“Lena?” Curiosity and dread warred within me as I took it.
“Yeah. She came to the gate today, asking for me.” Brentwood looked over his shoulder as he took a step back. “You didn’t get it from me, understand?”
“I understand.” He nodded once before turning but stopped when I asked, “Why help me? Why show me mercy?”
The guard stiffened, but he didn’t turn. A moment passed before he spoke, and the silence was so heavy I began to think he wasn’t going to answer me, then he said, “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
It was quite possibly the most cryptic thing he could have said.
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
Brentwood left without explaining, and I watched from the doorway until he’d disappeared, confused and unsure if I should trust him. Did he mean he wasn’t helping me, or was I missing something obvious? I didn’t have a clue.
I went back inside before opening the letter from my sister. The paper was old and worn, so used it was almost as soft as cloth. On one side a grocery list had been written, each of the items long ago crossed out, while on the back was a to-do list. I recognized my sister’s neat handwriting, as well as the list. She’d made it right before starting high school. It was a list of the things she’d need to do if she wanted to make it out of the slums.
Under her original writing something else had been scribbled in slightly messy, yet no less recognizable, script.
Mom’s sick. I don’t think she has much time left.
My heart twisted with an emotion I couldn’t name. Not sadness, that was for sure. My mother was dying, and I knew I should be sad, but after everything that had happened, I couldn’t quite muster the feeling. No, this was something different. Something more complicated.
Regret, I realized. Not necessarily because she was sick and I wasn’t there, but because I’d never expected things to turn out like this. We hadn’t been close in years, but when I’d looked into the future, I never could have pictured the chasm that now stood between us.
She didn’t have much time left.
What did Lena expect me to do about it? She had to know that as a traitor and enemy of the state, it was now illegal for me to leave the District. I couldn’t have gone to see my mother even if I was sure I wanted to, which I wasn’t. And it wasn’t like I could just walk through the front gate, anyway. Even sneaking out the secret exit would be risky, although much more possible, assuming I was able to find it.
What had Finn told me about it? It was on the west wall, near the bar where we’d had drinks all those weeks ago when Ione and Rye first got married. Finn had said there was a metal plate that if moved would reveal an opening. If I went out at night, the darkness might be enough to conceal both my face and my brand, and thanks to Finn, I also knew how to deactivate my chip. But even with it not working, I was taking a big risk. Someone could spot me, my mother could be with it enough to call the authorities, or I could get caught trying to get in or out. A lot could go wrong, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to take the chance. My mother had kicked me out of her house, had disowned me. Why would I risk my life and possibly the life of my baby—assuming I was pregnant—to tell her goodbye? She didn’t care about me.
I thought it through the rest of the day, mulling over the reasons to do it as well as the possible consequences if I got caught. Every time I reached a decision I thought I was comfortable with, something would change my mind, so that by the time Finn got home, my head was pounding.
“What’s wrong?” he asked the second he saw me.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him everything, but I was terrified of implicating him. Even if I still wasn’t sure I was going to do anything.
“I have a headache,” I finally said.
He moved to my side, taking a seat on the couch. “A headache?”
Something about the hopeful way he said the words caught my attention.
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s common for humans to have headaches when they’re pregnant with half-Veilorian babies. From the rush of hormones.”
My insides twisted, both in hopeful anticipation and worry. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t sneak out and risk everything to see my mother. It was foolish.
“How long have you had the headache?” he asked.
I swallowed. “A few hours, I guess.”
Finn pressed his lips together but was unable to conceal either his excitement or worry over what might happen if I was in fact pregnant. I knew the feeling.
“Don’t get your hopes up just yet,” I said. “It could be nothing.”
“Or you could be expecting.” His eyes moved to my stomach, which was no rounder than it had ever been.
I rubbed my right temple, wishing the pounding would stop. “I guess anything is possible.”
“You should rest.” Finn took my hand and pulled me to my feet.
I almost argued, but my head really was pounding. Plus, I wanted to be alone so I could decide once and for all what I was going to do about my mom. Which was why I allowed him to lead me through the house to the bedroom.
Finn tucked me in the way a parent did a child, and despite the throbbing in my skull and the worry gnawing at my insides, I found myself imagining him doing this very thing with our child one day. It made me smile.
“Get some sleep,” he said, before leaving me alone in the dark room.
My mind was spinning too much to really rest. The more I
