Chapter 13

Sevina

“We’re not trouble,” I say. “Can you tell what’s going on?”

“That’s exactly what a rat would ask!” Aida grabs my backpack. I want to protest but don’t dare. She tears the zipper open opens and rummages through it, throwing my stuff right on the floor. She pulls out my cash and weighs it in her hand. “It’s as if you came packed from another gang or straight from home.” She tosses my dear pack on the ground and addresses Terrel. “Can’t you see? These punks are trying to get at us!”

Terrel’s eyes turn into two slits and I bow my head. “A rat does not return. He did. It’s a good thing,” he says about Corrin.

“Or it’s a new plan or a scheme!”

“Other gangs are not that smart.”

“She’s not a rat,” Corrin intervenes. “I met her on the street as lost as I was.”

The truth is my best option. “I ran from home. I’m shit-creek in debt. I can’t pay it anymore.”

Aida leans on the table beside me, her hand on her gun, tucked behind the belt at the front.

“We need a place to live,” Corrin rasps, more or less steady. Oh, he’s doing everything to hold himself together in this place. “A way to make money. You said you needed people.”

Terrel and Aida watch us. My eyes slide from Terrel’s forehead to his sharp nose, to the exposed scar on his neck and groovy stubble on his face. Silver earrings rust in his ears. He’s that kind a guy that makes one change direction in the alley.

As he ponders he catches my gaze and a charge only I feel bolts through my head and muscles. What if I faint, shoots through my brain, but not fast enough to avert my gaze I locked on his. Before Terrel averts his cinnamon eyes he looks precisely enough.

On my lap my palms curl into tight fists as I attempt to keep track on piles of information surging through my brain.

Don’t show it. I blow the air out through my nostrils. I have to say something. “We’re in… deep shit, okay?” My words come out in chopped pieces, falling next to the other. “You know… what it’s like.”

Aida killed for him… he lost his sister…

There is an ideal. A vision.

Aida laughs. “Is it why you’re red?”

I force myself to even my distribution of air. “I’m nervous… and uh, we really need help.” I hope it’ll work because behind all the bad, surprisingly, Terrel is thoughtful.

Both Terrel and Aida exchange glances and Corrin and I feel the tension hang in the air, taut as a string. “Anyhow, we can’t let you leave.” Terrel softens as he turns to Aida. “We’re not killing them yet.”

“In other words. You join us or we flush you down the sewers,” Aida simplifies.

“We’re joining,” Corrin pipes.

Terrel rises and sprawls his hands on the table. “You’re not permitted to leave this place until we’re sure you don’t pose any danger. And if someone goes missing or is hurt—”

“We’ll hurt you and we will torture you,” Aida finishes. No, they won’t. At least not Terrel. He won’t hurt me as I remind him of his dead sister. And he only tortured one guy once and he hated it.

I swallow a ball of sickness… I’m concentrating on it too much.

Let it flow… don’t think…

Aida folds her arms on her chest. “Leave all your devices here. If you leave the area, we will know it and we will kill you.”

“So will we get to work?” Corrin asks.

“No. First, we must be sure you don’t have connections with other gangs. But in the future, perhaps.”

“You do all as Terrel and I say, and better make yourselves useful. Clear?” Aida can’t find her peace of mind. Corrin and I nod repeatedly as we empty our backpacks of all tech, well, I’m packing mine.

“Aida, give them some space.” Terrel rotates Corrin’s stolen pad in his hands. Aida grunts and rushes us out the room back into the open level, shutting herself and Terrel inside their little room.

“Congrats, we got ourselves imprisoned.” Corrin squares his shoulders. I lean against the wall with my hand, dizzy.

He steps closer. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” I hold out my palm. “Give me a minute.”

He steps away and I concentrate on my breathing, doing my best to ignore the unfamiliar existence living alongside mine. Fifteen or so minutes left and the details will begin fading. The faster the better.

Yet I can’t help but feel respect for Terrel. He stayed decent even after his little sister was killed. He still tries his best.

“Aida’s ill protective,” I whisper. “Terrel and she keep the hideout together. They helped each other since they were children…” I can’t talk and hold the memories in my mind at the same time. Terrel follows the path he thinks is right. On the streets Aida ended up killing people to protect him, then at the right time and the right place Terrel was left to run this place and he vowed to himself to help as many as he can…

Too much… I’ve used my powers three times in two days… it’s too much. I inhale, wishing for some water to chill my flushed face with, and sit, waiting for the effects to fade.

Corrin, squatting by the door, looks at me, curious but quiet. “What is it?” I ask.

“It’s strange,” he says. “That you know what people truly are.”

“Who gives a shit what they truly are? I only know what they think they are, and what actions make them what they are.” I’m exhausted. It’s as if a cloud of lightning and thunder hovers above my head, disintegrating without a storm. I should try to pick the most important information before I forget it. But I can’t force myself to. Some fragments of the life will remain in spite of what I do or think about, but probably not the ones I need. And above all, it doesn’t feel right— to browse through other person’s life.

I don’t want to think about Terrel or anyone.

The door swings open, banging against the opposite wall. Aida storms out. I think she argued with Terrel because Corrin was discreetly eavesdropping.

She orders us to follow and ladder after ladder we ascend the levels. The middle floors, most of them, are empty and sheltered in darkness.

By the time we reach the seventeenth level my lungs sore. This level, like the remaining three above us, is converted into decent living quarters of small clusters of rooms, their walls constructed from steel, tin, and wood panels. White flood lights hang suspended around the circle and smaller ones shine plastered on the makeshift walls. Terrel and his thugs put in a good deal of labor into modification and up-keeping of this underground parking house.

Aida stops close to the edge of the level. “Don’t fall off.” She glances over her shoulder. Each level is open without any safeguard railings.

“Has anyone ever?” Corrin asks.

“Five have.” She crosses her arms on her chest. “If one of you does, another will be scrubbing the mass of the floor, so watch out for each other.”

Through a narrow aisle between the tin walls she leads us deeper into the level, passing curtain-shielded rooms. In the darkest corner she stops by two doorframes next to each other. “Your rooms.”

I move aside the curtain on one of the entrances. Finally, I found living quarters smaller than my ant-room. The place is miniature, fitting one short cot and a button-sized end table. “Seen it. Let’s move on.” Aida stomps away. I blink, ousting away the slumber that surfaced at the sight of the bed. Even if I had seven hours of sleep this night I’d love a noon nap.

Corrin leaves his backpack in the room and we scale the remaining levels up. On the way I notice a few older boys, not teens, but able-bodied and armed young men; must be the workers, the gangers that get to interact with actual mafia families in the city. Becoming them is Corrin’s… our end goal.

Once Aida’s at the very top she straightens crisply. “Come on. Chop-Chop.” Sweat has gathered on my face, and I’m behind Corrin who’s weary too, but not from trekking through the entire district. He reaches the top second and extends me a hand. I ignore it as I heft myself onto the top level, shielded by darkness. I squint, perceiving no walls. But the ground under my feet is solid, car slots covered with wood panels. The floodlights below backlight the ceiling eerily, framing the pillar that meets a giant closed hatch, supposedly for the cars to be lifted through to the surface.

“Is it going outside?” Corrin too must be sniffing the damp fresh air.

“Into the hangar and the garage.” Aida crosses the darkness and opens one of the two doors on the whole level. She leads us through a long corridor, dimly lit by led lights, and as she passes she beckons at the doorframe on her left. “Kitchen.” Ten feet later she motions to another two doors, positioned on the opposite sides of the corridor, facing each other. “Bathrooms.”

“How did you make them work?” Corrin asks.

“With time and effort. Only one shower works in both bathrooms. Do not drink the water. Clear?” We nod. “Neat.”

“What if—” Corrin begins but Aida shoves past us.

“Don’t waste my time. Some of us have work to do tomorrow.” She disappears down the hall. “Ask someone else.”

To my surprise, behind the door with the F — female, I guess— marked on it, I find a moderately clean bathroom. Not what I expected in a hideout full of street thugs, but Aida’s in charge and she’s strict if anything, with the tidiness of the place too.

The bathroom is illuminated by small self-sustaining lights, stamped on the white-tiled wall. They do a couple months without a recharge. Six stalls and six sinks line the walls, one mirror hanging above the middle one. At the far wall—five showers and a shelf with toiletries.

Since the place’s empty I clean myself now to avoid other people and when I exit I find Corrin loitering around his door, his face even paler in the dim lights. He steps to me. “Just in case, I wanted to say we should keep all this… plan to ourselves.”

I nod and we stalk to the kitchen. It’s big enough to fit six sturdy tables and near three dozen chairs of different shapes and colors. A long, soot-colored wall has two rusty fridges, three green counters, and two electric stoves. A girl, age at least thirteen, buzzes around the place. One table sits a couple teen girls and boys and other houses more mature guys.

Aida sits behind a table in a far corner, in front of the earless guy. Quint—is his name, I guess. He must be in his early twenties and has a somewhat similar stature as Aida as he too, is dressed in a dark, combat resembling outfit. Aida listens to whatever he’s saying, nodding with every fifth word.

“Can we?” Corrin asks at the table, probably out of the habit of courtesy. Aida and Quint turn their heads.

“Oh, please,” Aida chuckles as she tips her head and gestures with her palm at the seat near her.

Quint opens his arm, inviting us. “Come on, sit, you guys.” His finger jumps to me, a corny smile on his round face. “You. Sit next to me.”

Before I do Corrin snatches my wrist. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he whispers.

At the sight of us Aida lets out a demeaning laugh and a girl, serving everyone, with her hair as red as Aida’s, jerks her head over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about Quint. He prefers female company,” she chimes. “No one’s going to touch your girl.”

“What Lenore said.” Quint nods and pats the chair next to him. “Name’s Quint.” His goofy expression reminds me of Rovy.

“Sevina.” I sit next to him, catching a whiff of his smell. It’s not sweat and stink as I expected, but stale and metal. It’s blood.

Corrin hesitantly takes a seat next to Aida and Quint throws his arm around the back of my chair. “You are gorgeous.”

Aida sneers. “Quint, you creep.”

“Shut up. You got Terrel. I ain’t got no one.”

“Except for the hideout. Last time I checked Moira was available,” Aida says.

“As is Jack.” Quint turns his head closer to me and whispers. “Moira’s brother… he’s a real charmer. So she don’t count.”

“Well, go to the borders then,” Aida says, negligent. “What was her name you said? The whore you liked?”

“Jill, yeah. Jill’s gone.” Quint complains before he fills me in again. “She was my favorite, always wore red dresses. Older than me though.”

Shaking her head like a dissatisfied caretaker Aida sneers, then addresses me. “You can expect to be hit on.”

“What do you mean?” I know what she means, but I want to know if any of those men will attempt to rape me.

But Aida doesn’t get it. “What do I mean?” She recites in a jeering voice, her French accent strong. “I mean we have horny-ass dudes here.”

“Don’t worry I’ll protect you,” Quint says. Corrin shoots him a glance.

“They might give you more attention, but we don’t harm each other.” Aida’s answer calms me. “Nor men or women. Last time, six years ago one guy killed one kid and hurt a girl. Once others learned they threw him from the top.”

“It was a marvelous flop,” Quint giggles. “We have rules. We have to be there for the mafia families if they need us. We don’t have time to kill in own community.” From Terrel’s eyes I still recall that gangs indeed work for the mafia, but now we can be one hundred percent sure we came to the right place.

“Besides, ladies can fend for themselves.” Aida points to Lenore who now fries something in the pan, a pillar of smoke rising into the vent above her head. “Lenore killed one of the pervy boys.” A smile creeps across her lips as if she’s telling a horror story. “With a fork, gauged his eyes out and stabbed him with a kitchen knife.”

“That’s why we put her in the kitchen,” Quint laughs.

“It’s true,” Lenore pipes up proudly. “But I’m in the kitchen because it’s food and not dead bodies here, you punks.” The plate with toast clings in front of Aida and she abruptly grows grim.

“What Terrel thinks he’s doing?” She sighs over her toast. “He’s gonna screw us all.”

“If we work well, we can pull it off,” Quint says. “Maybe with these two.”

Aida points her fork at Lenore again. “We need her, not them.” She faces us. “How many have you killed?”

Quint leans back in his chair, his attention on me. “For your mysterious appearance I’d say three, no, maybe four.” I can’t ignore the scar where his ear has once been, insides of his ear visible. “Like it?” He smirks.

I shake my head, hiding the disgust. “No… None. I’ve killed none.” I remember faintly Corrin kill. Above the latrine it felt like I was the one who did it.

“I wasn’t expecting that.” Quint’s face falls. “Ah, but what can you do. It’ll happen sooner or later. You?” He gazes at Corrin who’s as pale as a sheet of paper. “Didn’t dull over yet, huh?” Quint munches on his toast. “Don’t worry, it’ll go.”

“Suck it up,” Aida adds.

Corrin flinches and stands rigidly, chest heaving like he’s about to have a panic attack but does his best to keep it together. “Excuse me.” He nods at us and leaves the kitchen.

Aida waves him off. “Oh, please, be excused.”

“He’ll come around.” I feel sick at the smell of greased bread on my plate. I haven’t had a thing in my mouth since yesterday and it would make my stomach growl if we weren’t prating about death and murder. What these people, Quint, Aida, and Lenore must’ve been through to accept all this madness with a cool head? To laugh about it? Never in my life I wish to see it. But If Corrin can’t keep it together I should try. For now, at least.

“Eat up while it’s hot,” Lenore says.

“Oh, don’t tell me you have a moral dilemma too.” Aida licks her greasy fingers.

“Yeah, these two bastards require some work,” Quint says. “Maybe, you’re right. Kids cool, they’re young, they might turn out to be great assets if we manage to get around Terrel. But, you guys, are useless. You’re no kids, go get a damn job. Clean floors or something.”

I was cleaning floors, until sons of bitches you work for fucked it up, I keep myself from hissing at him.

“You gotta do what you gotta do. Right or wrong,” Aida says. “Everyone who works and supplies this place knows it. And if this guy is going to walk out on a job, like now, then you’re not gonna last.” She throws a disapproving look at Corrin’s seat.

Quint eases the tension. “We’re a family. A small one. More reliable. We keep each other safe.”

“That’s all that matters. And don’t you two dare to screw it up with your moral bullshit.” Aida’s words are final.

“We won’t,” I say dryly.

But how? How Corrin and I are going to do this? How are we going to work our way to join the ranks of workers, then find Dan and bring him back to the top of his family? Corrin needs time to bounce back from what he’s done. I need time to adjust to the new place, to the fact I’m not safe at home. It’s a dangerous underground world full of deviant minds that wouldn’t blink twice before doing far more terrible things than Corrin did. What my abilities can possibly do but absorb pain and destruction? Will’s view gains a valid point. It’s too crazy. Too many things out of my control and far beyond me.

“Lenore, thanks. I’m loving your amateur cooking so far.” Quint stands when he finishes. “You might add some pepper next time.”

“I’ll add some when you bring some,” she shoots.

“It’s not my job.”

“Well, not mine either.”

Quint checks his glowing wrist watch, a thin strap with a tiny display. “Aida, I’m going to make it easy for you, all right? I’ll talk to the fidgety guy.”

She throws her hands on the table. “What? Quint, we have to leave in an hour.”

“So there’s an hour left.” He smiles. “Thirty minutes and I’ll be back.”

“You better be.”

He leaves and Aida turns away to chat with some teen at the other table. Despite myself, I begin chumming on my toast.

A high pitched din, resembling a scream rings through the vents and my hand with the toast stops midway.

The chatter in the kitchen stops. Lenore taps the stove to turn the electricity off, drops all she’s doing and wipes her hands on her trousers. In seconds she’s out the door together with all the kids and teens that were in the kitchen.

“What was that?” I lift my head at the air ducts, edging along the corners of the ceiling and dripping with condensed water.

“Talking.” Aida takes her plate and moves to the fridge. “Better see it.”

I holster my backpack and sneak out into the top level, my toast in my mouth. I near the edge carefully. The entire construction vibrates from the clatter of feet as dozens of kids rush from the top levels and stomp down the ladders.

“Come on! You have no idea how rare the fights are!” Lenore’s thrilled voice from the opposite side of the level. Her small figure stands out from the gloom, as does a doorframe and a dark stairwell behind her. An emergency staircase— I recall it was there. I saw it in Terrel’s life, but I forgot it.

I wave her away. “I’ll take the ladders!” She shrugs and disappears.

As I speedily climb to the third level I’m amazed by how life surged into the place; all edges of the three bottom levels are stacked with excited kids and teens, sitting with their legs dangling. Older boys lean on the pillars, observing with a tad less interest.

It’s a fight. Corrin’s and Quint’s no doubt. The so called talk.

On the second level I near the edge. At the bottom of the place two men round circles near the car-lifting pillar.

“Wanna bet?” Right below my feet one kid pipes to the other.

He, no more than ten years old, shakes his head. “You kidding? There is nothing to bet at.”

Corrin’s face stays focused and he holds his back hunched, fists up, protecting his chest and head, eyes—exhausted, but attentive. He knows what he’s doing and Quint, who perceives it all a joke, notices his determination. “Come on, let’s give these cockroaches a fight worth waiting for!” He hoists his arms into the air, pivoting round. Kids roar, their voices blaring against the metal structure.

“What a moron,” grins Terrel, who I didn’t notice stand by my side.

“Can’t you stop it?” I ask.

“Nah, let them fight. These kids haven’t seen a brawl in four months. It’ll do them good. The only thing that’s moronic is we have to leave in twenty minutes.”

“What’s the job?”

“Delivery and arson,” he says. “Gotta torch some car. Send a message.”

His openness comforts me and I feel that unlike Aida, he would listen. “I’m not a rat, Terrel.”

Terrel’s attention stays on the fight below. “I doubt you are. You don’t look the part.”

Kids belt with their thin voices and I catch Quint stumbling backward. Corrin leaps back, huffing, feet shuffling lightly against the ground in a perfect fighting dance.

Quint’s taller than Corrin by a few inches, but more muscular and well-fed. Two months ago Corrin might’ve had even odds at beating him, but now, with his strained body his chances are little to none.

“You and Aida aren’t on the level with what’s happening here,” I tell him. “Aida seems angry with him over something to do with the people here. I can’t recall what it is.

I tilt my head to look at him. My eyes must’ve shone in the white lights as Terrel lingers on my face, thinking.

Three seconds…

I break the contact and focus on the fight below, hiding bursts of breath gathering in my throat.

“We don’t,” Terrel says and walks off.

The world spins, but not enough to faint, I hope. I grasp the supporting beam, my back under my shirt cloaking in sweat as I’m recapping all I saw an hour ago. I try to memorize as much as I can. In the background Corrin swerves Quint’s punches but the last one that lands into his ribs. He gets back with a knee into Quint’s stomach. Quint shoves him away and his hands extend, palms open in surrender. “That’s enough!” He straightens effortlessly. “Good fight.” It dawns on me winning or losing wasn’t even the end goal. We’re a family as he said. They threatened us, but whether they like it or not they can’t avoid helping us.

It’s not until Quint struts off to meet Aida and disappointed kids begin to disperse that Corrin lets his hands fall to his knees. I totter down into the circle. “Okay?”

“Surprisingly, better.” He stumbles on his butt and wraps a hand around his ribcage. “I hope at least I’ll sleep well.”

I munch on my lip. “It all makes sense.”

“What?”

“The crime scheme and this gang.” I squat next to him so only he can hear me. I better repeat it aloud to him, to make sure I learn it while I can still concentrate on it. Seeing the same life for the second time is a tiny bit easier. “The gangs are here for the mob, mafia. They’re supported by them. Around thirty years ago after the architect disappeared homeless begun taking over this place. The city was fresh, disorganized and people rushed at the new prospects and those who didn’t find any—thugs from the streets and petty criminals begun fighting for turf.”

“The gangs formed,” Corrin says.

“Yes.”

“Was mafia already in Havason before the gangs?”

I poke the dirty ground with my thumb. “From what Terrel knows, they were. And why would they bother searching for people to hire when these petty gangers need support and a way to survive? Just give them jobs, keep cops off of them by a cover of homeless people and use them—”

“As a workforce.” Corrin’s eyebrows jump. “It’s mutual benefit. Way greater mutual than we imagined.”

“Yes. This place was passed to Terrel by a previous gang leader who died fighting for it with the other gangs. Back then there weren’t many homeless children, but overtime as city degraded they came to be. Foster care is a hard place to survive in. I was fortunate to meet… Rovy. Many others had to find a place on the streets,” I pause to take a breather.

“So gang members adopt them and show them how this life works.” Corrin assembles the puzzle by himself. “And gangers who work for the mafia eventually leave to join them permanently.”

“Yes. This is what’s wrong with this gang. Terrel refuses to introduce the kids to this life. He doesn’t want them to become criminals and for as long as he owns this place the kids stay untrained.”

“The gang grows weaker. Why does he refuse to train them, though? What else are they going to become other than criminals?”

My head hurting, I sigh. “Other gangs turn kids into hitmen. Terrel had a sister who was very similar to Lenore.” I leave out the part that she looked a lot like me. “She was a child lost in violence and murder until she was killed. Terrel doesn’t want that to happen to anyone else. He thinks he and other working guys will be able to upkeep this gang.”

“But how do they train them? It’s not like they themselves are professionals,” Corrin asks.

“Leading this type of life is training. Terrel doesn’t take them into the field to observe. He doesn’t teach them to use a gun or fight better than they can, or how to interact with mafia. One can’t simply join the real mob… mafia. Unless you are a relative—” or special cases like Will ”— you start in the gangs and from there you get recruited by different families to become the full-fledged member. Skills, a strong character and resilience are all that matters.”

Corrin furrows his brows. “It is a scheme, an underground pyramid of promotion. A hierarchy.”

“Yes.” That’s what this smells like. But I understand Terrel. How many deaths could be avoided if kids were helping others in need instead of becoming scoundrels and later joining mafia to wreak more pain.

Corrin dusts off his pants. “How many gangs are there?”

I strain at the thought. “Two in the safety blocks. And four around the city from what Terrel knows. All are kept suppressed by the mob families. They don’t have a choice, but to compete for jobs. Thus the workforce is vital.”

“You two!” I snap my head at Lenore on a second level, dangerously hanging out into the air with her hand gripping the support beam. “Aida said you’re helping me in the kitchen. And you, dude, are helping to fix the walls on the fourth level! Move!”

“She’s like a little Aida, isn’t she?” Corrin grunts.

You bet. This day seems to drag endlessly.

...

At presumably eleven—there aren’t any clocks around besides the watches others have on their wrists—I get to my room and halt by Corrin’s curtain-covered doorway. I clench the fabric, moving it aside to see him lie on his back on the ground. He uses his backpack for a pillow, one of his arms thrown aside and under the cot, other rests on his stomach. The room’s too small to properly sprawl. “No one taught you to knock?” The tension is all but painted on his face.

“It’s a curtain.” A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. He looked better after a fight, but it wasn’t enough. I want him to get right, but there’s also an oblivion of emptiness toward him. This man is an asset a deal was made with to stop at least some a part of the murder lunacy. Sure, I’ll wake him if he thrashes in his sleep and cling to his sleeve for protection, but my insides don’t fluster at the sight of him suffering.

He killed them after all…

And sometimes, when I forget the misery he’s been through, I feel like taking the barrel and pointing it at his head again… I rein in my thoughts. I’m no murderer. Not when I’ve seen blood splatter and bodies drop so many times already.

In my room I hang my backpack on the wooden panel with two hooks and curl on the cot. The damp and dusty smell of the sheets pricks at my nose and two spirals poke into my ribs. As I begin drifting off, Corrin yelps in his sleep behind the thin wall. I listen to him shuffle, moaning and calling out in a strangled manner. I should be content— he suffers for what he’s done. Yet the satisfaction never comes. Neither does pity.

I give the wall one powerful kick to silence him. Helps.

When the room quiets I slip off Rovy’s bracelet. I fall asleep with it in my hands, imagining myself back at the restaurant.

…

I spend a painfully familiar day cleaning and helping Lenore. Kids and teens slide in and out of the kitchen. Older, working guys come late, some with scarred faces, some genial, but majority reserved and menacing. I’m grateful for their lack of interest in me outside of the edibles and water I provide. Yet, out of engraved habit, my head hangs low, lost in this background of imperilment. Dull pain slithers in my temples, I think from digging through Terrel’s life yesterday, twice in a few hours, but, luckily, Lenore’s childish and persistent tirade about work effort keeps me here.

Rovy would often try and make a conversation. All I could channel for a response was a bare tilt of my lips. Oh, what an unappreciative coward I am. Now he’s gone and I never let him nor myself genuinely acknowledge a single cordial moment we shared.

“How long have you been here?” Finished late at night, Lenore and I sit at the table.

“Since I was five.” She ferrets out her phone.

“That’s a long time.”

She stiffens and narrows her eyes at me. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, I’m just making conversation.” I was hoping she would allow me to go. It’s hard to determine time underground, but I think it’s past midnight.

“Conversationalist, pft!” Lenore scoffs. I can’t help but giggle. “What are you laughing about?” She barks, thumbing her phone. I contain another burst. It’s hard not to admire her grumpy yet expressive nature.

“You’re funny.” As I try to rebind my slippery hair my lips curl into a first honest smile in two months. It feels relieving.

Lenore peeks at me from the corner of her eye. “Aida didn’t tell you about the hair yet?”

“No?”

“You’ll have to cut it.” Her gray round eyes fall back to the screen. “It’s too long. Can’t be longer than the shoulders.”

“Oh, okay.” Her straight reddish hair hangs at the line of her shoulders and none of the occasional girls I saw had hair longer than that.

“Aida wants you to come to the ground level.” Lenore shows me the message on her phone. “Off you go! Go!”

“Fine, I’m going.” She’s adorable. Sort of like a little sister I never had. I stuff my hand in my pockets and halt, feeling a quarter with my fingers.

I pivot, tossing it. “Think fast!”

Lenore snatches it and looks at it.

“For your pepper.” For some reason I find it easy to communicate with her, perhaps because of the age difference, or because she doesn’t ignore me like my co-workers used to.

“It’s not gonna be enough,” she says, calmer.

“Well, I have a tendency finding those.” That’s one good thing about me looking at the floor all the time.

The hideout is silent, one bright lamp illuminating the bottom and other light sources dimmed just enough to see where to go. It must be later than I thought.

Corrin and Aida loiter at the bottom level. At my approach Aida pulls off her black t-shirt, staying in a dark blue tank top. “We’re gonna do some testing,” she says to me.

“Why in the middle of the night?” Corrin yawns. “It’s night, isn’t it? Feels like night.”

“It’s two.” Terrel walks into the circle. “Someone will scream into the vents during the day and we won’t get any quiet.”

Next to me Corrin sways to the side and Terrel places a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. “You all right?” Corrin must be awake for far longer than I am.

“I haven’t been sleeping much,” he murmurs, eliciting a concerned frown from Terrel.

Terrel tilts his head to the side. “Come. Tell me how it is,” he says before they’re out of earshot on the other side of the circle.

“Sevina.” Aida’s finger, pointed at me, brings my attention to her. “Come on, let’s not waste any time.”

I blink at her. “What do you want me to do?”

Her shoulders drop. “Fight, you punk! We gotta learn what you’re capable of. If anything.”

I don’t move. “No.” I turn, walking away. Steps rush after me, but instead of Aida it’s Corrin who smoothly pulls me short by my upper arm.

“You have to do it.” He brings his face close to mine.

“I’ve never fought like this in my life,” I reply, irritated, then whisper, “I got beaten.”

“You fought Will and that man.” It’s hard not to pay attention to the dark bags under his eyes.

“It was different. I was protecting you, myself, and both times I still lost. I’m not capable of anything. What’s the point? I have nothing to prove to her and she’ll just laugh at me for fun.”

“Got a real lady! Right into the arms of her prince.” Aida’s mockery behind our backs. “Afraid to get dirty, princess?”

“It’s not fun, Sevina,” Corrin whispers, his fingers clutching my arm. “How we carry ourselves will reflect on how fast we’ll get to go into the field. If you quit, you’re a coward.”

“I am a coward,” I hiss through my clenched teeth. “I am scared shitless.”

But Corrin can’t comfort me. He’s as scared. Besides, what would he say? Hey, Sev, don’t be scared all will be fine? I’ll protect you? Hardly any consolation. Maybe he will protect me, but not now, not in this situation.

I curse under my nose. He is right. Me, turning my back on this fight won’t add anything to helping Will. Or anyone for that matter.

“Maybe…” Corrin sighs. “Maybe look her in the eyes? Use her abilities? You can do that, right?”

I linger for a minute. “Fine. I’ll fight.” I have no chances against Aida. Even if I look, in the midst of the fight the impact of her life will send me astray. For five seconds I won’t be able to perceive the fact that I’m fighting and it’s a huge window.

Aida fixates her eyes on me. I look down. “Come on, princess,” she takes the fighting stance. I spread my legs awkwardly, trying to copy her movements. She notices. “Nothing like a real life situation to teach you things. Fight or flight. Princess.”

My heart hammers against my ribcage. It’s much harder than it looks. Yet Corrin appeared so relaxed and calm, but he has years of experience behind his back, automatically putting his body into the right position, and all I did was mop the floors and sit on my sofa. Whatever skills I had after seeing lives are long gone with only some useless fragments of theories remaining.

Maybe, I should look her in the eyes.

In a fraction of a second Aida charges. Her body whisks by me and I don’t even get a chance to react as she slaps me and tackles me to the ground.

She jumps off me, leaping to her feet like a cat. A laugh escapes her. “Like a ragdoll. Come on, princess, get up. Morning ain’t gonna wait!”

I lay in confusion, gasping away my stinging back and burning cheek. With effort I scramble to my feet. In the shadows stands Terrel with a pitiful expression on his face and Corrin with a more hopeful one. Three sleepy kids spy on us from behind the plastic walls.

“Go easy on her,” Terrel says to Aida.

“I can.” Aida rotates her shoulders. “But, damn it. She’s useless!”

“She’s not useless,” Corrin murmurs and I glare at him briefly, fearing he might divulge my secret. He’d probably never do it, but one can never be too sure.

“Not useless?” Aida pivots to me, the heels of her boots grinding against the concrete. “Get down. Do a push-up.”

I get on the ground. My hands at my sides I strain my muscles but my chest stays glued to the dust on the floor.

“This is the problem.” Devastated, Aida hits her lap with her hand. “Even if we get her to do the heavy lifting, she won’t do jack! And we’ll have to feed her and defend her if things go sour!”

I stand. “Let’s try again.” It’s essential I look now, and do something with it, I guess.

Aida hesitantly agrees and locks her eyes on me. I breathe out, preparing myself for all her misery.

It engulfs me. My veins tighten with anger and confusion. Her anger. What her eyes have seen I see, what she knows I know. I’m trapped inside her. What little identity I have—is gone.

Five seconds. Hold it for five seconds.

I’m drowning in her failure, in death, in alien feelings and emotions, regrets and satisfactions.

Another reality…

My shoulder explodes in pain and I scream out. Aida grabs my arm, twirling me around and doubling me over. Her fist impacts with my nose and my scrapped cheek hits the concrete.

I wanted to do something. Right.

“Useless.” As Aida walks away she swings her hand in the air with disappointment. “I’m done with her.”

Shivering and nauseous I push to my feet, my nose exuding blood to my lips. Corrin comes closer but I swivel away. “Leave me alone.”

By the time I stumble into the showers the initial impact of Aida’s life has eased off like a fast tide, leaving skills and hard-learned knowledge. My powers remind me of a weird, highly detailed tattoo; first there’s shock from the fact that I’m getting one, then emotions recede and after twenty minutes the micro details on it start fading, leaving general shapes. Those too wane within twenty-four hours, fragments remaining, which might disappear or might stay. It’s different every time.

Will’s life, the last time I saw it, had way less impact as I saw it for the fifth time. I had time to sort it out, to pick the memories to mull over and learn. But now, my mind is overloaded with new lives and I hardly have any control over what I remember. They all pile on top of each other like spam in my e-mail. I managed to scrape the intel about the gangs from Terrel’s head, but it cost me a headache and sickness for a long time afterward. And now Aida…

I have to take it slower.

I turn on the cold shower and strip, wincing as my muscles and strained shoulder tingle under the freezing water, blood from my nose running down my chest.

My body stings like on that night, when I lay on the ground, bleeding, listening to the retreating voices. Only this time I got into the fight voluntary.

“Can I?” Rovy’s bracelet falls out of my hands at Corrin’s voice.

I grab the stall door and swing it open, hiding myself. “No! Ah—” I grasp my shoulder, slipping and righting myself on the wet floor.

The door cracks. “Need help?”

“No! Ouch, shit. Get out!”

I’m not going to get my shower, am I? It’s cold anyway, so I slip Rovy’s bracelet on my wrist and grasp the towel I had brought with me in my backpack. Once I dry myself doing up my bra proves harder than I thought, but, my lips pressed tight, I put up with it, then stuff some toilet paper into my nose, in case it bleeds again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Corrin’s solemn voice behind the door.

“How about knocking?” I retort, struggling to slide my tee on with one hand.

“Oh, right.” He knocks.

My eyes roll out of the room. “Come in.”

Corrin stops, noticing my wet hair and my one arm still stuck inside my tee. “You were, uh… in the shower?” I don’t bother with the answer though I probably should if I don’t want him to think I’m mad.

“You were right. They cannot see me weak.” I pull my arm through the sleeve. “Which I still appeared as. And eyes didn’t do anything.”

“But you were able to do it,” Corrin says. “With those men. What was different?”

“I don’t know.” I check my nose. “I… I knew I had to go for the weak points on his body. An injury or a gun. I was praying he had any. And his life was so… light. Here I was prepared to fight, to see her misery, and I was scared. It wasn’t life or death.”

Corrin shrugs. “Maybe you should’ve concentrated on fighting right away? Like on her fighting skills.”

Should I’ve tried to use her weaknesses? That’s below dirty. And how? I can’t charge and focus at the same time. “It’s…” impossible, “… harder than it looks.” Instead of my sweatshirt I slide into my dusty jacket.

Corrin unwraps a black bag he brought with himself and had under his armpit. “Haven’t you by any chance seen Dan in one of those lives?” He pulls peroxide and a gauze pad.

I search my head. Honestly, I forgot about him. “Not that I recall.” I lean on the sink with one hand, wishing to be left alone. “I’ll keep it in mind for the next time.” I want Rovy back, want to look at him without strain, to support me and hug me tight. I want Mrs. Brice’s loving caress on my cheek.

Simple as that.