THE DOOR TO THE ROOM slams shut, with Dámiul, Atikéa, and the scarlet-haired Adryil doctor behind it. I couldn’t make out any of the hurried Adryil words Atikéa exchanged with the woman. I wish the room had a window so I could see what they’re doing.
My mind seems incapable of forming even the usual self-reassurances. Tension grips me so tightly, I wonder how I haven’t shattered into a million pieces yet. The horrific images of blood streaming down his face, of him convulsing on the floor, of him fighting just to keep his eyes open, run wild through my mind. What if the doctor can’t save him? What if we’ve come all this way, only to lose him now?
I never told him I love him. The realization hits me like a cold fist, and the sobs that have been threatening to emerge shake my chest. I cover my face and let them out. Maybe it doesn’t matter, but I can’t stand the thought of losing my chance forever.
The door slides open, and an acrid, chemical smell floats toward me. I look up in time to catch a glimpse of Dámiul lying in the white med pod with the doctor standing over him. Atikéa steps out, and the door shuts again.
I have so many questions, but the tension seems to have stifled my words.
Atikéa approaches me with a look of sympathy. “Dámiul will be all right, Iris. Yandria is a skilled doctor, as well as a trusted member of the Abolition. She’s going to remove the implants the reeducation center put in Dámiul, and he should be able to regain all his memories.”
I try to find comfort in Atikéa’s words, but the tension keeps its hold over me. “What about everything Martoke did to him? Can she fix that too?”
“Yes.” Atikéa gives me a reassuring smile. “Believe me, any worries you have, Jaerin already thought of them. He knew there was a good chance Dámiul would be hurt during the escape, so he had as much medical equipment smuggled here as he could. He wanted to be prepared for everything from blast wounds to drug withdrawal. Fortunately, much of that won’t be needed.”
I manage to nod mutely. My eyes remain fixed on the door behind Atikéa.
Atikéa puts her hand on my back. “Come. It won’t do you any good to stand here like this.”
Knowing she’s right, I let her guide me away. “When can I see him?”
“You may visit after Yandria finishes the surgery, although Dámiul will be asleep by then.” Atikéa leads me toward one of the doors on the other side of the room. “In the meantime, I think you should get some rest as well.” She opens the door, which leads to a dimly lit corridor. “I’m afraid our hideout won’t be as comfortable as your Ka’risil quarters were, but I hope you’ll find your room decent enough.”
My room? I never thought about what would happen to me. If everything had gone according to the original plan, I would have returned to the backstage area before anyone noticed I was missing. But I realize now that since Martoke and a number of other guards saw me helping Dámiul escape, there’s no way I can go back.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I ask.
Atikéa stops before a door with the Adryil symbol for the number seven painted on it. “You’ll have to stay here, in hiding, until I can figure out how to get you to safety. We may be able to return you to the Ydayas if we can convince the authorities that you were a clueless Earthling manipulated by Adryil telepathy. Don’t worry, Iris. I’ll take care of you.”
“Thank you.” I hope I can find a way to go back. In the Ka’risil quarters, I can do for others as Cara did for me: spread the truth and recruit supporters for the Abolition. There’s not much—if anything—I can do here in the hideout.
The door opens, revealing a small, square room lit by a white, circular light on the left wall. A cot sits in the corner, and there’s a narrow door across from it.
Atikéa motions for me to enter. “That door leads to a bathroom shared with the room beside you, which is currently unoccupied. Our supporters come from all parts of Adrye, and sometimes they stay here.” She gives me a fond smile. “I must say, I never imagined you’d take part in an Abolitionist mission. When Cara first told me she had a new recruit, I thought the most you’d be doing was whispering the truth to the other Ka’risil you came across.”
“I never thought I’d do anything like this either.” I approach the bed, and it hits me how far I’ve come since I first met Dámiul. I used to be invisible, known only as “viola girl” by most of the Orchestra. The most I dared hope for was a job as a performer. My destiny was so set, I could see it: I would find a patron or accept whichever job my school placed me in. Either way, I would have been a cog in a system, never worrying about what came next because it was all decided for me.
Now, the future is clouded, and I can’t see the way forward. But at least I helped save the boy I love. Perhaps, together, we can change the fates of thousands of Artists like me. And then, if we fight hard enough, maybe we can change the way the Adryil treat the noncompliant. What Martoke did to Dámiul was nothing short of evil, and I can’t stand the thought of it happening to anyone else.
Atikéa reaches into her pocket. “Here.” She hands me a watch similar to the one I used to always wear at Papilio. “If you need anything, my contact information is in here. It’s also connected to the Adryil Planetary Network. I had it programmed with a function that translates everything into English.”
“Thank you.” I examine the watch.
“I must return to the university. I’ll see you soon.” Atikéa leaves, and the door shuts behind her.
Weariness descends. I approach the cot and lie down, but sleep won’t come. I think about Dámiul in that room, fighting for his life, and send a prayer to whichever forces of fate might be listening.
Dámiul looks so peaceful in his sleep. I would never have guessed that, less than a day ago, he was killing himself trying to protect me. He lies in a white med pod, which takes up half the room, but he occupies only a very small part of it. Yandria left it open, since Dámiul doesn’t have an illness. Several small, round pads adhere to his face, attached to wires snaking into the pod’s sides. An opaque tube protrudes from each of his wrists, and they, too, are attached to the pod. It’s the most complex-looking machine I’ve ever encountered, and seeing him connected like that disturbs me a little even though I know it’s saving him.
Yandria departed before I could ask any questions, but she left a note on a tablet telling me she would be back in the evening and that, if Dámiul wakes up, I must make sure he stays in the pod. Actually, the note was addressed to another Abolitionist, but I wanted to be the one to watch over Dámiul. Tadrien was more than happy to let me take over.
A white bandage covers Dámiul’s forehead. Dried blood still stains his face and hands. I spot a sink in the corner and approach. A white towel sits beside it, along with a number of shining instruments that I assume are medical equipment. I pick up the towel and put it under the faucet. Cool water streams down automatically.
I return to Dámiul’s side and gently dab his face, careful not to disturb the round pads. Other than the humming of the pod, the hideout is silent. Almost everyone has gone back to their daily lives, and the few people here are meeting in a room on the other side of the complex. From the snippets of conversation I caught before they closed the door, it seems like they’re discussing ways to get more people to come out with their support for the Abolition movement.
I’ll worry about the cause later. Even if I wanted to join the conversation, I don’t know enough to add anything helpful. There are so many things I wish I could do, but can’t.
Watching over Dámiul is the only thing I can do right now. I rinse off the towel, then return to his side.
The days blur into a quiet haze of anxiety and boredom. Either six or seven have passed since we broke Dámiul out of the reeducation center—I’ve lost track. It’s hard to have a sense of time when my surroundings don’t change, and my only glimpses of the outside world are through the Adryil Planetary Network, which I’ve spent hours browsing.
This is the longest I’ve gone without my viola, and its absence makes my fingers itch with discontent. Sometimes, I close my eyes and shadow play, letting the notes take me back to a simpler time. If I only had my instrument, these underground days wouldn’t seem so dull. Without it, a piece of my soul is missing. But each time I find myself longing to go back to my old life, I think about Dámiul, and all that goes away.
The other Abolitionists come and go, but I haven’t seen Atikéa since she gave me the watch. According to Yandria, Dámiul’s escape caused quite a stir, and she’s keeping a low profile for the time being so no one will suspect she’s anything more than an outspoken university student.
Having used up the hour break I allotted myself, I deactivate my watch and pick up the language tablet on my lap. I adjust my position in my chair. The collar of my ill-fitting shirt, which I found in a closet Tadrien directed me to, slides down my shoulder. I pull it back up, wishing I wasn’t so ridiculously small.
I glance at Dámiul, who remains unconscious in the med pod. The wounds on his forehead are gone, but he hasn’t shown any sign of waking up. Yandria told me that it’s normal for people with his kinds of injuries to remain unconscious for a week or more while they recover.
Worry invades my thoughts nonetheless. I can’t help wondering: is this my fault? If Cara had been the one to find him at the reeducation center, she wouldn’t have wasted time reconnecting with him, as I did. Even if he refused to listen to her, she would have dragged him out the door and shoved him into the escape vehicle before Martoke had a chance to catch up.
Martoke was in control of the whole situation. She would have been caught, too. My repeated self-reassurances do little to comfort me. If I hadn’t been such a whimpering coward, we might have been all right until Jaerin found us, and Dámiul wouldn’t have hurt himself so badly to protect me. If there’s ever a next time, I’ll be braver—like Cara. Knowing her, she would have put up a fight from the start instead of letting the security bot get her. Maybe if I’d at least tried to escape, I could have—could have what? I was unarmed and faced with a powerful, towering machine. What could I possibly have done?
The maybes won’t do me any good, and I stare at the language tablet, hoping it’ll keep my mind off of them. What happened is over. Dámiul is here now, safe in the care of the Abolitionists and an expert doctor. And me—I just want to be here when he wakes up.
I read through a simple passage in Adryil, sounding out the syllables and trying to make sense of them. Considering how little time I’ve spent learning the language, I’m doing all right with the speaking and listening. My good memory for music apparently also applies to spoken languages. Reading and writing, however, is a different story. The Adryil alphabet isn’t too long, but the symbols always get mixed up in my head.
A soft, rustling sound rises from the med pod, and I look up with a start. Dámiul stirs. He hasn’t moved except to breathe since he got here. Enough time has passed—he must be waking up at last.
My heart pounding, I leave the tablet on my chair and approach him. “Dámiul?”
Dámiul blinks. He looks around in confusion for a few seconds, and then his gaze meets mine. His eyes, which had faded so much right after his escape, have regained their usual glow.
Just the sight of him, awake and with me, takes my breath away. The fretfulness that’s been gripping my heart releases me, and I exhale. “Welcome back.”
“Where am I?” Dámiul starts to sit up.
I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him. “You have to stay still. You’re in a med pod, connected to equipment that’s healing you. We brought you to the Abolitionists’ underground headquarters, and Yandria—the doctor—has been taking care of you. She took out the implants they used to wipe your memory.”
Dámiul lies back, expression confused. He blinks a few times, then widens his eyes. “I remember everything. My school, Jaerin, my parents…” His face falls with dismay. “I suppose they’re not my parents anymore. And Jaerin won’t recall fighting with me—he’ll probably listen when they tell him I’m a delinquent not worth remembering.” He stares at the ceiling. “They’re all gone.”
“You still have Atikéa and the Abolitionists.” I take his hand and squeeze it. “And you have me.”
“I never thanked you for saving me.” Dámiul’s eyes fill with admiration. “I don’t know how I ever could.”
My mind balks at the notion that I’m the one who should get credit for his escape. “I didn’t save you. Jaerin and Atikéa did, acting on an idea Cara came up with.”
“You’re fugitive now, aren’t you? You’re trapped underground because of what you did for me.”
“I don’t mind.” It’s true—I really don’t. Even though there’s much about living with the Ydayas I miss, I don’t regret trading the world I knew for someone I love.
Dámiul closes his hand around mine. “Why would you give up so much for me?”
My heart beats faster. Because I love you. How can I just tell him that? Would it be too bold of me to utter those words? Would it scare him away? But he must feel the same about me—I’ve seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Maybe he’s as afraid of those words as I am, and I should just lay my heart out before him to erase any questions he might have.
I’ve pictured this moment so many times—telling my first love how I feel. I used to daydream about saying those three magic words to a faceless fantasy before I met Dámiul. The closer that daydream drew to reality, the further I pushed it from my mind. It was frightening once I realized I’d actually have to confess to another. For the longest time, I wouldn’t even confess it to myself.
I need to tell him and let whatever happens happen. But before I can work up the courage, the door opens. Surprised, I whirl toward it, releasing Dámiul’s hand.
Cara stands in the doorway with her arms crossed. “They said I’d find you here. Hey, he’s awake!” She looks past me. “I’m Cara, by the way. If it weren’t for this one”—she jerks her head at me—“I would’ve been the one running through the reeducation center saving your hide. But someone stole my spotlight.” She gives me a playful smirk and steps out of the doorway.
Yandria enters. She purses her lips, approaches Dámiul’s med pod, and asks him a few questions in Adryil. Though I can’t catch every word in their exchange, I get the idea that she’s asking how he’s doing, and he’s insisting that he’s well.
Cara nudges me. “Hey, can we get out of here?”
I don’t want to leave Dámiul, but he glances at me and says, “Go on. Yandria needs to conduct her examination, and it won’t be pleasant.”
“I’ll be back as soon as she’s finished.” Reluctantly, I turn away from him and follow Cara out of the room.
Cara sweeps her bangs out of her eyes. “So, what the hell happened with the escape? I overheard some things from the Ydayas, but I’ve basically been in the dark. Would’ve made an HQ run sooner, but they were watching us all too closely after your little stunt. I didn’t even dare wear the Grámed device.”
I give her a brief summary of that night’s events. I hope I don’t sound too pathetic as I describe how I had to stand by and watch Dámiul suffer, then get rescued by Jaerin. “If it hadn’t been for Jaerin, we both would have been caught.”
Cara gives me a grudgingly impressed smile. “Hey, you held your own. So, what happened to Jaerin? Everyone’s been mysterious about him.”
I tell her about how he led the guards away and then wiped his own memory. Her smile falls, and a desolate expression darkens her eyes. I never expected to see a look like that on her usually hard façade.
“So Jaerin’s gone.” Cara firms her mouth. “I should’ve known the idiot would do something like that. He should’ve told me… Screw him! I was going to put it all on the line to save his precious brother, and he couldn’t even be bothered with saying goodbye when he knew he’d never see me again?”
Her outburst surprises me. There’s something familiar about her pained look—it’s reminiscent of the one that crossed Atikéa’s face.
Even though I don’t say anything, Cara throws me a glare, as if she knows what I was thinking. “Yeah, like I said before, you’re not the only one to be dazzled by a pair of shiny Adryil eyes. Not that it mattered.” She tosses her head and throws on a carefree expression. “So, what’s it like being underground?”
“Boring,” I confess, choosing to let her change the subject.
“Heh, I’ve been kind of bored too. Quartet’s a lot less fun without you. But luckily, the Ydayas brought in someone else to entertain me.” She glances at the closed doors along the walls. “In fact, Tadrien should finish crushing his past any time now.”
Hope kindles in my mind, and I try to keep it from sparking too brightly in case I’m wrong. “Who is it?”
Cara makes a face. “Aw, look at you, all jumpy and excited.”
She makes another snide comment, but I don’t take in the words as a door behind her opens. Glimpsing a familiar head of loose blond curls, I dash past her. “Milo!”