Chapter Text
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Tyler’s house sat next to a graveyard.
It was the first thing he saw when he woke up each morning, and the last thing he saw before he fell asleep each night.
He saw it on his walk to school, and on his path to help out in Mrs. Pickard’s shop, and when he took his younger siblings down to the only park in the district.
The entire city had been built on a graveyard. It circled it, surrounded it with its blinding neon lights. A constant reminder.
Tyler saw the graveyard now as he stared out the window of his bedroom, its thin muslin curtain hardly enough to block out the rays of neon in the pitch dark of night.
He couldn’t sleep, but that was nothing new. For once, it wasn’t because his younger brother was snoring in the twin bed beside him, or because of the incessant hissing of the vultures as they fed on their prey outside.
Come sunrise, it would be the day of the reaping. The very last reaping that Tyler would ever have to participate in.
He’d turned eighteen the previous December. Unlike other birthdays, in which his mother would bake a cake and his family would sing him one of the few songs approved by the city, his eighteenth birthday had been spent in Reflection. He hadn’t even realized the day had passed until he’d returned to his home and discovered the calendar had jumped ahead to a brand new year without him.
He lay on his side, his teeth clenched and his hands twitching. He was certain he could hear the buzzing of the gravestones, even from here, as though they were calling to him.
𓌖
The morning brought with it banana pancakes and fresh strawberry jam that Tyler was too sick to eat. His youngest brother, only eight years old and therefore four years away from the perils of the reaping, ate happily, tearing his pancakes up into tiny little pieces and dunking each into the sticky jam. His sister, Madison, laughed as it stuck to Jay’s nose, grabbing a napkin to wipe it off for him and teasing him about making a mess. Zack, who was freshly sixteen, ate his breakfast in silence beside Tyler.
Tyler didn’t eat. He didn’t think he could stomach it. The reaping had always been a time of deep anxiety for him. It didn’t make sense to him to celebrate the day eighteen new Glorious Gones would be chosen against their will.
His eyes flitted between each of his siblings—Jay, who was oblivious; Maddy, who laughed freely and smiled as though it were any other day; Zack, who other than a typical bout of teenaged angst, seemed unaffected by the events that would transpire later that day.
Tyler knew that their odds were lower than most. They were one of few families in Nico’s district to live in a three-bedroom apartment, to have amenities like running water and an electric stove, to have the resources to buy enough food to sustain a family of six.
Although it had never explicitly been said, a silent agreement echoed through their household: the Joseph family was safe. Their family was to be left unharmed, in no small part thanks to his father’s position as Head Peacekeeper.
Still, Tyler knew better than to think he was invincible. There were only so many kids in the District, and they needed two each year. Two families would lose a child in exchange for the continued Glorification of the city. Like clockwork, each and every year.
Tyler stared down at his untouched food.
“You better eat, son,” his father said as he stepped into the kitchen, “Some kids would kill for that.”
Tyler bit his tongue and locked his hands at his sides.
Kids do kill for that.
You make sure of it.
He’d long since learned not to speak out against his parents.
He took his fork between his shaking fingers and stabbed one of the cold pancakes with it, then cut it up into chunks.
His mother stood at the sink, using its running water to clean the pots and pans she’d used to cook. “Mrs. Pickard wants you to help out for a bit this morning before the reaping, Tyler,” she said, “She wants you there by eight.”
Tyler swallowed, his throat dry. “I told Jenna I’d meet her downtown.”
His mother turned to look at him. “By eight. Don’t be late.”
Tyler lowered his head and nodded. He pushed a piece of his pancake back. “Yes, ma’am.”
It had become a sort of tradition of his and Jenna’s, ever since they were kids. The first year Tyler had been eligible, he’d opened up his door that morning of the reaping to see Jenna standing there, pale and tear-stricken. She’d tackled him with a hug as though he’d disappear if she waited any longer. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” she’d said, holding on to him.
Tyler held her back. Jenna was a year younger, but at the time she’d had a couple of inches on him. He buried his head against her shoulder. “You’re not saying goodbye to me. I’m not going anywhere.”
In that childish way they’d somehow managed to believe in for far too long, Jenna held out her pinky towards him. Tyler clasped it within his own and stared into her eyes. “I promise.”
That had been good enough for Jenna. And it had seemingly worked when the reaping came and went, and Tyler stayed.
Two other kids died that year in the arena, sacrificed for the greater glory of the city. But Tyler stayed.
The next year was Jenna’s first year in the reaping. That time, Tyler had been the one to arrive early at the Mayor’s house, fresh wildflowers clutched in his hand to gift her with. He knew she’d been dreading this day. She’d had nightmares about it since the snow melted. She’d opened up the door with ribbons tied in her curled pigtails, took the flowers into her hands, and breathed in deeply.
Then, she’d hugged him fiercely and made him promise not to leave her again. Tyler made her promise the same. They’d pinky-sworn it into reality.
District 9 had gotten a victor that year.
Seventeen other children achieved Glorification.
It had become something of a ritual after that. They’d meet up the morning of the reaping. Sometimes, Tyler would bring flowers. Other times not. Sometimes Jenna would come to his place, or he’d go to hers. In recent years, they preferred to meet up away from prying eyes and ears. They’d found a spot on the outskirts of the district, nestled in the trees. It was one of the few places that didn’t face the gravestones.
Tyler threw on his gray jumpsuit—no use in dirtying up his reaping clothes yet—and combed through his hair. He should’ve expected that Mrs. Pickard wouldn’t have given him the day off. She’d grown up in an era before the Games. She’d never had to experience the lung-crushing fear that the moments before the names were pulled could bring. She was a mean old woman—something that Tyler couldn’t blame her for, necessarily. She’d lost her husband in the great uprising that had happened just a few years before Tyler was born and it’d turned her cold.
He left the apartment without saying goodbye and headed downstairs. He paused at the path that diverged between Mrs. Pickard’s and Jenna’s place.
He didn’t have to go. He could skip out. She’d probably just ramble on about the disrespect of the youth towards the Bishops, how the Games were a natural consequence and more than a fair and just punishment for the actions of the Banditos. How being selected for the Games was an honor that he was too young to appreciate, that there was no greater purpose in life than achieving Glory.
He felt the phantom sting of a whip against his back and picked up his feet in the direction of Mrs. Pickard’s shop. Knowing her, she’d be more than happy to tell his father that he’d skipped out on his duties. He’d only be afforded so many chances.
The city was just starting to buzz to life as Tyler traversed its streets. Eduardo, the man who ran the local supermarket, flipped its sign to open just as Tyler walked past.
“Hey, kid. Ready to get ‘em one last time?” Eduardo said, offering a wave.
Tyler had been the one to get his family’s groceries from the time he could read a shopping list. Since then, Eduardo had become a familiar friendly face. “Yeah. I guess.”
In truth, he’d never been more terrified for a reaping day.
“Why don’t you come inside and get a Pick n Mix? On the house.”
“Oh, that’s okay—”
“Seriously, kid. It’s nothing.” He leaned forward and winked. “You can give some to that girl of yours. Brighten up her day.”
Tyler’s face flushed. Jenna had never, and would never, be his girl, despite what most people in the district thought. Tyler had known Jenna for just about his entire life on account of their parents being closely associated, and he thought of her as a sister more than anything.
Somewhere along the way, their parents had gotten it into their heads that Tyler and Jenna were destined to be together. After all, it made perfect sense on paper. The daughter of the Mayor and the son of the Head Peacekeeper seemed like as natural a match as any.
Truth be told, if it came down to it, he’d do it. He’d told Jenna as such. He’d marry her. He’d attempt to give her the best life possible. But neither of them wanted that, not really. Jenna deserved better than Tyler. He knew she was sweet on a boy in her class, even if she wouldn’t admit to it. In an ideal scenario, they’d get to end up together, and Tyler would be somewhere out of the picture entirely.
Tyler selected a small bag of candy from the Pick n Mix bins as quickly as he could while customers filtered into the shop. He fumbled with the scoops and tongs, huffing as he dropped a piece of candy on the ground.
The shop was much quieter than usual, the weight of the reaping hanging heavy over everyone’s heads. Most households celebrated the end of the reaping day with a nice dinner. It was another year that their children were safe. Some were superstitious about it, determining that if they bought their roast in advance the morning of, that must guarantee their family’s safety. Some celebrated regardless; even if their child was chosen, they could rest easy in the knowledge that they would be given a shortcut to Glory for their sacrifice.
It was no more effective than Tyler and Jenna’s pinky promises.
A few teenagers, kids he recognized as being a couple years behind him at school, sauntered into the shop with bright faces and loud voices. Tyler’s blood chilled. He didn’t think he’d ever understand it—the way that the reaping day brought excitement to some people. It made sense for someone like Mrs. Pickard, he supposed, someone who’d never once questioned authority, someone who believed in the mission of the city wholeheartedly. But how could his classmates not realize the true purpose of the Games?
There was no Glory in anything the Bishops touched.
Tyler twisted the bag shut and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. Eduardo held up a hand. “Nuh, uh. I told you it was on the house.”
Tyler knew better than to argue with him. “Thank you.”
Eduardo patted him on the shoulder. “Of course. Good luck to you today, kid.”
Tyler didn’t have it in himself to respond to that.
He left the store with the small bag of candy tucked in his pocket. He didn’t have a watch, but Eduardo’s store being open was a good indicator that he was running late. He picked up his pace and arrived at Mrs. Pickard’s within moments.
If he was honest, he had no clue how the place managed to stay open. Mrs. Pickard’s Apothecary was filled to the brim with junk. He’d twisted his ankle once just trying to make it through the back room and had limped for weeks. He was pretty certain she spent more time concocting ways to get wasted than she did medicinal remedies.
The door to the shop creaked open and he sneezed as his nose met layers of dust.
The front room of the shop was empty.
He stepped past empty boxes and bottles and called out to her. “Mrs. Pickard? You there?”
She appeared like an apparition, approaching from the corner of his eye in time to grab him by the ear and pull.
“Ah—Jesus,” he said, wincing from the sharp sting as he stumbled in the direction of the back room.
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry,” Tyler said, “I had to help my mother with the dishes.”
Lying never worked with Mrs. Pickard. He didn’t know why he even bothered.
She eyed him with venom and shoved a pair of garden shears his way. “There’s rosemary to be harvested in the garden. Hurry up.”
Tyler held the shears against his chest and sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”
He was more than happy to get a chance to be outside in the garden rather than under the ruthless eye of Mrs. Pickard. She had a tendency to get slap-happy when she was drunk—so, always. He pushed open the back door and breathed in the scent of the herbs and soil.
The garden was somewhat well-maintained, mostly thanks to his efforts. He trimmed the plants, and cut the grass, and kept the soil fresh and watered. It wasn’t every day that he got to go outside, but he always enjoyed when he did.
Tyler knelt beside the rosemary and got to work with the spades. The faster he finished the task, the faster he could leave. A cool breeze rustled the plants and tickled his face. The sky above him was a bright, clear blue.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
By the time he’d finished with the rosemary, dirt had stained the knees of his jumpsuit and his hands were crying out for relief. He flexed his fingers and winced at the harsh sting. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to that, the way his hands forever shook and twitched.
He stepped inside the dark and damp shop and sneezed again. He could see the dust motes floating in the air, illuminated by the morning sun.
Mrs. Pickard was concocting something that looked a lot like moonshine. Tyler set the bucket of herbs on the counter. “Here you are, Mrs. Pickard.”
She shot him a glare like he’d interrupted something, then stumbled over to the bucket. She tutted over its contents, examining each and every single piece. She held one up and inspected it in the low light. “The leaves are wilted. I thought I told you to toss the wilted ones.”
Tyler clasped his shaky hands behind his back and prepared for the inevitable. “They’re not wilted. I checked each one.”
Mrs. Pickard tossed the rosemary on the ground and crushed it beneath her heel as she stalked over to Tyler. She got close enough to the point where he could smell her hot, rancid breath. “Are you calling me a liar, boy?”
She was a good six inches shorter than him, yet her mere presence sent shivers down his spine. “No, Mrs. Pickard. I just want you to have a decent-sized supply.”
She grabbed onto his wrist and dug her nails into his skin. “So you expect me to sell my customers a subpar product in the name of quantity?”
All your products are subpar, he thought.
“No. Not at all.”
The palm of her hand landed sharply against his cheek. His head whipped to the side.
“You should know better not to talk back to your elders,” she growled, pointing a wrinkled finger at him.
Tyler rose a hand to his face where the slap had landed. His skin stung. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Get the hell out of my shop.”
He wanted nothing more in the world.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He started to walk out front, but Mrs. Pickard’s voice followed, growing increasingly shrill with each word spit through her blackened teeth. “You’re lucky to even be alive, do you realize that? Your father should’ve killed you when he had the chance. You’re a no-good, useless, disrespectful—”
He didn’t get a chance to hear the rest of Mrs. Pickard’s rant, because he shoved the door shut behind him.
He paused for a moment to breathe, then quickly started moving again. He couldn’t have spent more than a half hour in there, but any time at Mrs. Pickard’s felt like hours.
He’d only started helping out in the New Year. It was meant to be part of his graduation requirements from Reflection. His father didn’t care that Mrs. Pickard was cruel—if anything, he welcomed it.
“Maybe she’ll teach you a thing or two about discipline,” his father had said, “Since you seem to be so desperately lacking in it.”
The sting on his cheek faded, but didn’t completely dissipate, as he headed towards his and Jenna’s spot. His heart raced with anticipation. He hoped he wasn’t too late, that Jenna hadn’t left. It seemed like he always left her waiting these days.
Their spot was on the far side of the district, where the architects hadn’t yet bothered to tear down the natural foliage. He was sure it’d happen one day when they’d inevitably need space for more people (or, realistically, more gravestones), but for now it was a tiny paradise of wild trees and overgrown flowers. In the winter, the trees were stripped bare from its leaves and the flowers buried beneath piles of frozen, unforgiving snow. But now, in the delicate early summer air, everything was green and vibrant. The flowers might've even offered a subtle hint of perfume in the air if it wasn’t for the constant smoke and ash emanating from the towers.
Tyler glanced behind him and saw Nico’s tower looming in the distance, the other eight framing it. He glanced forward and saw thousands of gravestones stretched around the perimeters of the district. Not for the first time, he wondered what it’d be like to exist in a place without any of this. Where the skies were clear from ash and the horizon free from the Bishops.
Peacekeepers marched past him on their way to the district center. Tyler couldn’t help but tense up and straighten his shoulders. He couldn’t see their eyes beneath their masks, but he was certain several of them were looking at him.
Joseph’s eldest. What a disappointment.
If things would’ve gone as they were supposed to, Tyler would’ve been shipped off to the Peacekeeper training facility in the fall.
The mere idea sounded completely ridiculous. Even the smallest Peacekeepers still had several inches and a couple dozen pounds on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his father was secretly grateful that it was no longer an option for him. If he had ended up going, he would’ve embarrassed himself, and by extension his family, all the same.
It was a bit of a hike, but he’d managed to get through the district and into its outskirts without trouble. It was the only day he and Jenna allowed themselves the risk of doing something like this. Everyone was distracted on reaping days. No one would notice two kids hanging out somewhere they shouldn’t be.
To his relief, he saw Jenna’s back from where she sat on an upturned log. She had a book perched in her lap, her delicate fingers slowly turning the pages. Jenna was always reading. He didn’t imagine it was anything all that good—any book that didn’t directly glorify Vialism had been banned ages ago. She was already dressed in her outfit for the reaping—a crisp white dress with a lace collar and pleated skirt. Her knee-high socks were accompanied by a pair of shiny black ballet flats. Two white ribbons tied back her hair. Tyler knew she probably hated the entire ensemble.
“Hey,” Tyler said as he sat down beside her.
Jenna dogeared the corner of her book and turned her gaze towards him. “You’re late.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Mrs. Pickard.”
“That crotchety old bitch,” she said.
Tyler had to stifle his laugh. Jenna was nothing if not a prim and proper lady, having grown up in the finest house in town. She reserved the side of herself that enjoyed complaining and gossiping for Tyler and Tyler alone.
A small gasp escaped her lips and she gently grabbed his chin. “Did she do this?”
He hadn’t realized Mrs. Pickard had slapped him hard enough to leave a mark. “Is it bad?”
“It’s pretty red.”
He looked down, breaking Jenna’s grasp on his chin. “Shit. Dad’s gonna be pissed.”
“Your dad can shove it.”
Tyler did laugh this time. “Oh my God, Jenna. You can’t say that.”
“I absolutely can. He can shove it, and my dad can shove it. Maybe they can shove it up each other.” Jenna proceeded to make a series of obscene gestures that his innocent, proper, ladylike best friend had no business knowing.
“Jesus. Who raised you?” Tyler said, fully giggling. It felt good to laugh on reaping day. It felt good to laugh at all.
Jenna nudged him with her elbow. “The same assholes who raised you, clearly.” Her face brightened with excitement. “Ooh! I have something for you.”
She turned her back to him for a moment, and for the first time, Tyler noticed the wildflowers tied up with a burlap string sitting beside her. She handed him the bouquet, its early-summer colors vibrant with a mix of purple, pink, and orange hues. Tyler stared at them with amazement. “Jenna. Thank you.”
“It’s your last reaping day. I figured you should have something to celebrate.”
He felt that familiar dread creep back into his stomach. “Yeah.”
He reached his hand into his back pocket and pulled out the Pick n Mix. “I don’t have anything as nice as flowers for you, but I do have this.”
Jenna immediately grabbed the bag from him and untwisted it. “No way! Oh, and there’s extra licorice. I love you.”
“You’re the only person I know that actually likes eating black licorice,” Tyler said, watching as she ripped it apart with her teeth.
“That’s because I’m the only person you know with good taste.”
“That’s absurdly debatable.”
Jenna offered some of the candy to him, but he declined. He couldn’t work past the anxiety that had settled in his stomach. He took to smelling the wildflowers instead, allowing their delicate scent to overpower the smoke of the towers. He gazed out at the trees that surrounded them.
“In just a few hours, it’ll be over,” Jenna said quietly, “You’ll be done.”
He scoffed. “You don’t know that.”
She glanced at him, her face solemn. “Maybe not. But I want to believe it.”
Wanting something and having it weren’t the same thing, they were both more than well aware of that.
Jenna tapped her ballet flat against Tyler’s mud-stained boot. “What’re you gonna do once you’re out of the reaping?”
Somehow, that question filled him with a near-equal amount of dread as the topic of the reaping itself. “Well, I’m not going to the Peacekeeper academy. That’s for sure.”
“I can’t believe your father even considered that for you.”
“It’s what I’m supposed to do. My grandfather was Head Peacekeeper. Zack’ll probably end up doing it for me instead.”
“That’s because Zack’s an asshole.”
“Jenna.”
She widened her eyes. “What? You know I’m right.”
Tyler rolled his eyes, but tilted his head. “Yeah. You kinda are. He’ll be perfect for the job, actually.”
Jenna scoffed. “So, if not a Peacekeeper, then…”
He placed his hands in his laps and looked at them. The way they trembled and twitched.
He knew what he’d wanted to do.
His father had made sure it wasn’t an option.
“If I’m lucky.” He eyed Jenna. “Which we know I’m not, then maybe I’ll get a scholarship to the university. I can study architecture, or Vialism, or something.”
Just saying the word Vialism made his stomach twist. He couldn’t imagine devoting the rest of his life to its lies.
“And what if you’re not lucky?”
He stared up at the sky. It was a clear blue now, but more days than not, it was filled with smoke. “They’ll probably send me to work in the towers like everyone else.”
“They wouldn’t let the Head Peacekeeper’s son do that,” Jenna said.
“They would if it was me.”
Jenna looked away. He knew she didn’t have anything to say in response to that.
Tyler shouldn’t even be alive. He should’ve died months ago, at the hands of the Bishops. He should’ve been sentenced to Oblivion—the furthest thing from Glorification possible, a completely dishonorable death.
But Nico had decided to do his father a favor by sparing him. It wasn’t an act of mercy so much as it was a method of sparing his father from the embarrassment of having a son like Tyler.
He’d never been much more than a disappointment.
Jenna tied the bag of Pick n Mix back up and handed it to Tyler. “Here. You take the rest. Give it to your siblings.”
He shook his head. “If my dad sees it, he’ll know I was late to Mrs. Pickard’s.”
Jenna gave him a look of sad understanding. She rested it in her lap. “Okay.”
She scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Tyler laughed. “I’m so dirty. You’re gonna get your dress all messed up.”
“Shut up,” Jenna said.
Her hand came to rest atop his own, calming his tremors. They never stopped, but a part of him felt as though her presence helped to minimize them. He always felt better when he was with Jenna.
“Tyler?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you still think it’s true? Do you think they're really out there beyond the city walls?”
Tyler stiffened. His blood ran cold. The months he’d spent in Reflection were designed for a question just like this. They’d made sure he knew what would happen if he answered it. He blinked rapidly and tried to breathe.
Jenna sat back up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that.”
“It’s okay,” Tyler said, his voice pinched.
She squeezed his hand. “We should probably get back soon, huh?”
“Yeah.”
She turned to face him and held out her pinky. “We’re not going anywhere.”
He gave her a lopsided grin and attempted to position his fingers in the same way. His joints tremored and locked. He could hardly get his pinky to stick out straight. He huffed his frustration.
“Here,” Jenna said, grabbing hold of his wrist. She looped her pinky around his own, even as it attempted to jerk away.
Tyler looked into her eyes. “We’re not going anywhere.”
𓌖
The creaking of the front door announced his arrival. It was uncharacteristically quiet for a household that should’ve been buzzing as the reaping neared. “Mom? Dad?” he called out cautiously as he walked down the hallway, Jenna’s flowers delicately tucked under his arm.
“In here, honey.” His mother’s voice rang out. “Come and stop by.”
He walked into the kitchen and his breath caught in his throat.
Sitting at his kitchen table, in the same exact seat he’d been in hours earlier, was Nicolas Bourbaki.
The ruler of District 9, the place Tyler called his home.
“Oh. Um—”
Nico held up a stark black hand. “Sit, child.”
His heart beat so furiously that he wouldn’t be surprised if Nico could hear it. Somehow, he managed to get his limbs to work, even though they felt as though they were made of the same consistency as his mother’s strawberry jam. The chair scraped against the kitchen floor as he pulled it out. He managed to sit down just before his knees buckled. He placed the bouquet of flowers beside him on the table.
His mother bustled around the kitchen, procuring the kettle and two tea cups. She placed one in front of Nico, the other in front of Tyler, and poured them each a cup of the steaming liquid.
Nico’s eyes crinkled beneath the white paint of his face. “Thank you, Kelly.”
“It’s a pleasure,” his mother said earnestly.
“Ah, if you don’t mind,” Nico said, fixing his cold eyes on Tyler, “I’d like to speak with dear Tyler alone for a minute.”
Tyler’s mind froze with fear. He looked at his mother, hoping his eyes alone were enough to plead with her not to leave. But he’d known for a long time that his parents would choose the city over their children at every possible turn.
“Yes, of course!” Kelly said. Before she left, she said to Tyler, “Oh, honey. I drew you a bath and laid out your clothes for you when you’re finished up here.”
It took Tyler a moment to remember that he should respond. “Thank you, mom.”
Soon enough, it was just the two of them in the kitchen. Nico nodded in the direction of the flowers. “How lovely.”
He tapped his leg underneath the table. “Thank you. They're a gift from my friend.”
Nico picked up the tea cup, tiny and delicate in his thick hands, and raised it to his painted lips. Tyler watched as he did so with a muted fascination. He half-expected a smear of black paint to be left as residue on the rim of the cup, but none was. Nico smacked his lips together. “Ah, your mother makes wonderful tea.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nico’s eyes fell on him again. “Well, aren’t you going to have some?”
He lifted up the cup with both of his hands. Even with the added support, it shook in his grasp. Some of the hot liquid sloshed down the sides of the cup and stung the skin of his hands. He drank until his throat felt as though it was on fire.
Seemingly satisfied with Tyler’s cooperation, Nico pressed on. “How old are you now, Tyler?”
Tyler placed his hands back in his lap, beneath the table where Nico couldn’t see him fidgeting. “Eighteen.”
He knew Nico was more than well aware of this fact. Still, Nico acted surprised. “That’s a big year. Last reaping, yes?”
He ignored the jolt of terror those words sent through him. “Yes, sir.”
“Much to celebrate, then.”
He swallowed, the effects of the scalding liquid reminiscent on his tongue. “I suppose.”
Nico raised an eyebrow. “You suppose?”
“Yes,” he amended, “It is.”
“Do you have any plans now that you’ve finished with your schooling?”
Tyler lowered his gaze. What was Nico playing at? Why would he show up at their household to speak to him of all people for some kind of social call? As far as he was aware, it wasn’t the norm for eighteen year olds to receive a personal visit from their Bishop. “I’m not fully sure. Maybe university. Maybe work in the towers.”
“That’s a noble profession,” Nico said with a nod of his head, “Regardless, I’m sure a bright young man like you will manage to come up with something.”
“Thank you,” Tyler said. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
Nico tilted his head just slightly to the side. “It’s a shame that your former proclivities have rendered you unable to follow in your father’s footsteps.”
Tyler barely managed to suppress a flinch. He stared at the table and tried to remember the pre-rehearsed dialogue that had been taught to him at Reflection. “I’m ashamed of my former behavior. I’ve learned from my mistakes, and through the generous grace of the Bishops, I’ve learned to do better.”
He could hear the smirk in Nico’s voice. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Nico’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “You are good friends with Jenna Black, yes?”
His head shot up. His heart pounded in his chest. His eyes lingered on the bouquet of flowers in front of him. “Yes, sir.”
Why was he asking about her? This had absolutely nothing to do with her.
“Your mother tells me that the two of you have been best friends your entire lives. Maybe more than that.”
He wasn’t going to challenge Nico’s assumptions. Not now. Not ever. “Yes, sir.”
“She’s a lovely girl. Comes from a wonderful family. I’ve known Mayor Black for many years now. He’s raised all of his children to chase Glory.”
“They are lovely people.”
Nico placed a hand on the table. Tyler wanted to push his chair back from the table, to get up and run like that hand was aiming for his throat.
He stayed still. He didn’t move a muscle.
“It… troubles me. That a girl like her would continue to spend so much time with someone that has a history such as yours,” Nico said.
Nico paused for a moment to pick his tea cup back up again and take another sip. “It makes one wonder whether she might’ve been influenced by your behavior.”
Tyler’s legs fully shook beneath the table now. Sweat crept down his armpits and back. “No, sir. I—I’m sorry. But—but Jenna has absolutely nothing to do with it. She knew nothing. She—she had no idea about any of it.” He knew he needed to reel himself back before he talked himself and Jenna straight into an execution. He forced his mouth shut and breathed shallowly through his nose.
“I believe you, Tyler,” Nico said.
Tyler stared at him, too afraid to look away.
“Adolesence is a challenging time. It is in the nature of a teenager to question what they are told. What is important is that they come to realize the reason for how things are, that our society is structured the way it is because it puts our cares to rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Tyler said, the words vacating his body as nothing more than a tiny squeak.
“The sooner that realization happens, the better. Because do you know what happens when our children believe they are more knowledgeable than our leaders?”
Tyler did. His trembling hands were more than enough to prove that. He nodded, wordless.
“It starts with a spark. One individual that believes he can change things.” Nico eyed Tyler maliciously. “Then it spreads. It grows. And before you know it, we have an inferno on our hands. The structure of this city that we worked tirelessly to create, the values that have been upheld by our people for thousands of years, destroyed. To the ignorant mind, this form of rebellion seems freeing. But after all that destruction, what would truly be accomplished? We’d be left in ruins that would be the work of our children, our children’s children, to restore. All in the name of a little adolescent rebellion.”
Tyler caught just a glimpse of his reflection in the clear brown liquid of his tea cup. “I understand, sir.”
“It’s important to me that you do,” Nico said, “Not just you, but your friend. I wouldn’t want there to be any issues. It’d especially be a shame if your friend were to venture forward on the wrong path.”
He stuttered out a breath. “Yes, sir.”
Nico stood up from his chair. Tyler couldn’t help but flinch this time. Nico rounded the table and stepped in front of Tyler, his red cloak billowing behind him. He held out his hand. “It was nice to see you, Tyler.”
Tyler’s hand trembled so hard he could barely guide it into Nico’s grasp. Maybe he was mistaken, but he swore he saw the slightest twitch of Nico’s lips as his ice-cold fingers wrapped around Tyler’s own. “Good luck to you today. And to your friend.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Nico left without another word, his cloak trailing behind him as he left the room. He heard the sounds of him and his mother conversing in the hallway. The blood rushed into his ears and he choked out a jagged gasp. He clutched his hands against the edge of the table and dug his fingernails into the cheap wood.
A knock on the door nearly sent him flying out of his chair.
“Better hurry up, Tyler. We’re due for the reaping in an hour.”
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