Page 108 of The Order

Chapter thirty-five

Forest

Istandoutsidethetatteredapartment building, looking over the tiny flecks of blue paint scattered on the ground, no doubt from years of brutal weather and lack of upkeep. The walk here was unnerving. There were several moments where I was one shifty look away from pulling out my blade. A few people lie on the streets outside the building, sleeping soundly or rummaging through bins for something to eat. A few people sit on their balconies, watching me from above, waiting for me to move from my position on the sidewalk. I watch a woman leave the building, her body bundled in layers of worn clothing. Slowly, I move closer to her, stepping over a sleeping Unfortunate to catch her before the door closes. I grasp the door, watching her turn on her heels at my sudden presence.

“You startled me,” she says with a smile, offering that same kindness Jolie had, not once asking me why I’m here.

“My apologies,” I glance into the building, looking over the many names and unit numbers plastered on the wall. There’s a buildup of tape on the names lining the directory, telling me there’s been a lot of turnover here in the recent years.

“Could you possibly help me find someone?” I start, watching her give me a slight nod, “I’m looking for someone named Fallan Markswood… do you know which unit he might be in?” I question.

“Markswood! Oh, I love that boy. Yes, he's three staircases up. The unit is at the very end of the hallway to the right. You can’t miss it. He’s the only reason our hallway looks half as decent as it does,” she says, smiling ear to ear, “Are you his partner?” she questions, making my words come out a jumbled mess.

“N-No, just a friend,” I say, watching her frown.

“Pity, I was hoping someone could take care of him after dealing with those nasty Officials. Poor boy wouldn't leave his unit, even when I offered him a warm meal,” she says, sounding hurt.

I’m starting to think her interest in Fallan goes beyond neighborly concern at this point.

“Well, I’d better go check on him,” I say, moving further into the open doorway.

“She’s a bit odd. Keep your eyes on her,”it whispers, no longer relying on just reflections to communicate.

“Noted,” I say out loud, giving the woman one last smile before moving inside the building.

I make my way up the three flights of stairs, my legs dragging heavily under me as I struggle to avoid debris and other hazards, like the jagged nails sticking up and out of several of the planks that have been used to repair gaping holes in the floor. I keep my head lowered, watching my feet press against each loose board that threatens to break beneath my weight. Several posters advertising the false promises and programs built by New Haven’s government to aid this sector cake the walls here. The evidence of the Untouchable's broken commitments to serve and protect this community can be felt in every part of this sector, down to the broken hand railings and damaged locks, all damage resulting from unsolicited searches and seizures on the property. The cameras here are all broken, serving as a way to hide any vile acts my people inflict here in the name of peace and prosperity. The air still smells heavy, making it hard not to pinch the bridge of my nose to keep out the odor.

I finally make it up to the last steps, turning the corner down the hallway. The walls feel like they’re growing closer, tightening the space around me in an unsettling discomfort. I drag my feet across the floor, feeling the heat my mark gives off, warming my skin and nauseating my stomach. I do my best to keep my head down, only looking up to watch a man fidget with a set of keys. He drops them on the ground, glancing up at me causally.

I linger in the hallway, watching the man grab his keys before walking toward me. This hallway has more doors than expected and more turns than the woman downstairs had initially described. The man shifts to move past me, his youthful features giving away that he’s probably no older than thirty. He looks cleaner than most in this sector, keeping a stone-cold expression that doesn’t reveal anything else about him.

“Excuse me,” I start. The man pauses his walk, staring forward with a blank expression. He takes in a deep breath, “Do you know someone in this building by the name of Fallan-”

The man's arm collides with my chest, forcing me back and into the closest wall. All of the air leaves my lungs, causing me to grasp his arm, now pressing down on my sternum. His free hand grabs my chin, jolting my head around to get a better look at my face. His nose brushes up against my neck before he inhales. His nose drags along the veins in my neck, my legs unable to move. I feel my mark burn red hot, all of my instincts telling me to reach out and snap his neck.

The man's eyes shift from a standard brown to an endless void of darkness. I cannot move my arm. I try to force it away from his grasp to grab my blade. His hand dips into my front pocket, fiddling with the lanyard of my father's ID, dangling it between us. I struggle to find air, unsure of how much longer I can stand here before passing out.

"Fight,”the other part of me yells, giving me a small surge of energy to force the man's hand away from my chest. He only shoves me farther back, the wall behind me rattling as my back collides with it.

“Someone went too far outside her sector,” the man hisses, dragging the ID’s edge down my face. “They never said I couldn’t have you if you stumbled into the Unfortunate sector,” he continues, pressing his nose to my hair. “Fresh Marked blood for me to feast on,” he says, the corners of his mouth dripping with saliva.

“F-Fallan!” I yell loudly, unable to muster the energy I needed to call to him down the connection in my mind.

Horror paints my face as the man begins tearing away at his skin, revealing the bony, sunken face I recognize as a Shifter's. Chunks of flesh meet the floor as it peels away its fleshy costume. Its hand, with a similar mark as the one I keep concealed, begins to burn against my skin—I take a moment to glance at the features of its unmasked form and find slick, thin bones for fingers and sunken hollow pits instead of eyes. I continue thrashing against the monster, and my fingers finally touch the hilt of my blade. I pray that the commands I input recently to override the code from before I removed my chip wouldn’t fail me now. I wouldn’t be able to wield my blade if the commands didn’t hold.

“Just one taste-” the creature hisses.

The creature wails, loosening its grip to angle its jaw to align with my throat, but its adjusted grip allowed me to force my blade up, and I watch as it met the creature's skull through the bottom of its jaw. A second blade joins the fight, slicing through the tender skin of the creature’s chest from behind, nearly meeting my own front in the process. I pant heavily as the tip of the blade, now protruding from its chest, almost touches my flesh. Giving my blade a sharp twist, I watch the creature's arms go limp. It slumps to the ground with a heavy thud, and its body begins to melt into nothing. Soon all that remains of the creature is ash stuck to the carpet. It's the same ash that covers the ground well beyond the ward.

I kick my body away from it, retracting my blade. Its blood stains my face. My heart skips a beat as I find the source of the other blade. Fallan stands above me, leaning on the wall, panting heavily. The Shifter's blood mixes into his own bloody and bruised face. I have to stop myself from gasping at the sight of his battered face. He clutches his side, biting back the pain. Being this close to him, I find a strange connection to his injuries, and they hit me abruptly. My whole body is miserable. My own side begins to ache, and my face throbs uncomfortably. I watch him run his hand through his hair, closing his blade before stepping near me.

Without hesitation, he grabs the front of my hoodie, pulling me to my feet with one arm, giving me no time to react as he moves us down the hallway. I watch him limp while he moves, only stopping once he’s reached the door farthest to the end of the hallway. He fumbles with the knob, forcing it open. He drags me inside, slamming the door shut and latches the multiple locks.

I stumble into his unit, looking at the neat and orderly set up around me, taking in every detail I can. His home smells of cinnamon, a few candles are lit to add some light to the dark space since he’s got the curtains drawn, blocking out the rays of sun.

“What was that?” I finally question, breaking the silence.

Fallen moves towards the small kitchen.

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