Page 55 of Because I Killed Him
To the sound of thunderous applause.
Everyone wants greatness until they realize it requires sacrificing what they love for what they believe in.
—HARRISON SOMERSET
CHAPTER 11
My second day at Grandmaster is an ugly twin of the first. The lectures blur by in an erratic stream of complicated discussions I only half-focus on because I’m too busy watching my back. I know I can’t keep living like this, day after day, week after week, constantly scanning for the glint of a saber. I need to find a way to move around campus safely. But first, I need to figure out what Irene Hussey’s gesture meant: an outstretched hand with five fingers raised. On the way to my last lecture, I text Dickie, hoping he’ll know.
“It means you need more bodyguards, broad,”he replies.
“I already have six,”I text him.“That’s the max.”
“Then find a way to talk to Irene. Call a truce.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“Can’t say. But unless you wanna be worm food, don’t wait for her to make the first move.”
“Can you ask her if she’s willing to meet?”
A moment passes. Then Dickie replies:
“I guess so… seeing as you’re a fellow Orange and all.”
“I’m a Green.”
“Well, that explains why you need my brains.”
I scoff at the message, even though Dickie has given me a spark of hope. Dad says the Hussey family is always quick to get blood on their blades, but maybe Irene is more reasonable. If she agrees to meet, I might be ableto defuse the situation. Or at the very least, buy enough time to get ahead of whatever she’s planning.
It’s nearly 7:00 p.m. when I finally return to my suite. I’m in my salon, halfway through a plate of lobster and rice, when Dad adds me to our family group call. Everyone is on the line except for Mom, who’s giving a statement on Dad’s behalf to The Civilized Voice.
Vivian is at her bedroom vanity, polishing a set of bronze flight badges that once belonged to the Vanguards, the elite pilots who guarded the Civilized World’s energy shield when it still needed protection. All of the Vanguards are dead now, their legacies reduced to these small, shining reminders. Vivian calls itcollecting heroes.
Her hands move methodically, almost like a ritual. The Pinkies should be handling the polishing, but she insists on doing it herself. She smiles serenely as she works, her eyes gleaming like warm pools of honey, probably because Harrison told her he’s not breaking off their engagement. Vivian pulls back from the badges, blows lightly on the polish, then looks up at her phone screen.
“I take back what I said to you yesterday,” she tells Dad. “I shouldn’t have lashed out, and I’m sorry.”
Dad’s smile is faint but genuine. “I appreciate that, Viv. Tensions are high right now. Let’s not make them worse by turning on each other.”
“I know. You’re right.” She says the words without a hint of shame. Vivian never gets embarrassed.
Hillaire, by contrast, clings to her fury more tightly than her ribbed nanosuit clings to her body. She doesn’t speak as she trains at the shooting range in our compound, her energy-based sniper rifle pulsing with each shot. The echoing blasts force Dad to raise his voice to be heard over the noise.
“Anything new to report?” he asks me.
I hesitate, thinking it’s better not to mention Irene’s threat. He’s already fighting opponents of the Bliss ban on too many fronts, and adding the Husseys to the mix would only stretch him thinner.
“Nothing new,” I say. “The Pinkies are keeping me safe.”
Dad’s shoulders ease, though the tension never entirely leaves his face. “Good. You should track down the other students whose parents voted toban Bliss. They’re your best shot at making allies.”
I nod along, pretending to consider his advice, but the truth is, grouping us all together feels like a bad idea. One well-placed strike, and we’d all go down at once.
After the call, I curl up on the sofa and log in to Quill. My Pinkie hands me my vitamin supplements, and I toss them back while checking the trending topics. My name has dropped to ninth place, only two spots away from disappearing entirely. The top trend now belongs to the Jazz & Juleps party, which is still raging on the beach.
As I scroll through the posts, I feel a cold sense of isolation. Endless photos and videos show students mingling on the sand, their seersucker suits and tank-style bathing suits fading into soft pastels under the string lights. They’re laughing over cocktails, playing lazy hands of poker, and tap dancing on a parquet floor that the Pinkies set up on the beach.
