I reached into my jacket and retrieved the vials of mana, that said to help even the weakest heal, and was highly illegal to possess without the right credentials (i.e., only those in law enforcement, soldiers and the like), were able to possess the substance. It gave them the upper edge to keep regular people like me in our place.
“I know you are risking a lot for us, but we thank you.” She patted me on the arm like what I thought my mother would have done if she were around. Family was something I never should’ve taken for granted, but now, the only family I’d found was from friends I’d known from the neighborhood before the invasion.
“You must hurry back above ground or miss curfew.” She took the vials and slid them into a satchel, before ushering me back toward the shop’s doorway.
She didn’t have to tell me about the consequences. If caught, I’d end up in a place where no one would find me.
“May the gods be with you.” Her brow crinkled, and I saw the worry tighten her face. Every mission, every moment, wasn’t something promised for tomorrow. If I didn’t steal the mana to help others, they’d die—people I’d just attended college with, who didn’t have enough points to rise higher as I did.
“And you.” I nodded and hurried back toward the exit, and with the stairs in sight, relief flooded me.
This was almost over. The guards were putting on the heat, trying to stop an uprising. Right now, I didn’t care about rebels—all I wanted was for those sick to be well again.
To hope.
Suddenly, I heard jackboots on the stairs descending in front of me. Soldiers raced forward, robo-dogs bounded up the aisle from the rear.
“Cease, Kristen Sumner, you are under arrest. Cease,” their automated voices announced.
I dropped to my knees, placed my hands behind my head, and stared down at the muddy ground.
I’d been ratted out.
And when the glowing cuffs came, I could only hope that I was strong enough not to squeal, too.
Chapter Five
It all happened in a whirlwind.
I used to know how things with due process worked, but with the Overlords, the Constitution had gone out the window.
The magistrate’s office wasn’t a judge’s chamber or a courtroom like I expected. Instead, since I wasn’t higher up the caste system, I wasn’t to be granted a trial. I was dragged before a magistrate’s desk in a tiny, cramped office. Her tight dreadlocks, tired cold gaze, and monotone voice left me with little hope. “Kristen Sumner, you are charged with possession of a controlled substance in violation of Code 656.92A, as well as possession with the intent to distribute a controlled substance in violation of Code 659.31, subsection c. How do you plead?”
Standing before her, I cleared my throat. “You see, what happened was—”
“This is either guilty or not guilty,” she interrupted. “No elaborate discourse. The guard’s report is pretty simple, and that, combined with the surveillance and eyewitness testimony, leaves little room for you not to be guilty.” She leaned forward. “But if you’d like to give up the one who provided you with the drugs, maybe a better deal can be negotiated. After all, one like you wouldn’t have access. This controlled substance is not made or mass-produced. Each vial has a number on it, stating its origin. We can either track that information down and bring in all who’ve touched these vials, or we can listen to your words and you could receive a less harsh sentence.”
My entire life, no one had ever wanted to listen to my words. No matter how much I pushed, tried, begged, or cried. The only one who’d ever given me a chance was the one who’d placed me in a situation to lose the life I’d fought so hard to create.
What sort of sentence might the magistrate pass down? I was a first-time offender, never accused of a crime, let alone found guilty of one. But there wasn’t an attorney present to even give the appearance that this entire hearing was fair.
“Let’s be honest,” I shrugged, “no matter what I say, you’re going to find me guilty and lock me away.”
“There are other options.”
Even the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse thought they helped, and maybe the longer explanation was to give me a choice. Instead of making the run, I should have been turning pirouettes, making sure I was on beat. It didn’t matter how graceful and promising I’d once been. One misstep proved damning.
This was my crossroads.
“Other options, like what?” I hoped she’d mention work release, a slap on the wrist, and maybe even my doing home arrest.
“If you are willing to admit where you got the stuff, we can send you to a level-one facility, where the only difference between your life here and there will be a high chain-link fence.”
“And the other option?”
“At Grave Warden Prison, you’ll be surrounded by thick walls topped with barbed wire, electric hounds guarding the perimeter. I cannot advise you on which avenue you should take.”
Life was filled with imperfections, an unchoreographed dance, and I had to try to figure out the steps. I’d imagined my life in many different ways, but snitching wasn’t one of them.
All of those hours at the bar, the pointed toes, bruised and scarred and bloodied feet. The dreams of being on stage dashed. “I guess you should get going on that judgment then. Sounds like Grave Warden is going to be my new home for a while.”
The magistrate thinned her lips and shook her head. She glanced over the charges, ruled on incarceration, and banged her gavel. “Life it is.” She scrawled her signature across the document, and called over the waiting guard, “Next,” and he moved to my side, pulling me toward the door.
I’d created this mess.
And my happy ever after was one that I’d need to imagine.
The bald male guard took me to the back for processing, a
