Page 102 of Silver Elite

We sit in silence for a while. The quiet voices of the other recruits travel through the room, but nobody comes to talk to us.

“He shot her in the head, Lyds,” I finally say. The pain in my chest feels like a physical wound.

“I still can’t believe it.” She eases closer and rests her head on my shoulder.

It reminds me so much of Tana that I want to cry. I miss my best friend.

“Do you think it’s true?” she asks. “That Betima was one of them?”

I’mone of them.

Betima was one ofmine.

But I can’t tell Lyddie that, and I’m not in the mood to spark some drawn-out debate about whether Mods should be allowed to exist.

Fortunately, we’re interrupted by Kaine, who tosses his source on his bed and glances our way. His expression is serious for once.

“I guess you heard?” I say.

“Lash just told me.”

I swallow. “She’s dead.”

“If she was Aberrant, it was bound to happen anyway,” he replies,and once again I’m battling something inside of myself, because while I want to claw his eyes out for saying that, his response is exactly what it should be. For a Prime.

“Yeah,” I say with a weak nod. “She would’ve been found guilty of concealment.”

He nods back. “And faced the firing squad.”

“Right.”

Lyddie gives my arm a soft squeeze before climbing off the bed. “I’m going to sleep now. I’m sure we’ll have more answers in the morning.”

Betima will still be dead in the morning.

I feel Kaine’s gaze on me, and when I glance back in his direction, what I see helps to pacify some of the nasty feelings I was having toward him.

Pain.

There’s genuine pain creasing his features. Losing Betima hurts him. Maybe not as much as it hurts me, but I’m encouraged that at least on some level, he considers this a loss.

“You should get changed,” he advises. “Lights will go out soon.”

I’ve barely slid my sleep shirt over my head when his warning comes to fruition. Darkness engulfs the room, and I have to feel my way under my blanket.

I curl onto my side and resist the urge to cry. To weep until my eyes are raw and exhaustion claims me. But I can’t show weakness here, so I pull the covers up to my neck and lie in the dark, feeling the crushing weight of my circumstances pressing down on me.

I’m in a room full of people, yet I’m completely alone. I’ve always been alone. Even with Jim in my life, the loneliness never abated.

I wish I had parents.

I wish I had a mother to comfort me and tell me I’ll survive this.

A father to tuck me in and tell me he’ll stay with me until I fall asleep.

But my parents aren’t here. They’re both long dead, and I can’t help but feel I’ve let them down somehow. How does someone like me even measure up to someone like my father? My mother? I don’tremember either of them, but from the meager details Uncle Jim provided, they were braver than I could ever dream of being.

They both sacrificed their lives for the Uprising. They both fought against the tide of oppression, refusing to back down. They weren’t motivated by personal gain or glory. They dedicated their lives to a deep-seated sense of duty to stand up for what’s right, no matter the cost. My father wasn’t even Modified, yet he stood by my mother, by her people.

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