Page 167 of Because I Killed Him
The look on Jack’s face is torn, caught between concern and understanding. But what frightens me more is the realization that he’s not talking about high-citizens like Edmund, or low-citizens with Aegises like himself and Dickie.
He’s talking about the rest of us.
Low-citizens like me.
Truth must breathe. Force it into the airless coffin of secrecy, and it will die, strangled inside you, only to return as a ghost that haunts eternally.
—THE TATTLER, TATTLETALE
CHAPTER 39
I wake the next morning to a delivery of daffodils. They spill from a crystal vase like sunlight slanting sideways in shades of white, yellow, and orange. My Pinkie says the flowers were left outside my suite without a note, but I don’t need one to know William Lee sent them. He probably asked Harrison what my favorite flowers are and told his Pinkie to handle the rest.
Still, curiosity gets the better of me, so I check the security footage outside my door. It shows no Pinkie, but William himself, trailing behind Vincent. Both brothers are wrapped in white bandages, their bodies flecked with dark welts and stitched-up cuts. Vincent holds the vase in both hands, walking carefully, while William follows a step behind, fussing at him not to spill the water. Vincent sets the vase in front of the door and adjusts it first to the right, then to the left.
William walks off, waving for him to follow, but Vincent lingers, his eyes still on the daffodils. With a focused squint, he crouches again and shifts the vase to a new angle, his fingers moving with care.
I glance at the daffodils, now on the side table in my salon. They should feel like a gift, but I can’t enjoy them. The flowers only remind me of last night, and I don’t want to be reminded.
I don’t regret helping William. It’s what I saw that’s lodged in my mind like a stray piece of shrapnel. The images hit in waves as the day drags on. I see the Coppers slam William’s head into the frame of a chair as I ride inEdmund’s hovercar to the first-year Lecture Hall. I see the sergeant’s fist crack across Vincent’s face as the five of us sit through classes. I see the brothers screaming, arms reaching for each other, as we eat lunch in the dining hall.
I can’t eat. Students bustle around our table, caught in their routines as if it’s just another day. For them, it is. The campus hasn’t changed. It still looks, smells, and sounds the same. The marble floors still shine, and the sun-umbrellas still flutter on cafe patios, while drones sweep overhead, displaying class schedules right on cue.
Yet, I see the campus differently now. A tiny crack has appeared in the illusion, and through it, I see the campus the way I did when I first arrived, before I learned to listen for the applause instead of the screams that followed.
A hand gently brushes mine under the table, then closes around my fingertips. I stir from my daze and glance up to see Edmund watching me. He offers an encouraging smile, though it fades before it touches his eyes. Where I expected relief in his expression—that Vincent, William, and I avoided disaster—I find worry instead, as if the disaster is still on its way. I hold on to him, comforted by the steady warmth of his hand, even as I realize something is wrong.
But I don’t understand what until my last class of the day.
I’m walking into Political Theory & Governance, reading over an assignment I’m due to turn in, when an alert sounds from my Bond.
4:43 P.M.: FAILURE TO USE FORMAL LANGUAGE IN A REQUIRED AREA. MINUS ONE CIVIL CREDIT.
I frown, thinking there must be a mistake. But when I see the official badge of the Office of Civility stamped next to the message, my breath cuts off.
What?I didn’t misspeak once today.
I tap the notification, and the alert expands into a block of text that pulses red at the header.
CIVIC NOTICE: CREDIT LIABILITY ALERT
Origin ID: Office of Civility
Recipient: Miss Loredana Waldsten
You are receiving this notice because you voluntarily issued a personal civil credit transfer to Mr. William Lee (ID# 9983-456-A) while his score was below the arrest threshold, thereby constituting a formal endorsement of virtuous character under Article 14.7 of the Civil Trust Act.
As a result, you are nowliablefor all future civil credit deductions incurred by the endorsed party. Any deductions applied to Mr. Lee’s record will be automatically applied to your own. This liability is not reciprocal. You will not receive credit for his restorations.
This endorsement remains in effect until formally revoked through a petition to the Office of Civility, subject to review.
Maintain vigilance. May you always be virtuous.
What the fuck?I reread the notice, certain I’m misunderstanding it. How can I lose civil credits every time William screws up, but gain nothing when he does something right?
Then I remember the terms of service, the ones I skipped over, focused only on getting the civil credits to him fast enough. Dad warned me that some civil credit transfers come with risks. He warned me to be careful about who I tie myself to. I must’ve agreed to this without even realizing it. The penalty was there, buried in the fine print I never bothered to read. Now, unless I file a petition with the Office of Civility and ask them to revoke the transfer, I’m bound to William forever, until one of us dies. Every violation of his will affect me, dragging me down and stripping me of every civil credit I have.
I clench my trembling hand in my pocket, petrified by the thought. But if I take the civil credits back, William will be arrested and sent to the Pearl Penitentiary, where the mind torture is so brutal that inmates’ memories must be wiped so they can function normally after release.
