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Grigor is in the hospital in critical condition, and his second-in-command, Mr. Baranov, has assumed a temporary role as president.
But the nation has long considered Mr. Baranov incompetent, and he’s already made blunders despite assuming the role only hours ago. We’re watching the shitstorm unfold on live TV.
Other riots have broken out around the nation, which is why the police were so slow to reach the school. The resistance fighters planted small bombs throughout the city to coincide with the attack on the academy, so the police force was stretched thin. By the time officers arrived at the school, the resistance fighters had already disappeared with Alek in their clutches.
Drone footage of protesters burning tires in a giant bonfire is splashed across headlines, although we can see the dark smoke plume from the window, stretching high into the sky. People are looting and trashing the city as they shout for revolution in the streets.
The Andarusian military has been deployed to suppress the riots, but all they’ve done so far is keep the anarchy contained to the city center.
Dad steps into the room, his cell phone glued to his ear. “Thank you, Madame Secretary. I’ll keep you apprised of any developments. Bye now.” When he hangs up the call, he looks exhausted. “The State Department is issuing a warning for all Americans to leave the country immediately. I need you both to go pack your bags.”
“I am not American,” Galina says. “This is my country, and I will not run at the first sign of trouble.”
“I’m not leaving, either,” I add. “Not until I know Alek is safe.”
My dad sighs, rubbing his temple. “You’ve been wanting to leave Andarusia from the moment you got here, but now you’re determined to stay?”
“Yeah, my timing sucks.”
His eye twitches as he glances between Galina and me. “Fine. But you both should pack a bag anyway, just in case we need to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“But we’ll stay as long as possible?” I ask.
“Yeah. We’ll stay until shit really hits the fan. But then you both need to promise you’ll come with me if that happens. Deal?”
“Deal,” I answer.
Galina shakes her head. “I’m staying.”
The aching look that crosses his face is heartbreaking. My dad comes to sit on the sofa beside her, and he begins talking in a low voice. “Please, Galina…” He places his hand on top of hers and brings it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her fingers.
I give them a little space and head up the stairs to pack my getaway bag. I don’t plan on leaving the city, but at least I’ll be ready if I need to flee the house in an emergency.
I grab my suitcase from the closet and pull out my toiletry case. Taking it across the hall into the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and gasp.
Blood is smeared across my face and caked into my tangled hair. It’s even soaked through the white shirt of my folk costume. Mascara is streaked beneath my eyes, giving me a wild, unhinged appearance.
First order of business is washing this all off in the shower, though when I step under the hot water, it’s like molten lava is being poured over my split ear.
It takes time to clean it all off, and my eyes are transfixed on the floor as a trail of water runs red before disappearing down the drain. I stand here like this for a while, my energy drained, and my emotions numb. I can’t even begin processing the day’s events because it isn’t over.
The revolution has only begun.
At last, I step out of the shower and wrap my robe around myself. Drying my hair proves futile because every time I bring my towel to my head, a sharp pain shoots from my ear.
When I walk back across the hall, I enter my bedroom to find my dad standing at the vanity with his back to me.
“Did you sort things out with Galina?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns around toward me, his face stricken. In his hand is a letter—the suicide note I left for him.
“Were you planning on doing it today?” he asks, his voice shaking.
He wants me to tell him it’s a prank, that his sweet little girl wasn’t planning on throwing herself off a cliff. But I can’t muster the courage to lie to him, so I say nothing.
“Willow…” The way he says my name guts me. “I thought you were okay. I didn’t know…”
I sigh, plopping myself down on the bed, lying face up. “I’m not okay, Dad. I haven’t been in a long time.”
