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Chapter thirty-seven

Forest

F allan backs away from the doorway, waiting patiently as the men glance inside his space. I cover my mouth to control my breathing, unsure how much they can hear from their distance. The men look at the area with disgust, each dressed head to toe in the traditional Official uniform.

They move into the space and begin running their hands along his things. Their hands cover the hilts of their prods and pistols, ready to pull them at any moment. I watch them fidget with their Re-Regulation Devices, eyeing Fallan’s chip like two kids in a candy shop.

Fallan readjusts his shirt, which had ridden up from me sitting on his lap, covering the array of scars on his back. My nails dig into the wooden floorboards, my frustrations rapidly growing.

“Took you a while to answer that door,” one of the men says, staring into the red flames of the fire.

“I was taking care of a few scrapes I got earlier today. Had some misdemeanors to answer for,” Fallan says, showing the men his lightly bruised side. His healing had progressed rapidly from the Cure-All, and I noticed his breathing was more manageable. “I can’t move as quickly as I’d like, given we don’t have the best sources of medicine in this sector. I had to put some natural remedies together,” Fallan says, looking at the potted plants of varying herbs crowded near his window. I guess it's safe to assume they’d think he’d been putting together some herbal remedies for his wounds.

“Misdemeanors? Of what kind,” the men push. Fallan ponders the question, keeping a relaxed position against his wall.

“Talked back to an Official about touching something that wasn’t his. He wasn’t amused,” Fallan says, his hair falling into his face as his mouth pulls into a smirk. The muscles in his arms move as he crosses them across his chest. The men seem to wait for Fallan to continue, wanting him to say something more which would give them an excuse to lash out.

“Did you see any strange activity in the building earlier?” one of the men questions, knocking down a few of Fallan’s paintings, hoping to get a reaction.

“Other than you two busting down doors?” Fallan questions. One of the men moves closer to the bed as he continues trashing things around the room. Fallan moves away from his position by the door. “Last time I checked, the only strange activity is you coming in here and trashing my place with no explanation as to why,” Fallan finishes, both of us watching as the Official stops himself from taking another step closer to where I'm hidden. I clench my hand atop my mouth. If I wanted to, I’m close enough to drag the Official under here with me.

“So, you've seen nothing?”

“Like I told you,” Fallan says, pointing to his kitchen counter filled with jars of herbs, “I've been busy.”

“Well, medicine man, maybe you can help us in another matter then.”

The Official, who’s been hellbent on destroying everything in the room, pulls out his phone. Images of me and my brother appear on the screen. They are our school photos from this year. My hair has significantly more brown than gray and my eyes seem more alive. Kai looks the same, still sporting his full head of curls. I look at the text label below the images.

“Silent?” I question to Fallan through the connection, unsure how long my father has known of our absence. Just one tap into Kai’s chip, and it's all over for us.

“What am I looking at here? Who are these people?” Fallan questions, sounding as convincing as ever.

“The Official's Head Coordinator, Andrew Blackburn, has two children who seem to have gone silent. Most likely, it’s just two teens sneaking off with their friends to have some fun, but regardless, our superior instructed us to show their faces around this slum hole to see if anyone recognizes them.”

“Wasting resources looking for two high schoolers doesn’t seem like normal Official business,” Fallan says.

“That’s because it’s not. But here we are,” one of the men says, the other fidgeting with his Re-Regulation Device. Fallan’s chip blinks green, his body reacting naturally to the pain the code creates in his skull. I feel the tendrils of his chip buzzing to life through our connection, the immense pressure from the device making it difficult to stay still and not reveal my hiding spot. I force a wave an energy down our bond to try and help Fallan withstand the mental assault.

“So, I’ll ask you again, this time hopefully you can answer with less of your shitty attitude. Have you seen these two faces around here before?” he questions, holding the device out toward Fallan.

Fallan pretends to adjust to the command, blinking away a fake haze.

“No… I haven't,” he whispers, staggering back as the code runs its course. The man quickly slips away his device, watching Fallan’s hand pass over his face as he rubs his eyes.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Fallan questions, playing up his confusion.

“Nothing that matters,” one of the men says, pulling his prod free from its holster. “But last time I checked, Cure-All wasn’t allowed in this sector,” he continues, pointing to the bottle of Cure-All I had foolishly left on the side table.

The man takes a step toward Fallan. My energy is drained after giving him so much. I envision the man moving toward Fallan having broken ankles, wanting nothing more than to hear them-

Crack.

The man drops his prod as he grips his ankle. My mark throbs with painful heat and I'm unable to control the noise that comes out of my mouth. I silently curse under my breath, watching both Officials snap their heads toward the bed. The one with a twisted ankle points toward me, hissing in pain as he directs his partner in my direction.

“There's someone under there!”

“Fuck me,” I whisper, knowing what needs to be done.

I roll out from under the bed, watching their faces grow pale with confusion. My hand is already reaching for the first thing I can find to use as a weapon. The one unharmed Official steps toward me, already reaching for his Re-Regulation Device. Fallan lowers his head, looking at both men. I ready myself to throw a punch, rearing back my arm with a clenched fist.

“Adam told us you were trouble,” the man on the floor hisses.

I step back as the Official closest to me falls to his knees, his eyes closed as his mouth hangs open. I look back to his wailing partner, now still as his face holds a similar expression. Fallan’s eyes look different now, a brighter blue than normal. He draws in deep breaths before his eyes land on me.

“I can’t hold them for long. Grab the Re-Regulation Device,” Fallan says, his face straining in concentration. I dart to the Official holding the device and yank it free from his grip.

“I can't see!” one of the men yells, clutching his head, unable to move.

I quickly find and connect to their chips using the controls on the screen. When I can see their chips blink green, I type in the command I hope will get us out of this mess. My hands shake as I watch Fallan sway where he stands.

Forget us. Forget Adam’s commands and leave .

I run the program with a tap on the screen.

Fallan leans into his couch, taking in several deep breaths as a thin trail of blood runs free from his nose. He quickly wipes it away, the side of his hand now coated in a streak of blood. Both Officials slowly start to open their eyes. They look confused. I draw in shaky breaths, focusing my energy on the unharmed Official’s ankle, ready to cripple him too.

“ Don’t, ” Fallan says, looking at me with a serious expression. “Any more injuries like that and it’ll look suspicious.”

The men both rise to their feet, looking around the space blankly. They remain silent as they make their way to the door. I fit the Re-Regulation Device back onto the injured Official’s belt, doing my best to avoid touching him.

“Out!” Fallan yells aggressively. The men move quicker as they fumble to adjust their uniforms. They give the space one last look before closing the door behind them.

Fallan quickly locks his door, pressing his head against the wood.

“Adam is looking for us behind my father’s back,” I say, dragging my hands up and down my arms as a chill comes over me.

“Adam doesn’t trust you,” Fallan says. “I don’t think Xavier does either.” My feelings towards the blonde official stir as I begin to question his role in all of this.

He was always there right when I needed him. Could that really be a coincidence?

“Xavier isn’t from here,” I say. Fallan finally turns to face me.

“How is that possible? There is nothing beyond the ward.” Fallan questions, moving back toward me.

He keeps his distance, doing all he can to remain true to his word and establish boundaries between us.

“When I was near him, I felt behind his ear for his scar,” I start, a hint of jealousy within Fallan slamming into me. “He had no scar, and he had no chip.”

“What was he able to tell you? If he has no chip, then is he-”

“Like us? As far as I can tell, no. From what I can tell, he’s got a general distaste for the regulations in place here. I don’t know whether to believe it or not. He might be our one way of finding out what this new Commander's plan is for our people and for New Haven,” I say, considering how much he really could know.

“Our people?” Fallan says, raising a brow at me.

“The Unfortunates,” I clarify, biting my inner cheek while scolding myself for not being more careful with my words.

“You aren’t one of us,” he whispers, moving farther away. “The sooner you realize that, the quicker we can move on from this nightmare you’ve caused.” His hands stay clenched at his sides.

“I can't hate you the way you hate me, Fallan.”

“You have to,” he says coldly. “Because the minute you do, this gets easier,” he finishes, running his hand through his hair.

I stand there for a moment, trying to digest what’s happening between us.

I can feel the moment Fallan reinforces his mental wall, closing me off from confirming the validity of his statements.

“So that's it, then? You feel me up, then shut me out?” I question, my voice breaking.

He takes a step toward me, his hand wrapping around my forearm. He leans toward me, squeezing tightly.

“That's it, Little Dove,” he pauses, opening his mouth to say more but stops.

I wait several seconds, growing more defeated the longer silence hangs between us.

“Are you sure?” I question, feeling a flicker of emotion hide behind his eyes.

“It's a waste of energy,” it bellows, our feelings toward the man finally aligning.

“Purely physical,” Fallan reiterates.

I scoff at him, yanking back my arm in defiance.

“Go to hell,” I spit, turning away, no longer able to stomach the pain of his rejection.

I hear him shift from where he’d been standing during our argument, and there was a brief moment I thought that he’d tell me this was a misunderstanding; that he’d explain what’s truly going on.

Nothing but wishful thinking.