her hand because she wasn’t steady, and escorts were allowed to keep their charges from falling over. He’d even explain it to the guard if he had to.

But the guard didn’t care. Just marched them out of the kitchen. Then the mess hall with its overturned benches and askew tables.

Who would set it to rights?

Perhaps they’d be denied meals the rest of the day. To reflect on proper behaviour. Or maybe they’d all be back again. The room scrubbed and the tables in proper order. And they’d all pretend nothing happened. That it was a normal day, and the only thing of note was a couple of shared kisses behind an office building. When he’d been bold and she’d been gentle with him.

The smaller of the groups was missing when they exited. So they wouldn’t have to escort them to the tunnels, after all. He briefly wondered if they’d been executed, but then they’d have to inspect their numbers. Identify the bodies.

Jot it down in a log and make it sound like this was a part of normal life here.

Which maybe it was.

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