Page 17 of Origin (Deridia #13)

Hana was quiet much of the day. When she pulled out the large tome from the bookcase. Placed it on the desk used a deep red ribbon to find her place. She didn’t explain what it was. Didn’t call him over to inspect the other scribblings, her handwriting dwarfed in the size of the pages. There were others. In a hand that wasn’t hers.

Which he saw, only because he invited himself to look, waiting for her to chide him for hovering and banish him to another seat. But she didn’t. Just stared grimly down at the page. The one with the writing that wasn’t hers. With signatures that weren’t her name.

She didn’t explain that, either. He could ask, but she was writing, and that seemed an intrusion.

An inspector, maybe. That would come. Look things over. Sign off on her notations, certifying they were accepted into another form of documentation.

Likely the ones that showed the offences. Family. Names. All the parts he wished were kept in a cabinet. That he could flip through and know the answers to his questions and have done with it.

But no. It couldn’t be simple. Just a book and notes of deaths.

She was honest about it.

He wasn’t certain the guards would like it. She wrote briefly of the brawl, then described the condition of the bodies, one by one. Potential expiry from the force of the guards. Investigate further.

He’d seen similar notations further up. Before his time. Sign a signature beneath. Then a quick line that the death inquiries were made. Deaths were accidental. Another signature.

He let her write. Let her put the log back for herself. Let her sit and think, and perhaps make a few more of those prayers, and he hoped a couple might be for herself and her own peace.

But he doubted it.

He could ask again. About what she’d done to come here. And she might have told him, with no light in her eyes, no ability to defend herself. Her thoughts were too heavy, her heart too sore, and he wouldn’t take advantage of that. Not even for answers.

They watched as inmates were marched into the mess hall. Not the haphazard stream of coming and going that accompanied a meal.

Work.

To clean.

The bodies were carried out. Still uncovered. And that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

“What happens to them?” he asked, because that wasn’t personal. Wasn’t delving too deep when she was too weary to defend herself.

She hadn’t been looking after all. Was simply staring, and he’d interrupted her. She blinked. Frowned. Glanced out the window before ducking her head. “Buried. We don’t have an incinerator. Takes power we don’t have. There’s a cemetery out there.” She gestured vaguely beyond the wall. “Like the old days, you know? All in a line. I’d put markers, if I got to go. Not that they’d last, but at least they’d be there for a while.”

Ellion shifted, turning so he could look at her better. “Families never come? To find out what happened? Bring them back home?”

Hana swallowed. Took a breath and her shoulders hunched forward. “Part of the contract,” she answered, a little too quiet. “When we sign up to come here. Of course, we all thought it would be a long time from now. Slip away in our old age. Didn’t seem so bad to be buried in a strange world when you’re on the way out, anyway.”

She rubbed at her face, but she hadn’t been crying, so he wasn’t sure what caused the compulsion. “None of this is what I thought it would be.”

Ellion took a step nearer. Didn’t reach for her. Somehow, he didn’t think his touch would be welcome at the moment. She seemed brittle. Wound too tight. And he didn’t know what else would be expected of them for the day. When another guard would come and summon them to scrub blood from the floorboards.

And he wouldn’t have them see her crying. Him holding her. Those were private moments. Shared between friends. Not to be sneered at and taken back, another story shared between guards at their leisure. Tales of their charges, how soft and emotional they all were.

She got quiet, and he was too afraid to press her further. They weren’t summoned, not exactly.

But a guard came and told them to return to their respective dorms until the evening meal. Which would be served as usual. And they would behave, because this morning was unacceptable.

As if they’d been involved.

A tiny portion of a lecture already given, but it meant he didn’t feel safe making the trek to her dorm. Especially in broad daylight. He did take her to hers first. Took hold of her hand and gripped it lightly before she disappeared behind the doors.

Then back to his.

Too warm. With a sickly weight in his belly that Hana was hurting, and he hadn’t helped her. Not enough, at least. They might have been horrors shared, but it wasn’t the same as boosting her spirits.

He went to the windows. Opened the shutters. He didn’t have the corner as Hana did, but it was better. Most especially when he moved to another. They’d positioned the building to catch the breeze, light as it was. Why had no one opened them before?

“We like it closed, newbie,” a man called from further down.

His hands curled. Hana had warned him about confrontation. And tensions were too high after the morning, and he was no better. “You like to suffocate, then,” Ellion called back. “I don’t.”

He waited. Braced himself. Was almost disappointed when no one appeared ready to fight him for it.

Only a grumble. “Tonight, then. Closed. Moon is too bright, you’ll see.”

Ellion made no promises. He took his subtle win and moved back to his cupboard, sitting back on his cot.

Grimaced, when he realised he was waiting to hear someone go back and close the shutters.

Was already tensing, ready to have words with the challenger. More than words.

He hung his head. Rubbed at it. Hana would never do that. She’d stifle her preferences and defer to what the collective wanted.

And what would that earn her but a lifetime of shoving down her own needs?

He thought he deserved a great deal of credit for waiting until they were called for meals. He hadn’t run to her under the pretence of using the facilities. Hadn’t stormed her dormitory, daring any who cared to protest, to confront him about it.

He’d waited. And pretended it was rest and that he felt better, and so would she.

Except she was quiet at supper. Few others seemed to share her mourning. They carried on as if nothing had happened. Their trays were full, and that seemed to be what mattered most.

Hana ate, and he did not even have to prompt her. It was swift and efficient, as if she cared only to be out of the room again.

“I’ll come later,” he murmured when she was half out of her seat and just picking up her tray.

She stilled.

And he waited, absolutely certain she would tell him not to.

“I could come to yours,” she offered, unwilling to meet his eye.

“You’ve got the better window,” Ellion reminded her. “And you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

She peeked at him, just the once. “That’s not very fair,” she reminded him.

He shrugged. He didn’t much care what was fair, just what felt right to him. Which was him slipping back to her. Lying beside her bed. Keeping her safe and filling the void in his head with the soft sounds of her breathing. The pull of cloth when she rolled over. The murmur of her voice when she found something she wanted to talk to him about.

“We could go to the office. Then we’ll both be on the floor. Much more equitable.” It was not a genuine suggestion, and her eyes widened as if he’d suggested they climb over the wall and sleep by the river. “I was kidding,” Ellion soothed her. Obviously she was too on edge to find any humour, and her shoulders slumped as she settled the tray against her hip and tried to look stern with her hand on the other.

“Later,” she agreed. “No office.”

He formed a fist and patted his chest twice in a salute. Then furrowed his brow as she moved off because he couldn’t remember making such a gesture before. But a part of him knew to do it. So that was... another something to tuck away.

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