Page 49 of Because I Killed Him
The curse of having an ambitious father is the long shadow he casts, so vast it engulfs his family, leaving us lost in its depth, unable to step into the light to cast shadows of our own.
—HILLAIRE WALDSTEN, JOURNAL ENTRY
CHAPTER 9
The Husseys don’t just manufacture Bliss; they enforce its use. You cross them, and you disappear.
The memory of Dad’s words remains as severe and unwavering as when he spoke them last winter. My sisters and I were with Dad in the study of our training compound, surrounded by tall, crested snowdrifts that buried half the Green District. Only the glow of a holographic screen cut through the darkness, casting its cold light as it displayed the ten most powerful high-citizen families and the sprawling empires they controlled.
The Husseys and the Prews both made the list: untouchable, dangerous, best avoided at all costs. But at the time, Dad’s warning slid right off my back. Fresh from my weapons restriction, I was too angry to care which high-citizens had the worst reputations or how they ranked in their private games of power. They ruined my life. As far as I was concerned, I hated all Blues equally.
Now, on my first day as a Public Person, I find myself caught between a Hussey and a Prew. Irene’s stance on Bliss is clear, but Edmund’s leaves me scrambling. Jack said Edmund doesn’t use Bliss, so he shouldn’t care about the ban, at least not personally. But Irene’s family made their entire fortune through Bliss. If Edmund is engaged to her, shouldn’t he be angry on her behalf as her fiancé? And if heisangry, why did he help me? Why didn’t he throw me out of his salon and let the Copper finish me off? Is itbecause he expected to win the shot duel and planned to demand a vengeful favor from me?
None of it adds up.
Jack drops Charlotte and me off at the Green Dormitory before driving on with Dickie to a gentlemen’s club. We linger on the curb, exchanging an awed glance as we take in the sight. The dormitories sit at the heart of campus, four ornate, domed buildings with columned entrances and arched windows that form a square around the Guillotine Yard. Every detail of the design is symbolic, intended to remind us who holds power. At the center of the yard, the guillotine rises like the middle finger of death itself, a tool of control rather than a mere spectacle. The sight of its sharp, angled blade reminds me of an old low-citizen slogan:We are the fools who buy diamonds at dawn and coffins at dusk.
Each dormitory is carefully positioned to provide students with an unobstructed view of the guillotine from their private terraces. The layout is so precise that we could probably brush our teeth in the blade’s reflection. For those whose suites lack a direct view, there’s still no escape; executions are broadcast live every morning on our televisions.
I hope my suite doesn’t have a direct view of the guillotine.
Charlotte walks silently beside me until we reach the Green Dormitory’s portico. The emptiness in her stare tells me she’s retreated into herself, locking away whatever part of her still exists beyond survival.
“Miss Waldsten,” she says. “I require some time to collect my thoughts.”
“Certainly, Miss Deering,” I reply, maintaining the formality even though it feels like a bad joke to use it with her. “Thank you for your assistance on the train. Without you, I might not have reached Grandmaster at all.”
Charlotte nods vaguely, then slips into the crowded lobby. My chest aches as I watch her climb a set of spiral stairs and disappear. The wound she’s nursing runs much deeper than I initially realized, so part of me understands she needs time to heal. Another part fears that this is it. After finally finding her, she’s slipping away again.
I don’t want to lose her. After what she risked by bringing me into Edmund’s salon, I can’t be angry at her anymore. I just want her to stay.
Five Pinkies await me in the foyer, their smiles matching the cold,sterile gleam of the marble floor. I check my Bond. A text from Dad says he’s ordered system checks on the robots every fifteen minutes to ensure none are hacked or reprogrammed.
The Pinkies escort me directly to my suite. Students stare as we pass, some trailing behind and snapping pictures as if I’m an infamous criminal. But no one dares break through the barrier the robots have formed around me. For the first time, I understand what it must be like for Dad in the Rainbow District, always under scrutiny and cut off from the safety of home. Politicians aren’t allowed to travel anywhere without security teams because the threat of assassination by Heretics is too high.
A weight presses down on my shoulders as we reach the third floor, where my suite is. With the adrenaline gone and the shock faded, I realize how tired and hungry I am. My head feels too heavy, and my thoughts are too loud. The fear of dying horrifically like Jane, of losing everyone I love, of being hunted by both high-citizens and low-citizens, and of becoming a target for anyone who sees me as a threat—all of it overwhelms me at once. But I hold myself together, hiding the cracks until I reach my suite. The door slams shut with a bang that reminds me of the falling blade of the guillotine outside.
I realize, as I turn to the window, that I have a clear view of the guillotine from my balcony.
I cry.
My tears feel hot enough to burn my cheeks, spilling over until my makeup runs down my face. I kick the wall so hard my T-strap heel breaks. The loud crack startles me, but it’s not enough to snap me out of what I’m feeling. As I slide off the broken shoe, my Bond alerts me to an incoming call from Dad.
I answer.
He’s slumped at a desk in his private jet’s office, his legs spread wide. His collar is unbuttoned, his silk tie loosened, and his hair is a disheveled mess. The swelling around his eyes suggests he hasn’t slept all night, but I don’t care. The words burst out of me before I can stop them.
“I had a second chance, Dad,” I shout. “I had a plan to fix my life, butnow I’ve lost any hope of that. You never told us the fallout from a Bliss ban would be this bad. You never said people would want tokillus.”
Dad’s face stiffens as if I punched him in the gut. “I’m… sorry, Loredana.”
I know he means it, but the set of his jaw and the wrinkling of his forehead suggest disappointment. Unlike my sisters, I’ve experienced the Blues’ cruelty firsthand. I’m the one who should understand why he has to stand up to them.
The screen flickers as Mom and my sisters join the call, one after another. Their pale faces crowd in, etched with fear and exhaustion.
“Bruce, how far are you from home?” Mom asks, watching out the window for signs of his jet on the airstrip.
Before Dad can respond, Vivian interrupts. She’s saddling her thoroughbred in the stable. The horse shifts restlessly, as if sensing her agitation. “Harry’s not answering my calls, Dad. If he ends our engagement over this, I’llneverforgive you.”
