Page 91 of Shades of Silver City

“It wasn’t too difficult to figure out who Fantasia was.”

But I still don’t understand why Dad would have dedicated his soul-shade research to me. Why he would have injected me so young. Why he seemed to anticipate his impending death. Nothing makes sense.

“Do you think—”

A white light from behind Archer blinds me. I flinch, putting my hands up and squinting. Two pairs of metallic boots make their way into sight. The light is too bright to allow me to look directly at them, but there’s no mistaking the Silver Scouts.

Time slows. I forget how to breathe.

“Fantasia Foster, AR 362, under direct order of the High Chancellor, you’re under arrest.”

"I have a high level of confidence in the stability of my mRNA formula, to the extent I would assert a willingness to administer injections to persons of personal significance. However, such a scenario remains purely hypothetical, due to the ethical and legal ramifications…”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

CHAPTER 21

FANTASIA

“Gentlemen,” Archer says, the epitome of nonchalance.

I squint against the light, keeping my hands up in front of my face to block as much of the beam as I can.

Archer takes a casual step forward, and the Scouts swing the light onto him.

“Stay where you are!” one of them says.

“Put the light down,” Archer says in a commanding voice.

My mouth drops open. I’m tempted to yell at Archer, tell him to stop being a fucking idiot before he gets us both killed, but I’m too afraid to speak.

The Scouts obviously don’t relent. They step closer.

“On your knees, now!”

“Drop your weapon,” Archer says, his voice wavering slightly.

“By order of the High Chancellor, we are authorized to shoot on sight if you are uncooperative.”

At this, Archer gives me an indecipherable look. Putting his hands up, he slowly drops to his knees. “Stall them, Tasia.” His voice is calm, steady. “Don’t worry about me. They won’t shoot you. Stall them.”

“I said shut up.” One of the Scouts steps forward, hitting Archer in the head with his weapon.

The air catches in my throat, and I gasp as I watch him topple over and hit the cement with a thud. Every fiber of my being begs me to run to him, to check on him, but the persisting memory of the Scouts killing my parents keeps me rooted in place.

They can and they will end a life if they choose.

I stay frozen, careful not to even breathe too loudly, for fear of offending the Scouts. I’m already under arrest; there is absolutely nothing I can do to avoid being taken in. Archer can’t possibly know they won’t shoot me unless he believes they’re intent on bringing me in alive.

The light is finally lowered, and the Scouts make their way toward me with iron cuffs. I notice they both have prominent soul-shades—one a bright orange, the other a translucent blue-green.

It shocks me that their soul-shades aren’t black—the color of evil. Not for the first time, I wish my dad would’ve finished his research, so I would be able to understand the differences in color. The Scouts are inhumane, and I refuse to believe they’re anything less than evil.

“What am I under arrest for?” I ask in a high-pitched voice. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Shut it,” one of the Scouts spits.

“How much does the city pay you to turn on your own people, huh?” I glare at them. “Does it feel good? Working for the wealthy and shitting on your neighbors for a few silvers? Your friends and family proud of you? Fucking traitorous—”

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