(Niko's P.O.V.)

Maybe I’m looking for Lilith, or maybe I’m running until I feel like I can breathe again. Eventually, I emerge from the shadowy backstreets and into the dull streetlights, my tear-stained cheeks long-dried.

I’m just a dumbass teenager, but full-grown, violence-prone men cross the street when they see me. I can’t escape what I am no matter where I go.

Ashen barracks line the streets, but they’re more like glorified boxes. If you’re lucky enough to have a bush or two in your dirt yard, you’re not actually lucky at all.

Top-end barracks are reserved for elite Department of Tactical Defense members working the deadliest combat jobs in the United States. They’ll likely be killed soon anyway, so the Departments figure, “What’s a little extra ‘free’ land for our nation’s finest? ...But nothing more than a few bushes, of course.” As if it’s not stolen land to begin with.

Our “house” is different. My parents have enough prestige from doing God-knows-what horrible shit throughout their lives to have a secluded unit outside the main living compound. They’re determined to keep Hana sheltered from the Departments out there—the only reason why I haven’t fully hated them. But that also shows they know what we do isn’t okay. Of course everyone is expected to enlist, but I can’t understand why they encouraged me.

Before tonight, I didn’t think about how trapped I am, but Lilith’s escape triggered a realization. Maybe Mom’s right about more than I want to admit, and part of me wants to stay trapped. Or maybe the consequences of betraying the Departments are worse than death, so I can’t let myself notice how trapped I feel. Subservience is the life I know, and change is terrifying.

But now I’m craving it.

I rush past Jay’s barrack, not wanting my best friend to see me like this. We’re getting shipped out to Japan in two days, and the last thing he needs is his infamous combat partner showing up looking like a cornered rat.

As the Department of Tactical Defense’s dusty land ends, I reach the electric fence separating us from other Departments. Beyond all fences, the civilian world lies blissfully unaware. We’re known only to the US Government—their weapons-for-hire. It’s justified by loophole laws; sure, the government itself isn’t executing our destructive jobs, they’re just our indirect employers. Civilians must think we’re Santa Desierto’s secluded “military base” between the city and the forest, but we’re so much more. This is a fucking paramilitary cult.

No one has to recruit Department cult members because we both breed and imprison them. Traitors are dead long before they take their last breath, and my parents are higher-ups who make sure of it. They don’t talk about their jobs, but we all know the gist of what “executioners” do. Lilith, Jay, and I have seen the cannons launching our traitorous, soon-to-be-dead into the forest as part of our trainee initiation. The first time, we didn’t sleep for weeks. Now the word “cannon” keeps us loyal.

There’s no escape, not even socially. Visits to the civilian inner city are short and fleeting, our lives consumed by work. It’s hard to understand civilian sentences, even if we’re using the same language. I don’t think we live in the same dimension.

It’s past curfew. I’m not supposed to be outside, especially not outside my Department’s fences, but I don’t want to stop. I’ve seen no sign of Lilith, and I know she always goes this way. The dried-out, dying soil is all that can be seen for a few miles until our land encroaches on the forest. Our land’s other half trails alongside downtown Santa Desierto, a hazy orange glow of lights washing out the stars.

Pulling military-grade rubber gloves from one of my many pockets, I make sure to only touch the electric fence with my hands and rubber-lined soles, hopping it without a sound. I repeat this fruitless search through every Department, the sky growing darker and darker as clouds black out the slim moon. Still no sign of Lilith.

Something tells me I’ll never find her, like Mom said. Lilith and I have the same training. Once you know how to track people, you can figure out how not to be tracked. It’s easier than it seems, mainly in the confidence of your steps.

I’ve already reached the Department of Health on the other side of the extensive compound. Standing in the darkness of a cushy backyard, I’m positive no one saw me, but I still feel exposed. My heart unconsciously dragged me toward someone’s house. Someone in particular.

I’m grateful she lives in a place like this: a two-story, cookie-cutter American home, not a shoebox with a cement roof.

I remove my five-pound boots and tie their laces together, draping them over my neck. My socked feet are getting too big to grip her house’s wooden siding, but I manage to climb it. One day soon, I might accidentally snap off a panel. Whether that inevitably gets us caught or something else, I’m sure life has plans to separate us yet again. I resent life for so many reasons, but our forced separation is near the top of my list.

It’s like she knows I’m coming.

Throwing open her window, she greets me with a smile and open arms. I smile back as if I haven’t noticed her red, puffy eyes.

On my way in, I bang my head on the half-open window. She slaps a hand over her mouth in suppressed laughter. Rubbing my head with the other, she shocks me with the first gentle touch I’ve felt in a while.

“Dammit, I’m way too tall for thi—”

Emmalee cups her hand over my mouth, tugging the rest of me inside. She locks her window with the tiniest click possible. Grabbing my palm, she begins to tap.

It’s a simple language we created as kids, but we still talk like this when someone might overhear us. One tiny tap for each letter in the alphabet: one tap for A, two taps for B, and so on. It’s not worth the time unless it’s a short message with someone you trust. We tap, rub, or scratch our own faces or legs, or on each other’s shoulders, playing it off as a natural fidget.

Sweep for me, she taps.

I’m tempted to laugh at myself. I should’ve done that to begin with, especially since the Departments force-fed me paranoia since birth, but this is how I act around Emmalee. My mind is too busy marveling over her existence to remember everyday tasks.

After sweeping the room for hidden cameras and mics, I find nothing of concern. Just in case, we settle in the safest corner, wedged between her wall and the bedside table I checked thoroughly. Her closet sits in the opposite corner, and it’d take forever to check every piece of fabric in the dark with how much this girl loves black.

“I knew you’d come.” Her soft whisper tickles my cheek.

I don’t understand how she could feel me coming, but I wholeheartedly believe her. We have a strange connection like that.

Taking a clearer look at her, I’m speechless. Her smooth brown hair is still wet from a shower, weighing itself into a subtle wave at the ends. The way it’s cut frames her squishable cheeks. Even in the darkness, I can make out the softness of her overcast-gray eyes. In the 11 months since we last saw each other, she has grown up. I’m sure I have too, but this is different. Her shoulders are pulled back instead of habitually curled into herself, carving out her own respect in a world that has given her none. She’s beautiful.

But she’s hurting tonight, like I am. She digs out a note from her fuzzy pajama shorts, handing it to me.

Goodbye.

It’s Lilith’s handwriting. Lilith and Emmalee have been dating for almost a year.

“What?” I whisper. “Is this all she said to you?”

“Yeah…” Emmalee’s voice shakes in agony. “She told me she was making plans to run away someday, but I didn’t expect it today. She didn’t even take the time to break up with me first.”

My heart sinks. If Emmalee has this note, Lilith doesn’t want to be found. She’ll make sure she won’t be, not even by me.

The heartbreak in Emmalee’s tearful expression yanks my heartstrings. I have to step up as her best friend in the world right now... while I still have a chance.

Stroking her soft hand, I huddle in closer. “Oh, Ems, I’m so sorry.”

We spend a few silent minutes bundled up together. She sobs beneath her breath, not wanting to alert her parents that she’s still awake. My arm stabilizes her shaking shoulders, even though this kills; she’s hurting because she was in love with someone else, and my asshole sister was the one who broke her heart.

Soon enough, she presses her forehead into my neck, clinging to me in a desperate hug. I hope my jumpy heart doesn’t give me away, but it doesn’t need to. Emmalee can vividly sense people’s emotions—a sixth sense the Departments deem “useful.”

She’s more than “useful” to me. I love her, and I always have.

But our deep connection has long been forbidden.

I cradle her head, rubbing her back until her breath evens out.

“Niko?” She traces circles on my chest, fluttering my stomach into my throat.

“Hm?”

“Will you be at the Christmas party?”

I grit my teeth. “Not this year. I haven’t been able to tell you, but Jay and I are getting deployed soon for our graduation test. I’m sorry.”

I expect her to be angry with me. The Department Extortion—I mean Christmas—Party is the one time we’re guaranteed to meet. To sneak away and be ourselves. And who knows if I’ll come back alive from Japan.

Her classic, sly smile appears. “Then how about we continue our Christmas tradition? We have to be quieter than we are now, anyway. And if we’re not talking, then...”

I gulp. “I-I don’t know…”

“Oh. You don’t want to?”

I readjust my legs to stifle my pounding heart. I’ll never understand why this incredible girl always wants to make out with a dumbass like me. “It’s not that. You’re heartbroken over someone else. I don’t want to… take advantage of that.”

Emmalee smirks. “Pft. I was the one who asked for it.”

I laugh beneath my breath, pushing a stray hair from her eyes. Despite being torn apart, we’ve known each other for so long that this friendly touch is natural. But tonight, it’s different. The smiles disappear from our faces, and the hormones take over.

We kiss awkwardly and sloppily, which I can guarantee is 100% my inexperienced fault. It doesn’t matter to us as long as we experience as much of each other’s comfort in the short time we have. I love being close to her like this—close enough to re-memorize her faint, cozy scent. But when she reaches for the bottom of my shirt, I jerk backward and bang my elbow into the wall.

She gasps. “What’s wrong?”

I never used to react like that, so I’m just as surprised. My core sinks in horror of what my reaction stems from, something I can’t handle thinking about, myself. I shake my head to dispel Emmalee’s concerns, not wanting her to know the truth.

“Sorry!” She holds my face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked first.”

“It’s okay, Ems. I just didn’t expect it.”

After she double-checks for the truth in my eyes, we smile and lean in close to continue. But then I hear something.

Emmalee freezes—alert eyes analyzing the sudden tension in my body. She doesn’t hear it yet, but a parent’s soft footsteps send me into extreme focus mode. I throw her onto her bed and slide myself beneath it in one swift movement, causing her to squeak in surprise.

A quiet knock at the door cues Emmalee into jamming her legs beneath the blankets. She takes a calming breath, calling out a soft, “Come in.”

I almost forget to hide my backpack, yanking its strap to my chest just in time for the door to creak open.

Mrs. Richards peeks her head in, and I silence my breath. “Are you okay? I thought I heard something and was surprised you’re still up.”

“Mhm, just dropped my phone, sorry.”

“Okay, honey. Has she texted back?”

Emmalee sighs. “No...”

“Oh, Emma… Are you too upset to sleep? Want me to sit with you?”

“I’m okay, Mom. I’m finally getting sleepy.”

“Alright, put your phone away and go to sleep if you can, okay? We can talk things out again tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

Mrs. Richards hesitates at the door. “You’ll find someone again. Someone that’ll stay, honey.”

Emmalee sighs. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but anyone who doesn’t see you for the amazing person you are doesn’t deserve you. Okay?”

Emmalee chuckles. “Okay.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as Mrs. Richards shuts the door, we sigh in unison. Emmalee whips her head over the bed’s edge, peeking at me upside down.

“There’s a monster under my bed!” She giggles.

I shake my head in dismay, chuckling. “More like on your bed. You dropped your phone, huh? Lying to your own mother—so smoothly too. Who knew I corrupted you so much?”

She jabs my cheek with her black fingernail. “Shut up. I’m pissed at you now. Who else am I going to make out with at the party?”

I want to laugh, but I hate the thought of her finding someone to replace me. My bitter expression raises a laugh from her, but a little too loud of one. We both rush to slap a hand over her mouth. This only makes us giggle more, and I decide it’s probably safer if I leave.

But Emmalee doesn’t let me leave through her window, hardly allowing me to pick up my backpack. She clings to me just as I slip one leg over the windowsill.

“Wait. Don’t go yet.”

I can’t see her desperate hands on my back, but I can hear her distraught, muffled voice between my shoulder blades. A lump forms in my throat.

“I don’t want to go. Ever,” I whisper.

“But you have to. I know.”

We stand in silence for a full minute. Emmalee can’t let me go. I’m glad my back is turned, my eyes watering to the brim.

“Please come back,” she whispers. “Don’t die out there.”

Shit. Now I really have to get my act together.

“I can’t lose you too,” she continues.

I duck back through the window to get one final hug in. Breathing in her damp hair’s minty scent, I memorize her neck’s softness beneath my fingertips and the way she still makes my heart pound by how she hugs me with her entire torso.

Drawing her chin toward me, I look into her crystal-clear eyes one last time.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

With a shy kiss on her forehead, I slip out her bedroom window and run into the cover of darkness.