Page 131 of Shades of Silver City

Flipping the bear over and inspecting it, I search for an opening, any type of hidden pocket. I’ve had the ratty thing for years and never noticed anything amiss, but there has to be something I overlooked. My gut tells me to look harder.

When I don’t find anything, I take a risk and give the fabric a tug at its seams. If I’m wrong, worst case scenario I lose my old bear. If I’m right…

The seam gives with a loud rip. Pieces of fluff fall out. I reach in, plucking out more of the white material, and my fingers scrape against something rough.

“No fucking way,” I say breathlessly, tugging out the item.

It’s a paper folded into a square no bigger than my palm. Rushing to unfold it, I try to steady my shaking heads, careful not to rip the paper.

Fantastic Fantasia,

I hope you find this letter before it’s too late. It’s glamoured to be read by your eyes only. It’s not the only thing glamoured. There’s much to say but not many words. The city isn’t what it seems; protection is a synonym for prison, and not all is artificial. Blood is thicker than water, but blood can wash away dust.

I’ve made mistakes and sold my soul to the monsters. I only wanted to afford a better life for us. I had no idea what was in store.

Please forgive me, my girl.

I will love you always.

If I wasn’t wholly certain this is my father’s handwriting, I wouldn’t believe this was from him. The syntax is different from that of his journals. And what he wrote makes little sense—

“It’s not the only thing glamoured.” He was glamoured. I knew it!

My hands shake as I read it over and over, working to decipher what it means. He’s speaking in code, giving me a roundabout message in the only way he could.

A loud screech from the street pulls me out of my thoughts. My head whips toward the nearest window. I run to it, peering down below. Even at this hour, Pub Path is well-lit by street lamps and various signs. A handful of Scouts emerge from their armored truck, charging toward the bar. People flee, yelling dramatically as they go, but the Scouts make no move to chase them. Instead they pause in front of the bar. Then they talk amongst themselves in low voices for a moment before readying their weapons.

I duck down out of sight, my heart jackhammering in my chest. Tucking my dad’s note in my bra for safekeeping, I scurry toward the stairwell.

I have no idea what’s going on, but it looks like they’re about to raid The Rising Star.

When I’m halfway down the wooden stairs, the door at the bottom is flung open. I freeze, but luckily it’s only Mellie.

“Mel, the Scouts are here,” I whisper.

She sniffles, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. The way she doesn’t meet my eyes causes the hair on the back of my neck to prickle.

“Mellie?” I whisper.

“Axel is sick… We—we really need the money, TayTay.” Her voice cracks. “It’s nothing personal.”

She tosses a crumpled-up wad of paper toward me. It lands on the stair below me. I stoop down to snatch it up, smoothing out the page.

A sketch of my face stares back at me, the word WANTED written in big letters above my head.

When the disbelief fades, realization hits me like a sledgehammer.

Mellie called the Scouts.

She turned me in for silvers.

“Nothing personal?” I whisper.

“If you had a kid, you’d get it.”

I nearly double over from the shock.

“Mellie… I would’ve helped you.” I would’ve given her my own paycheck or asked Archer for money. Something. Anything.

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