Tyrant

(36) 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎

Worry leaks like venom into my veins.

Astrid frantically types a few numbers on her keyboard—an intricate code that could only be Leo Tripp's identification number. Possibly last-resort options for locating his Tracker. 

Five other grim-faced Communicators stand by my friend's chair like watchful hawks, monitoring the large screen for any sign of the missing Sympathizer, any flicker of a Tracker. 

Any flicker of red that would indicate the well-being of their friend.

Bruno stands by me, his usually playful visage restless and anxious—white knuckles stand out like snow against his honey skin as he grips the back of Astrid's seat with unnecessary force. 

Fear. For his friend.

He and Leo are close—the Sympathizer's sudden disappearance off the tracking map had been unexpected.

One moment, Astrid had been vigilant of Leo's movements, of all the Sympathizers' movements upon her large screen—the next, Leo's little red dot just completely vanished off the map.

As though his Tracker were destroyed, since the small devices cannot be powered off.

"He'll be okay." I quietly manage, peering up at Bruno's apprehensive features—only to receive a wordless nod in return.

I don't blame him for his silence, his uneasiness. For my words are no more than meaningless letters jumbled together, a mix of letters that don't guarantee Leo's safety. Don't guarantee the beating of his heart.

Or the betrayal of his heart.

Bruno's hopeless expression, tainting his handsome face like a sickness, has my insides wilting in defeat at the potential loss of a rebel. 

But the loss of a Tracker doesn't have to signify death. 

Three hours of this tense, perturbed mood in the Mainframe room had passed. I had awoken today a little later than usual—practicing with Darcio after the moon had risen took its toll on my body.

I'd been aware that he'd left for his duties this morning, so I didn't bother stopping by his bedroom or the Death Records room, where he spends a majority of his time when not working or busy. Or with me.

Instead, I'd showered in the Bath Sector after rising from my slumber, deeming myself in need of a thorough wash after last night's sweating, and gone to visit Astrid in the Mainframe room. I had been greeted with faces as solemn as death. 

And for some inexplicable reason, my eyes shift to the left. Where the monitor used for tracking Terminators resides on one of the many wooden tables, its glossy screen displaying multiple little red dots scattered around the electronic map, not a single one unmoving or idle.

One of those red dots is Darcio. 

The thought of him being alive and safe leaves a little molecule of relief blooming in my chest, as delicate and beautiful as a newborn babe. Replacing the wilting caused by Leo's strange disappearance.

As long as Darcio is okay, then I am okay.

And then, like a lone deer caught in headlights, I catch the selfishness wisping around my thoughts.

Every life matters. Not just your lover's.  

"You all should go back to your own screens—I'll be sure to watch out for any flicker of his Tracker." Astrid's despondent voice is a blessing to my ears after that eternal silence, embellished with worried glances and restless tapping. 

With a grave pat on Bruno's shoulder, to which he acknowledges with a strained smile, Jupiter strides back to her own desk. Where the Terminators are out and about on her screen, no more than miniscule red dots prowling around.