Page 92 of Because I Killed Him
He answers on the first ring. He’s leaving a hearing at the Capitol Estate, his security team flanking him as he steps into an elevator. His expression is distant and distracted, but it brightens when he sees me.
“Hi, honey,” he says. “I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?”
I want to tell Dad the truth. I want to say I joined Edmund’s entourage and am now being swarmed by desperate low-citizens who believe I have the power to help them.
But I can’t. So I blame the shift in everyone’s behavior on the Bliss withdrawals finally easing and on our family being in the spotlight after Dad saved President Reeve.
“A few weeks ago, most of the students here wanted me dead, and now everyone wants to be my friend and is buying me gifts,” I say. “Some of them even think I can help. A student—Miss Linwood—just told me she’s being considered for expulsion and asked for my help. What should I do? Should I give her civil credits?”
Dad’s eyes widen, and his expression turns anxious, as if the thought of my civil credits decreasing turns his stomach. He starts to say no—his mouth even shapes the word—then he stops and drags a hand through his hair. I can see the conflict tighten his features, the part of him that wants to protect me fighting the part that knows saying no would betray everything he’s been trying to teach me.
“I… well… do you have enough to spare?” he finally asks.
I don’t need to check my score. The number 317 is already burning a hole in my mind. Thanks to Edmund, I’ve been losing civil credits every week for missing executions, gambling in restricted rooms, and arriving late to class. If I lose 117 more credits, my name will be right next to Miss Linwood’s on the expulsion list.
“A few,” I say, forcing a calm expression.
“I’d rather you didn’t give away civil credits unless it’s life or death, honey,” Dad says. “If you ever do, be careful. Certain transfers come with risks, so always read the terms of service first. And don’t give any away at the cost of dropping too low.”
I nod, the number 317 turning over again in my mind. I’m low, but not as low as Miss Linwood. I want to help her, yet part of me keeps wondering whether she was one of the students who wanted me dead when I arrived, one of the pro-Bliss voices that cheered as I fled like a rat from a snake to survive. Even the loudest screamers are smiling now, their friendliness painted on like stage makeup.
“How do you handle the fakeness?” I ask. “People hating you one day and wanting to be your friend the next?”
“I’m a politician, honey. Being diplomatic is my job.” Dad presses a shoulder against the elevator wall and loosens his tie with a sigh. “Your mom and I sheltered you girls growing up. We wanted you to know what life was like without the pressure you’re feeling right now. But the world doesn’t work that way for everyone, and there were things we couldn’t prepare you for. This is one of them. Now you’re seeing how most of the Civilized World lives, Loredana. Nothing is guaranteed. Every day is a game you have to learn to win. You don’t have to like these people, but you do want them to like you. You’ll be at Grandmaster for six years. In that time, you’re going to need allies.”
I realize Dad is speaking from experience. If he struck back at every politician who knifed him in the back, he wouldn’t have a political career. Or worse, he’d be dead.
“You’re doing the right thing by accepting invitations,” he continues. “Do it regularly. It’ll take effort most days, but you might surprise yourself. You might even make real friends who can help you.”
Dad steps out of the elevator, murmurs to one of his aides, then turns back to his phone.
“And about Miss Linwood,” he adds, “if you don’t have civil credits to spare, don’t spare them. It isn’t easy watching people struggle, but this is the way the world is, honey, until we change it.”
After I thank Dad for the advice, he ends the call to head into a policy briefing. I walk back to the Green Dormitory, still thinking about Miss Linwood and how even her own family lacks the power to keep her safe. A part of me wants to forget her altogether, to wipe her frightened face from my mind, but when I picture Hillaire or Vivian in her place, Miss Linwood’s face remains exactly where it is.
I open my civil credit panel and read through the terms of service for transfers, combing every line twice. Despite what Dad said, there doesn’t seem to be a catch, at least not for this type of transfer. So I send Miss Linwood seventeen civil credits, dropping my score to an even three hundred. Maybe the civil credits won’t be enough to get her off the expulsion list, but it’s all I can spare.
By the time I reach the Green Dormitory, I’ve thought long and hard about Dad’s advice. I know he’s right. If I’m going to survive at Grandmaster, I need to have a plan. My membership in Edmund’s entourage expires after one year, and with it, his protection. In the meantime, I can’t drift through the motions, flashing polite smiles, and tolerating my social life. I need to make friends, build a network, and find allies.
So the next day, I play nice. I look genuinely pleased when people invite me to clubs and private lounges, even though it’s irritating to watch them pretend that a few drinks and a laugh can rewrite history. I remember everything, even when I try not to. I remember how they looked at me, how my own Greens turned their backs when the world wanted my head. I might not be as unforgiving as Hillaire, but I’m not as forgiving as Vivian either.You don’t get to hand me flowers with the same hands that threw knives.
What cuts deepest is the cover-up. No one says the wordBliss. No one apologizes. No one brings it up at all. They smile, nod, and keep moving, as if time will bury it for them.
But I won’t forget. If I can’t get an apology, I at least want someone to look me in the eye and acknowledge what happened.
At least, that’s what I think I want… until someone finally does.
Were it not for my weapons restriction, Mondays would be my favorite day of the week. It’s Fraternity night, a time when the campus crackles with the kind of reckless energy that’s only possible when you’re young.
Officially, the Fraternities are about honor, camaraderie, and teamwork. That’s what the Manual for Fraternal Order and Conduct claims. But anyone who’s actually been to a meeting knows better. They’re a chaotic mix of sharp toasts and sharper tongues, wrapped in decades of tradition. They’re roaring drunkenness that somehow stays dignified, singing that echoes through the halls like battle hymns, and debates soaked in ego and wit. And the best part: saber duels.
Joining a Fraternity is mandatory. Every university student in the Civilized World is assigned one based on blood color, and once you’re in, you’re a member for life. Even my parents, with their suffocating schedules, never miss their monthly meetings in the Green District.
The four Fraternity Houses cluster along the shores of a bioluminescent lake on the west side of campus. At night, the water glows a vivid blue, illuminating their facades and making them shine like washed-up pearls. Flags fly above each entrance, their crests bold against deep fabric. Ours bears a saber thrust clean through a shield.
The crest should fill me with pride. Instead, I watch longingly from the sidelines, my saber locked away and my heart heavy. Inside the Green Fraternity, the air is thick with smoke, carrying the odor of sweat and spilled beer. On the ground floor, reserved for first-years, we shoulder up to each other, our bodies pressed against the worn wood of the balcony railings and the velvet booths lining the walls. At the center of it all, two students face off in a friendly duel.
The room vibrates with cheers, shouts, and occasional curses whenever a close hit narrowly misses its mark. Each strike sends sparks into the air. The duelers’ movements are fluid and precise, more like art than combat. Their sabers wink in the smoky light, sharp enough to draw blood, but their faces remain uncovered and their bodies unarmored. Instead, they wear the same black-and-green uniforms and flat-top caps as the rest of us.
