Page 20 of The Last Hope
But I can’t deny that Kinden’s fondness for Court—the lengths he went to seek out his brother—was beyond any kind of devotion I’d witnessed before.
Bludrader pauses, causing us to halt in the middle of a corridor. He turns to Court. “Whoever you think is your brotherlearnedthat you’re human. You care about him because it’s in your nature. He couldn’t care less about you because it’s in his.”
Court layers a dark glare. “You know nothing.”
He lets out a fading laugh. “I know too much. Definitely more than you.” His odd footwear squeaks as he spins around and moves along. “Keep up, you three.”
Court swallows his distaste.
Another left turn and we approach a burgundy rectangular door. ARomuluscadet guards the entrance. She doesn’t speak, but when she recognizes Bludrader, she sets her hand on a screen.
The door slinks open horizontally, and we breach what looks like the main crew quarters. Twelve levels rise with the vaulted, domed ceilings.
My feet slow. At the sheer size of the room. At the sheer number of people.
Thousands of bodies crowd the banisters, some people sitting on the railing, others hunched casually over. Almost like they knew we’d be passing through. Waiting to catch a glimpse of us, to point and stare.
My back bumps into Mykal’s firm chest.
Something hot wells in my eyes. Overwhelmed. Choked. I’m certain these are my emotions. Not Court’s. Not Mykal’s. The longer I see the loathing behind thousands of eyes, the more sickness rises and I want to puke.
I’ve met disgust and animosity before. There are plenty of people on Saltare-3 who thought I wasn’t good for much because I was a Fast-Tracker.
But I’ve never met this kind of universal hatred. Until now.
Mykal leans down, his mouth brushing my ear. “Pay them no notice, Franny.”
It’s difficult.
Court reaches out and clasps my hand in his, and I breathe stronger.
Bludrader braves a glance back at us. “Ignore them and move forward.”
I can’t help it.
I am looking. On the first floor where we walk, people standtoo close. They’ve created a small path for us to pass through, but their breath blazes against the side of my cheek.
Someone spits.
But the aim isn’t for me or for Court or Mykal.
The gross wad lands on Bludrader.Splaton his temple. He treks forward, not breaking speed. We head to another burgundy door.
A short-haired girl sticks out her foot to trip him.
He stumbles and then catches himself. Walking again like nothing happened.
I look to Court, and he’s fixated on the same scene as me.
“Be careful,” Court whispers to me and Mykal. He must think there’s a chance others will target us next.
But the farther we go, every onslaught, every wad of spit and curse word is directed athim.From the balcony, someone tosses an empty can, and the metal bounces off his shoulder armor.
“Bludrader!” a man sneers.
“Bludrader.” A girl spits at his face.
He wipes off the wad and says nothing. Does nothing but moves forward, as he instructed us to do.
