Page 1 of Hide From Me

Prologue

Moe

05-17-2024

Fae's Diner

Whatis fucking war?

It’s a joke; that’s what it is. All the lives lost and places destroyed for what?Revenge? Power?

That makestotalsense.

Even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it does to my entire faction. It’s exactly why our military societies were created in the first place: to prevent chaos and protect the world. It's ironic, considering I've witnessed two wars causedbyus in my eighteen years of life, along with a lot of other bullshit issues that get swept under the rug as if they never happened—because, for most people, itdidn’t.

From a young age, I was taught that everything we do within our military faction is top secret. Only a select few—trusted law enforcement, world government officials, and other factions like ours—know our name or purpose, which limits our interaction with civilians. If you risk forming relationships with them, you must prioritize your duty, effectively living a double life.

But what’s the point?

Is it to prevent mass panic? To protect people from the bloodshed and death that comes with it? Or is it simply because we're selfish assholes who don't want people to see the pedestal we put ourselves on?

Movement by the long bar littered with civilians chatting over their meals catches my attention, reminding me why I love this place: Fae's Diner. It’s my escape from our suffocating lifestyle.Is suffocating the right word?Maybelonely? No… It's killer, constantly making you feel like you’re flirting with death, unable to call for help, so suffocating might be the perfect fit.

Sam, my brother's best friend and right-hand man, brought me here years ago after an unfortunate incident. It wasn’t Caspians' fault he was having a nightmare or that my throat was the closest thing he could find while in a panicked dream, but being only fourteen at the time, it left me in a state where I couldn’t bring myself to think or talk. Sam showed me the best meals on the menu and talked me through coping mechanisms, which, might I add, aren't all that healthy, but hey, he tried.A for effort or whatever the fuck it is they say.

Honestly, his fucked up ways of watching others in their natural habitatsissomewhat soothing, so yeah, I guess he does deserve an A.

Taking a deep breath, my eyelashes flutter, and my head tilts back at the delicious aroma of freshly baked apple crumble. The light chatter from the old green leather does little to draw my attention away from the scent; instead, the soothing sounds of people calmly enjoying their meals help to ease my frazzled mindset. I suppose I can blame my rough day for everything feeling so overwhelming.

Murdering your grandfather and watching your biological mom bleed out because your brother killed her might be called a reason to be locked away somewhere, confined, and maybe crying. Yet I can’t bring myself to dwell on the people I had always been curious about being so lifeless. The only thing I keep reliving is the moment I thought about pulling the trigger on the only living relative I have left.

Adoptive relative.I have to remind myself that I wasn't wanted by the psychopaths who were supposed to be my family. No, I was tossed on a doorstep on enemy territory with the hopes that they'd do the dirty work for them.

I wish someone would ask me if I regret that they’re dead.

It’d be a good laugh for today.

Does that make me crazy?

I scoff but quickly turn my head back toward the bar and clear my throat to cover the sound. A woman behind the counter hunches over, a rag in hand, her lip tucked between her teeth. Streaks of red in her dark hair frame her furrowed brows as she wipes a spot on the counter—one, two, three times. Jesus, she’s still going, so I refuse to count any further.Doesn’tsherealizeit’snotcomingup?My brows furrow as her focus remains fixed on the stain, utterly oblivious to everything else, as if the world around her has faded into white noise. If it were anyone else I know, their trained instincts would have sensed my gaze by now, but she remains blissfully unaware, constantly swiping at the spot.

“When we get to America, I’m getting you a whole case of cosmic brownies. You’ll get addicted and might be as pissed as I was when I realized they’re not sold here.”

Cordelia, who goes by the callsign Sharkie, catches my attention as she continues the playful banter we started when we first walked into this place not long ago. We're discussing the quirkiest foods and the differences between American and UK cultures. She squints her ocean-blue eyes and tilts her head curiously, letting her wavy brown hair fall over her shoulder, the longer I stay silent. I want to respond, but a beacon behind the bar is begging for my attention.

Finally, my mind catches up, and I open my mouth to speak, but then she glances at my brother, her boyfriend, Caspian—better known as Tide—who seems lost in thought. It’s been a hell of a day, so I have no doubt he’s just as dazed as I am.

The only difference is that I’m better at hiding my internal conflict.

“Are you even listening?” Cordelia snaps at Caspian, and I can't help but smirk at her boldness in confronting theoh-so-intimidatingColonel. My attention is drawn away, however, by a girl walking toward us. She bobs her head along to the classic song playing over the static speakers while balancing a tray in her hand.

“Huh?” Caspian hums, but I don’t turn back to the conversation. Instead, I tilt my head to catch the girl’s attention as she focuses on the beverages sloshing in their mugs.

She’s pretty.Not in the way girls are on our base; all of them are too toned with tight waists, muscled calves, and all too much care for their appearance. This girl, however, is soft in all the right places, with flour on her apron and dark makeup around her eyes.

I know every worker in this diner—their schedules, families, and histories—but I don’t knowher. I'd remember if I'd seen her here before, and it's not because I'll study something until it is engraved into my brain. It’s simply because forgetting a face like that would be hard. She’s stunning, like the sound of thunder rolling over waves.No, she’s beautiful like raindrops on wilted petals.Fuck even that doesn't do her justice.I squint as her nose ring tilts with a scrunch of her nose, trying to find anything worthy of being compared to her.

“Thank you,” I murmur, curious to know if her voice is as enchanting as she appears, while she places napkins on the table. Her eyes glance toward mine as she sets our mugs on each little piece of paper. They aren’t dark like her makeup; instead, they are bright and so green that I almost convince myself I’m dreaming—there’s no way a color could be this vibrant. Her mouth tilts slightly, but it isn’t a full smile before she completely turns away with a mouth-watering sway of her hips.

---