Chapter 2

A nearby stream shimmers beneath the moonlight. I bend down and scoop some water to my lips. The taste of bitter treatment chemicals spreads over my tongue, and it burns all the way down. I watch the gates close for the night, groaning while they scratch the ground. Flecks of gold still stick to my skin, and I smell like the laughing gas from the festival. The scent lingers, but it doesn't provide the relief that it usually does.

I dip a container in the murky water and throw in my last purification tablets. That's just enough for Sierra. Luckily for us, the stream was just treated today.

Tucking the bottle beneath one arm, I make my way to the apartments. The cylindrical-shaped towers take on a pale-yellow color beneath the flickering street lamps. As soon as the gates close and the lights go out, government officers prowl the streets for any stragglers.

In less than half an hour, all curfew violators will be whisked away for interrogation, and the sectors will open again like nothing ever happened.

Holding my breath, I jab the elevator button, not daring to breathe until the doors are shut. Everything passes by in a blur until I'm back home. The old apartment greets me bitterly with the cardboard boxes packed to the brim with Sierra's belongings. Fluorescent rays filter through the windows, casting a muted glow on the linoleum floor before scurrying up the walls. Our worn couch still reeks of beer. Its previous owner must've spent countless nights on it because the stench is somewhat permanent. Most people leave their unwanted furniture in the common area downstairs, so Jax and I salvage those and whatever else we can from the recycling yards. Any springs, screws, and spare parts are used for the beds and cushioned chairs.

My gaze snaps to the television, the soft buzz of a newscaster playing in my ears. He discusses our seniors and their contributions since they started working at the Sanctuary, but I'm not paying attention. Instead, I stare at the bundled form on the couch as she tosses and turns restlessly.

After Sierra's first meeting with the surrogate family, a government officer brought her back home this morning. I won't see the surrogates until later today, and I might not get to speak to them either.

Sierra's blanket lands on the floor. She wrestles and kicks away the nightmarish creatures as she has always done since our parents died. I thread my fingers through her hair and massage her head in circles, just like Mother used to do. Sierra murmurs gibberish in her restless slumber, and her fist flies to my face. I barely dodge it in time. Her eyes fly open, and she smiles sheepishly.

"Riri, you're back!"

She crushes me against her petite frame. I used to tell Sierra that her strength came from Father, but she always denied it and insisted that a superhero gave it to her. While she sips the purified water, I lead her inside the room and sit her down on the rickety vanity. The small suitcase tucked in the corner makes the bile rise to my throat.

It's just a matter of time before we grow apart. Sierra may think of surrogates as her birth parents, and I'm someone who only shows up to pay the bills. Trying to suppress the growing ache in my chest, I pull a knife from a hidden compartment in her luggage. Sierra's eyes grow wide as she stares at the gleaming blade.

Father fashioned it from the ore he secretly farmed. He gave it to me on my seventh birthday, as per the tradition of the Leonhart family. Now, it belongs to Sierra.

She takes the knife from me and stares at his initials carved into the metal.

C.L.

"Now, do you remember where to hit?" I ask.

Sierra points it to her stomach, throat, and her temple. I give her a terse nod and pull out her white dress from the drawer. She chews her lip as I show her where to hide the weapon. My fingers find the ribbon around the waistline and give it a light tug. The dress's first layer hides a small, reinforced compartment where the knife fits like a hand to a glove. Nodding, Sierra secures the ribbon back in place and slips it on before settling back in the chair.

I loosen her messy ponytail, letting her chestnut-brown hair cascade to her shoulders.

"Aria, can I keep my hair? I want to be like you." She glances at the pair of scissors on the dressing table, wringing her hands in her lap.

"That'll happen soon, I promise."

She pouts, folding her arms across her chest. I hate giving her the same answer again, but that's how it is. All girls before age 12 can't have hair longer than their shoulders until they enroll in the Institution. Supposedly, fewer differences mean fewer distractions, and all will focus on being dutiful citizens of this dying planet.

It's a stupid idea. That's what I want to scream from the rooftops, but I stop myself. Doing that draws unwanted attention.

I glide the scissors across Sierra's tresses in a somewhat straight line. As she leaves the room, I throw on my graduation robe. It's a little scratchy, and the hem tickles my ankles while I adjust it.

Running my fingers through my auburn hair, I grimace as I work my fingers through the knots and brush through them. Studying the girl in the mirror, I let my gaze travel from her hazel eyes to her defined cheekbones down to her sinewy frame. A small scar near my hairline bears the only evidence of my skirmishes. Aside from the eye color, I look nothing like my parents. That's a good thing since I can't imagine spending the rest of my life looking at what I've lost.

Once I'm done, Sierra weaves her fingers through mine, and we step outside.

Harsh winds slap against my cheeks until warmth crawls up my neck and blooms across my face. As Eorius crests the horizon, the dark of night retreats lazily with the rolling clouds. The Peacekeepers control the days and nights according to how much sleep we need.

A group huddles around a dying bonfire near an abandoned building, murmuring among themselves. The flames sway in the wind. Cackling embers ignite the teenagers' bloodshot eyes and damp cheeks, sharpening their features until they look like netherworld beasts.

Jax meets us halfway there. His brown hair is freshly coiffed, and he fiddles with his graduation robe that looks a little too small compared to his hulking frame. Fresh stubble peppers his jaw. He calls it his lucky scruff, reserved only for special occasions. Smiling at Sierra, he holds up the squealing rascal while Meredith fusses over Jax's creased robes. I fiddle with a hangnail and study my loose shoelaces. In my mind, Mother replaces Meredith, and I imagine that it's her smiling at me.

I blink that thought away.

A familiar warmth wraps around me, and I sink into the embrace. Meredith holds on tighter than anyone ever has. "You're both so grown up now, and I'm sure your parents are proud of you, Aria. I know I am."

Pulling away, the corner of her lips lifts in a wane smile. "I need to show you something." Meredith takes my hand and drags Jax along, chiding him to keep pace with her. She leads the way through the bustling streets until we arrive at the Dunes. It's the patch of pristine sand where children write down their wishes and hope for them to come true. I think we've stepped over a few drawings and writings, but Meredith doesn't care, even as a boy starts screaming and pointing at us.

From the top of the dome, ceremonial light showers shine down on our homes. The dreary neighborhoods now gleam in a stunning gradient from blue to purple on Graduation Day. In the distance, the Institution opens its doors to us for the final time this year, and after that, we'll finally be free.

"We'll find a way to the ice cream place," she mumbles. Jax stares at his mother like she just grew another head, and I think my expression is no different. The ice cream place is her code word for the outside world. Leaving is like suicide, and I doubt we'll last longer than a few days in the nuclear winter. Meredith still won't drop the idea.

"Why?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "You'll understand it later."

We spend the rest of the journey to the Institution in silence, and the crowds surge onto the streets. Chattering people surround us, most of them sticking with their Institution cliques instead.

Deep laughter rumbles from behind me. I whirl around to see Jax freeing himself from Seth's headlock. Seth smiles wryly at me before jabbing his victim one last time and joining the Sentinels. Jax slings an arm over my shoulder and powers through the crowd while the others fall behind. Drudgers walk beside us, their freshly pressed uniforms complete with chevrons and medals. They're the ones who make up the rest of the working population. Since they have different mutations from us, their study at the Institution depends on their entrance scores. From there, they spend time honing their best skills. As for the rest of us, we're stuck with whatever the government gives us.

This difference wasn't always there, but it started while we hid in the safe zones.

I remembered how Sierra and I clung to each other, and her fingernails dug into my arms until they left marks on my skin. We sank deeper into the trembling wall of bodies. She released my arm and locked hands with the other children in the safe zone. I rubbed my clammy palms against the hem of my shirt and moved to stand in the corner.

Outside, the ground was split open after the nuclear strike. Cars hung precariously off the split asphalt, just shy of plummeting to their demise. Smoke hovered in the air. It slipped through the cracks in the walls and windows of the miserable shed. While waiting for the supply scouts to return, I pressed a hand to the window as a whiff of smoke and death hit my nose. Still, there was no sign of the stumbling figures in radiation suits, and my gaze fell on nearby houses. They now stood bent and cracked to one side, like someone doubled over in a hacking cough.

The remnants of a festival still remained. Busted light bulbs hung on metal wires, vaguely reminiscent of fairy lights. They draped over the collapsed roofs in undulating patterns and ended at the split fences. I surveyed the ruins and squinted at a figure walking in the rubble.

Then, the door flew open. Sentinels grabbed us by the collars and dragged us to a massive, disguised cubicle in the wall.

"Listen."

Only one word of instruction shattered the thick silence, and I shrank under the critical gaze of the woman in a white coat. When the children were done piling onto the back of the room, she finally looked up but regarded us with little interest. She focused on the tablet again and frowned at the tiny words.

"Your bodies respond exactly like what we'd thought. Radiation gives you mutations that make you stronger, which means you're all immune to its harmful effects." Her lips curl into a sneer. "Everyone here will be tested and admitted to the Institution, and your specialty depends on what abilities your mutation gives you. If it gives you the ability to heal, you become a Healer. If it gives you strength and agility, you'll train to become a Sentinel. You'll be a Drudger if you have different mutations, so you can work in any other field according to your aptitudes. That's the first step to getting society back on its feet."

"You expect us to move on like that? What about the others?" someone asked.

Her gaze grew clinical and cold. "They're dead. We've all said our goodbyes, so what matters is the future. The provisional governments agree it's time to cut our losses, rebuilding while we have the chance." She points to a shadowed building surrounded by construction signs. "That's the Institution, built during the nuclear arms race. Just in case war happened, we needed a plan to get back up again. This is our hope."

I shake my head and face the gray building of my dreams and nightmares. A part of me still wonders how it survived the war. The entrance to the Graduation Hall arches upwards, shaped like a gigantic mouth. I imagine us as prisoners on a one-way ticket to nowhere. We march to the beat of death, reciting its hymn until the vestibule consumes us.

I can barely see in front of me, and Jax grabs my arm as he stumbles along. With the blind leading the blind, we're stepping on toes and shoving everyone else. My shirt clings to my sweaty skin in the stuffy space, and I try not to flinch as someone breathes down my neck.

Overhead, the ceiling rattles and opens to reveal a single beam of light that illuminates a stage. We inch closer together, our body heat creating a human furnace. President Finley emerges from the doors. His black hair now holds some white streaks, and the lines are more prominent on his forehead. Bright lights flood the stadium as the top opens up, revealing Eorius beaming down on us. My heart sinks to my stomach, and I wring my hands. Someone clicks their tongue disapprovingly, but the thrumming of my pulse in my ears quickly drowns it out.

A hush descends upon the arena as the spectators stare down at us. They fill the rows of seats, but none of them make a sound.

"Welcome to the Graduation ceremony," President Finley declares over the microphone. "We gather here today to empower these young men and women. At the fine, young age of 18, they now go forth from this place with purpose and a calling. Soon, the next batch of immunes will enroll here and join their seniors at the Sanctuary."

Cheers erupt from the crowd, followed by thunderous applause as our platform rises, its machinery churning as it reaches for Eorius's blazing heat. The artificial Sun is in its prime and hottest period, and I can almost imagine my graduation coat catching alight. Grabbing Jax's hand even tighter, I squeeze my eyes shut and think of the sky instead of plummeting to my death.

President Finley's voice booms from the overhead speakers. "Do you pledge your allegiance to the Kyrosian Republic and serve it to your last breath?"

"We do so faithfully."

Static noises fill the air and the largest jumbotron stutters to life. It records our faces up close. I keep a neutral expression as a drone flies out of nowhere, scrutinizing our features and projecting the live footage onto the massive screen. The President gestures for us to continue speaking.

"We vow to restore Earth and revitalize cities back to where they were. Society will become more efficient, with each member assigned to their specialties." We answer in a unified chorus. The words roll off my tongue without much thought, all of them already memorized down to the full stops and commas. I hate every word in the script, but I know better than to say that here.

The screen changes to show President Finley once more while he plasters on his politician's smile. Pain shoots up my leg with a wave of his hand, coursing through my trembling body until it ends at my neck. That searing sensation now throbs through my left wrist, branding me with the Healer's insignia of a Leviathan, the dragon of the sea.

A scorching liquid rises in my throat, and its warmth trickles from my mouth. I recognize that ache in my chest, which Meredith said I would feel during the ceremony. It's like having my heart ripped from my chest—a severance and death of our training days.

I'm a fully-fledged Healer now.

While the pain soon subsides into numbness, I'm vaguely aware of the humming drone as it captures our faces.