Page 27 of Because I Killed Him
The crowd erupts, buzzing angrily like a hornet’s nest Harrison just kicked.
“Cut him down, Mr. Lee!” someone shouts.
“Make him pay for protecting the lady,” another voice echoes.
Mr. Lee straightens, his chest swelling as if the mob is fueling his determination. His fingertips brush the hilt of his saber. “If that is your decision, Mr. Somerset, I consider it an offense,” he says. “One I can—and will—repay.”
“So, repay it.”
Mr. Lee hesitates. “You aretrulywilling to risk your life to protect Miss Waldsten?”
“I am,” Harrison says, reaching toward the scabbard on his belt. “Although I would advise you to tread carefully, sir. Consider the consequences of such a duel.”
“I do not fear your blade.”
“It is notmyblade you should be afraid of.”
Mr. Lee frowns, as if he doesn’t grasp Harrison’s meaning. The crowd murmurs around him, whispers spreading like a burning fuse. He turns, trying to listen to the chatter, but the noise from the security drones drowns out most of it. The only word that echoes loudly, passed through the crowdlike a firecracker, is the one Harrison wants Mr. Lee to hear.
Entourage.
Harrison draws his saber with a quick flick of his wrist; a long graphene blade extends from the hilt, shining like a sliver of sunlight. He steps forward on his dominant foot and slides into en garde, his sword arm extended and the other tucked behind for balance.
“I shall ask you, sir, for the last time… make your challenge, or make way.”
Mr. Lee remains still, but the rigid click of his jaw makes it clear he understands what’s at stake. If he fights Harrison while Harrison is under the protection of an entourage, he’s directly challenging Harrison’s Blue.
With a small, agitated grin, Mr. Lee withdraws his hand from his saber. Grumbling rises from the crowd as he pulls on his flat cap and takes his pipe back from his friend.
Harrison retracts his blade, grabs my arm, and swiftly guides me toward the train.
“A word of caution, Mr. Somerset,” Mr. Lee says as we pass. “Illegal or not, we both know the majority of Blues support Bliss. Maintain a public relationship with Miss Waldsten, and you do not merely risk making enemies; you risk losing allies.”
Harrison’s grip tightens on my arm, but he keeps walking. The crowd shrinks back from us now, as if terrified of stepping on our shadows.
At the carriage, I unlock the door with my Blood Ring. Charlotte and I hurry inside, but Harrison remains on the steps, his skin so pale it looks bloodless. “Here, Miss Waldsten and Miss Deering, is where I must depart.”
“Mr. Somerset,” I call through the door. “Thank you for—”
“I wish you luck at university, Miss Waldsten. Good day.”
Harrison bows and closes the door before I can finish. I press my hand against the window, watching him push through the crowd. He stumbles, and I wince as he nearly trips on an uneven flagstone. He pauses, gathers himself, and continues walking. It’s the first time I’ve seen him so shaken, but I understand why. As Mr. Lee said, Harrison is risking his reputation and possibly his position in his Blue’s entourage unless he cuts ties with my family.
And that includes Vivian.
When Harrison disappears into the green third-year carriage, I send him a message through my Bond. I thank him for what he did and promise that if there’s ever a chance to return the favor, I will. The checkmark icon below the message turns yellow, showing Harrison has read it, but then he goes offline.
My shoulders sink, but I tell myself I shouldn’t blame him. He has his own reputation and academic future to protect. Why should he risk it all for me? He shouldn’t. And neither should Charlotte. She’s always hated conflict, which makes me wonder if there’s more to her sticking around than wanting to avoid being alone.
The green first-year carriage is as closely monitored as the departure platform. Rows of surveillance cameras hang from the ceiling, their high-powered lenses tracking every movement and whisper. For the first time in my life, I’m grateful for the lack of privacy. The cameras that once made me feel like a prisoner are now the only thing keeping me safe. Every passenger sits with perfect posture, hands folded, eyes straight ahead. A few steal glances at me as I follow Charlotte down the aisle, but I don’t acknowledge them. Asking other Greens for help is pointless. I understand that now.
All my life, I was taught that it was high-citizens versus low-citizens, Blues versus the rest of us. And while that might still be true, I see now that those at the bottom are just as willing to cut my throat as those at the top. If even my own kind are willing to betray me, to kill me over a vote I’m not responsible for, then Dad is right.
I can’t trust anyone.
Near the back of the carriage, Charlotte and I settle into row seventeen. My seat has a strange odor, as if the previous passenger spilled fermented food on the cushion. I wrinkle my nose and run my hand along the seat, but it’s dry, with no visible stains.
Charlotte takes a deep drag from a freshly lit cigarette. Around us, there are at least a dozen empty seats she could’ve booked—she still can—but instead, she reclines and flips through a fashion magazine.
