First Love, First War, First Step |√|

Execution

A month marched by, and I had heard nothing from Luke and nothing about him. I thought those first few days that he was just hanging low as not to attract any attention to either of us.

After that, I debated trying to reach him using the dragonfly, but that idea was soon discarded. If someone truly was watching one or both of us, a note, no matter what it contained, would cast their suspicions wider.

Worry started to consume every ounce of perseverance and patience that I had. Luther seemed to realize that something was going on, likely guessed that it had something to do with Luke, and decided to leave the grumpy moody teenager alone.

Every night, I would reach to the other side of my bed, only to find it empty and cold. It was a stark reminder that I still didn't know whether Luke was yet among the living.

I didn't even dare to try to sneak into his room using the hidden entrance. If something had happened, that could get us in even more trouble.

However, I think the real reason I was so afraid to venture into Luke's territory was that I would find him there. He would be there, and I would find that I was just the way that he had gotten integrated more into the Igniters or that I was just a dare to see if he could actually get a gullible young woman to believe he loved her.

It was a good thing my father no longer kept track of my mother's clothing. That dress never made its way back to the closet, and I really didn't want to try to explain to him why it was missing.

He came home for dinner more often now, but it was often spent in a sullen silence with us both picking at our food in the awkwardness.

"How was your day?" My father asked one evening, pretending to be interested in the noodles he kept twirling around the tines of his fork.

I shrugged before noticing the scraped knuckles on his right hand. "What happened to your hand, Father?"

He looked startled as if he hadn't expected me to notice. "I cut it on some cinderblock. It's not a big deal."

Something about the way he said it made me instantly suspect that wasn't the cause, but I didn't say anything. As long as I didn't call him out, maybe he wouldn't try to call me out about Luke.

Later that night, an announcement went out that there were to be executions tomorrow, and it was mandatory attendance. Because of that fact, everyone would work only a half day.

Dread filled my heart the next morning even as it was birthed bright and warm. I dressed in my normal clothes and took the dreaded steps out to the square where everyone would be assembled.

Along with the rest of the citizens, I was squeezed into the square, most of whom were waiting patiently for the moment when the display would be finished.

I wasn't one of those; instead, I inched my way through the crowd, seeking Luke's familiar lanky figure.

He was nowhere in sight, but I didn't give up hope until I spotted his family near me.

His family, his family, standing in the front of the crowd.

I froze, heart pounding in my chest and my breaths starting to strangle me. A low wail managed to escape my throat, and I struggled to compose myself.

No, no, no, my heart screamed as I turned on my heel, wading my way as calmly as I could back the way I had come.

"Miss, you can't leave," an Enforcer said, putting out the barrel of his gun to block my way.

His eyes gleamed with a hardly concealed threat, and I glanced over to find several others holding a barrier around the square.

I lowered my eyes, ducked my head, and returned to the mass of humanity, all of us corralled like sheep. My fingers ran over the ridges of the note I had pocketed that morning, feeling the need to have something that Luke had touched.