Falling & Uprising by Natalie Cammaratta

Author:Natalie Cammaratta [Cammaratta, Natalie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: darkstroke books
Published: 2021-07-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Eight

BRAM

Looking out over the city, I feel Serenity’s eyes on my back. Sometimes I wish I was still invisible to her. It’s easier to hide in my own mind when no one notices. She doesn’t pry, but I see the sympathy in her eyes. I’m available, she seems to say without words.

But I’m not.

I can’t even sort through it in my head, so there’s no way I’m going to talk to Serenity about it. Mostly because she was right about not completely trusting Sophos. It’s pretty pathetic of me not to want to tell her that, but here I am. The deception is too personal. The lies are too close to home. I don’t know how I feel about any of it, and it’s my own mom. I don’t want to make Serenity more suspicious of Sophos by telling her my mom is the one pulling his strings. When did concealing information from her become a problem? I never thought it would bother me.

Of course, there are still no updates. We’re just waiting for all of the pieces to be in place so we can distribute supplies across the islands. It makes for a short meeting. Before she leaves, Serenity comes over to say goodbye and lays an envelope on the side table near me. I say bye over my shoulder while her clicking steps move toward the door and out.

I can’t be her friend. It was a mistake to ever talk to her about anything personal. With my back to Sophos’ desk, I sit and open the envelope. Inside is a leather band—navy blue streaked with dark purple. With it, a note in elegant handwriting:

Among other things, purple has symbolized transformation, cruelty, and mourning. Cut across the blue of marshal uniforms, I thought it could be a good reminder that you know what they were. You’re allowed to be sad about it. Be sad, angry, be all of it. Use it. Forgetting our humanity is what lead our world to become what it is. Remembering makes you stronger than them. —S

My chest tightens as I roll up my sleeve and strap the band around my forearm. It covers part of the ID number tattooed onto me. I’m more than that number. So are the others, even if they don’t know it themselves. I can’t wear this often, but having a physical symbol of resistance releases some tension. I pull my sleeve back down over it and focus on the feeling of the leather against my skin.

I’ll need to stop being an asshole and talk to her. For now, I tap my cuff and send her a message: It’s perfect.

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