Aiden

It’s the same dream. The brown haired girl in the waiting room. I’m struck with the same urge to reach out and grab her arm. I don’t.

I wake with my heart in my throat and a gasp lodged in my chest. It’s a sense of utter doom, like I’m drowning. Like I’m strapped to the bottom of the harbor during high tide.

Early morning turns the room golden, catching like starlight on the diamond chandelier. Light can be oppressive too, as I’m reminded.

The pain comes next. The pain in my lungs, my muscles, my head, my wrist. I curl into myself on the mattress like that would make it stop. There’s something on the dresser, something that wasn’t there before. I can spot it from my current fetal position.

I spot it so easily because my whole body is screaming for it. A glass vial of small baby blue pills.

The screaming in my bones worsens as I push myself up, stumbling all the way across the marble floors that feel like ice under my bare feet.

Before I can blink, the pills are in my palm. And suddenly I don’t care if they’re poisoned or laced or imbedded with a tracking chip. I’m desperate.

They taste bitter on my tongue but I still swallow with a learned ease. Even if I know I’m swallowing a lie. And it feels good, the sudden rush of relief. But something still strangles me inside. And no matter how good it feels, the guilt still drowns it out.

It’s almost unbearable, this feeling. The shame. Tears well up in my throat, pressing behind my eyes. I sprint for the bathroom, unable to keep it down any longer, shove my fingers down my throat and puke it all back up into the gold trimmed porcelain sink. Splotches of blood stain the white surface. I wipe my eyes before I can start crying.

I shove it down, wash the blood down the drain. My movements are both sharp and clumsy as I move back into the foyer. The glass vial feels hot in my hands. So hot it’s cold. It smashes like ice against the marble and I watch bitterly as the pills spill out onto the floor. It’s not enough.

I’m uncaring of the shards that slice through my fingers as I grope for the blue tablets. Even as my whole body screams for relief, screams against my actions, I flush them down the toilet.

The blood gathers on my nailbeds, falls to the floor like tiny rose petals. Blossoms like tiny dying stars on the tiles. I can’t fucking stand the sight of this suite. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.

I strip the beds in a frantic rage, smash the mirror with a strangled scream. The ripe fruits from the kitchen end up a splattered, bruised mess on the bedroom floor and I can’t tell if my feet are stained with blood or sugary nectar or both as I stomp through the rooms, breaking anything I can get my hands on. Glasses, fine china, handheld mirrors, bottles of priceless red wine. There’s a terrible scream echoing across the foyer as I do. It takes me far too long to realize the source of the sound is coming from my own lips.

And when there’s nothing left to destroy and the room is a bloodied, hazardous mess, I clean myself off in the shower, wiping the blood from my face and hands before bandaging my fingers. I fit myself into one of the white uniforms tailored for me in the closet, shave my face and sweep my reddish hair up out of my eyes. 

The expression on my face looks robotic. Not like me at all. I’m not used to looking so calm, especially not when I feel so close to sheer insanity. It’s almost too easy to fake a charming smile in the mirror. And even easier to wear it out of the rooms, down the shimmering hallways like some kind of spectacle.

“Ah Mister Brooks,” someone comments from down the hall. “You’re up early.”

“William,” I smile, matching his tone as I turn. “Good to see you. Say, do you know where I can grab a cup of hot coffee?” A faint look of surprise fans across his face before he regains his composure.

“Down the hall there on your right.” He pauses, smile still flat on his lips. “You seem to be in a pleasant mood today sir, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“What can I say?” I chuckle. “A good night’s sleep works wonders.”

There’s a moment, a split second where his guarded look falls entirely, where he seems both surprised and delighted, almost human. Good, I’m going to need him to trust me. To trust me more than anyone.

“So it would seem.”

I dismiss myself and wander down into the dining hall. It’s easy enough to confirm myself to the people of this place. I mimic their posture, their movements, practice their way of speech under my breath. If I’m going to get anywhere, I need to portray myself as one of them.

But I can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong here, underneath the surface. Or perhaps it’s just my hatred of the elite, or my wariness of Atlas because of Alloy propaganda.

“Pardon my intrusion,” a dainty voice beside me chirps. I turn, meeting the round hazel eyes of a young woman with rich, dark skin and red, plump lips. She has gold braided into her long hair and her white robes are decorated with blue fabric. An obvious sign of high status. Everyone here wears it. I can practically feel the wealth leaking through their pores and statuesque smiles.

“Are you him? The man of legends?” Her hazel eyes sparkle with curiosity. A girl beside her brushes in front of her to capture my attention. She speaks loudly, much in contrast to the first woman.

“You’re the Heir? No one told me he’d be so handsome!”

My smile twitches but only for a fraction of a second. I have two choices, to deny the accusations or to embrace them. It’s a gamble either way. 

I take the outstretched hand of the first woman and lightly brush my lips against her knuckles. I peek up through my lashes to catch her cheeks blush violently, a color that brightens her deep complexion. It isn’t like me to pull such a stunt. And yet here I am. Faking it.

“I am him.”

The second woman scowls in jealousy but sidesteps away promptly.

“What is your name?” The blushing woman asks.

“Aiden. And yours?”

“Nomi,” she says softly through a flustered stutter. I smile, doing my best to charm her. The easiest way to get these people to trust me is to allure them. I have to pretend that I’m everything I’ve never been, not honestly.

“How fitting,” I smile, earning a subtle gasp from her gaping red lips. I turn away, toward the buffet of food. I feel a bit disgusted with myself. But I have no time to think too hardly on it. This is just business. And why do I feel guilty anyways? It’s not like Alex is here to see this. And even if he were, it shouldn’t matter. We’re not dating anyways. He severed that trust. He betrayed me.

He is nothing to me now.

At least, that’s what I want to believe.

I can’t waste my time thinking about him. I will never be able to change our decisions. He made his choice. And it wasn’t me. Fine.

Fine.

And still the anger rots inside me, the hurt, the look in his eyes. The sound of his laugh. The sound of an entire city screaming their last breaths. His smile. The children crying. How happy I was to see him. How it was all stolen from me in a moment.

How I did nothing to save them. Nothing at all.

The mug of hot coffee in my hand shatters. I didn’t realize how hard I was holding it until it spilled all over my arm, a hot scolding reminder of where I am. What I must do. It’s never been clearer.

“Oh dear!” Nomi runs over to me and dabs the burning liquid from my fingers. But I barely feel it. I’m still as a statue as she dries me off. Luckily none spilled on my white uniform. “Are you ok?” She asks quickly. I shake myself out of it enough to flash another charming grin. I wink for good measure. “Never better, darling.” Her cheeks turn a violent red again and she coughs into her sleeve to cover it up as much as she can. 

“Of course he’s ok!” her crude companion says loudly. “He’s the Son of Fire!” Upon hearing her words, the entire room silences. Nomi winces, looking at me apologetically. But then the crowd explodes into murmurs and excited whispers.

“That’s him?”

“Son of Fire?”

“How handsome!”

“He’s going to save us?”

“The prophecy!”

“He’s in Atlas? He’s real?”

Why are these people so excited? I thought Atlas would see me as an enemy. Why? Do they know that I am supposed to bring the fall of the Atlas empire?

No they must not. They couldn’t, if this is their reaction.

“Oh let him eat!” Nomi says, shooing away the crowd that has gathered around me. I flash her a grateful smile and walk my plate to the end of an empty table, ignoring the weight in my chest as I do. The woman lingers, trying to find the right words to say. She settles on, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

"Aiden,” I remind gently. She smiles shyly, tucking loose strands of gold behind her ear. “Aiden,” she echoes with a nod. Nomi, without further announcement, rushes out of the room with her friends, leaving me alone in the dining hall, a minnow in a sea of sharks.

I’m unaware of how hungry I am until the food is right in front of me. I eat quickly, ravenously, like it’s my last meal or like someone is about to steal it from me. But no one approaches and I’m left to my own devices.

I need answers. I need to see the dictator. Today. I can’t wait two fucking weeks. Who knows how many more cities Clovis will destroy by then? I can’t make the same mistake, not when so many lives are at stake. Not when she took everything from me. I need to kill her now. And I need the dictator’s help.

If no one will take me, I’ll find him myself.

When I clear my plate, I march out of the dining hall and back the way I came. Wherever I go, I feel eyes on me. No matter where I am, I have to remember I’m being watched.

After snooping out the entire floor, I find nothing of importance. The elevators seem unguarded so I decided to check out another floor. If this is anything like the Alloy, he would be on the top floor.

Except all the buttons on the elevator require keycard access, which I don’t have. I’m stuck. Unless-

I hope my hypothesis is right and these main buildings really are all connected. I find my way back to the hospital wing. There are glass doors that lead to a separate hallway and, from peeking out the window, I find it connects to a building even bigger and grander than this one. That must be it. 

I look around, ensuring that the coast is clear, then try my hand at the door. Of course it’s locked. I knock softly on the glass, unsurprised to find the thick glass bulletproof. When I look closer, I see the small wires beneath the glass panels. But there’s something else too.

With my palm flat against one of the doors, I shut my eyes. There’s an energy humming beneath my fingertips. It’s not like Atlas to have runes like the Alloy. In fact, it’s said that they’re very much against them. So what is this?

I heat my palm very slightly against the glass, testing the energy. It quickly pushes back against me, burning my palm. I recoil with a gasp, swatting my hand against the air to cool it off. 

Someone behind me clears their throat.

“Mister Brooks.” I straighten.

“Ah William,” I say sheepishly before shaking myself back into my charming smile.

“May I ask what brings you here?” He asks with a raised brow. Shit.

“I was merely taking a tour of the place,” I say as convincingly as possible. “I’ve never seen a building so big.” Tusk blinks twice and I’m unsure if I’ve convinced him or not. But when he sighs to himself I’m sure I have.

“Yes, I suppose it would be quite the spectacle to an outsider.”

“Right. May I ask what’s beyond this hallway?”

“Nothing that is of interest to you,” Tusk says briskly. Bingo. This must be a way in.

“Ah, ok,” I say warmly, innocently. “Would I be able to see the city then?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Why would you need to? You’ve got everything you need here,” William says with a smile. 

“Curiosity, I guess. I’ve never been in a city like this ever before. It’s beautiful,” I say with mock enthusiasm. My anxiety is beginning to spike. Tusk looks reluctant to say anything further and if I keep asking questions I’ll look suspicious.

“Perhaps in time, Mister Brooks. For now, I’ll show you back to your room. It shouldn’t be too long before the dictator sees you now. Two weeks.” My heart races in my chest and I feel suddenly nauseous.

I’m a prisoner here, aren’t I? No golden trimmings and expensive linen will change that fact. I should have known, though, when I signed up for this.

I nod.

If I want to get out of here, I have to see the dictator. And I can’t wait another two weeks for that. I’m going to have to find a way to break in without getting caught. Which may prove more difficult than I originally thought.

“Lead the way then, William,” I smile.

***