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“Stop,” I suddenly say. Thomas falls silent. He tries to hide his emotions behind some semblance of nobility, but the shame is plain on his face. I lean back, turn my face away from him, and press my hands to my temples. Grief threatens to overwhelm me. Thomas hadn’t just killed Metias knowing that my brother loved him.
Thomas had taken that knowledge and used it against him.
I want you to die. I hate you. The tide of my anger grows stronger until finally I hear the whisper of Metias’s voice in my head, the faint light of reason.
It’s going to be okay, Junebug. Listen to me. Everything is going to be okay.
I wait, my heart beating steadily, until his gentle words bring me back. My eyes open, and I give Thomas a level stare. “What happened after that?”
It takes Thomas a long moment before he speaks again. When he does, his voice trembles. “There was no way out. Metias had no idea what was going on. He’d fallen into the plan with blind faith. My hand crept to the knife at my waist, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t even breathe.”
My eyes fill with tears. I want so desperately to hear every detail and at the same time for Thomas to stop talking, to shut this night away and never return again.
“An alarm cut through the air. We jumped apart. Metias looked flushed and confused—only a second later did we both realize that the alarm came from the hospital.
“The moment broke. Your brother snapped back into captain mode and ran toward the hospital entrance. ‘Get inside,’ he shouted over his earpiece. He didn’t look back. ‘I want half of you in there—pinpoint the source. Gather the others at the entrance and wait for my command. Now!’
“I started running after him. My chance to strike had vanished. I wondered whether Commander Jameson had somehow been able to see my failure. The Republic’s eyes are everywhere. They know everything. I panicked. I had to find another moment, another chance to get your brother alone. If I couldn’t do it, then Metias’s fate would fall into much harsher hands.
“By the time I caught up with him at the entrance, his face was dark with anger. ‘Break-in,’ he said. ‘It was that boy we saw. I’m sure of it. Bryant, get five and circle east. I’ll go the other way.’ Already your brother was on the move, gathering his soldiers. ‘He’s going to have to get out of the hospital somehow,’ he told us. ‘We’ll be waiting for him when he tries.’
“I did as Metias commanded—but the instant he was out of earshot, I ordered my soldiers to head east and then snuck away into the shadows. I have to follow him. This is my last chance. If I fail, I’m as good as dead, anyway. Sweat trickled down my back. I melted into the shadows, reminding myself of all the lessons Metias had taught me about subtlety and stealth.
“Then from somewhere in the night I heard glass shatter. I hid behind a wall as your brother raced past, alone and unguarded, toward the source of the sound. Then I followed. The night’s darkness swallowed me whole. For a moment, I lost Metias in the back alleys. Where is he? I whirled around in an alley, trying to figure out where your brother had gone.
“Just then, a call came through. Commander Jameson barked at me. ‘You’d better find a second chance to take him down, Lieutenant. Soon.’
“Finally, minutes later, I found Metias. He was alone, struggling up from the ground with a knife buried in his shoulder, surrounded by blood and broken glass. A few feet from him lay a sewer cap. I rushed to his side. He smiled briefly at me, while clutching the knife in his shoulder.
“‘It was Day,’ he gasped. ‘He escaped down the sewers.’ Then he reached out to me. ‘Here. Help me up.’
“This is your chance, I told myself. This is your only chance, and if you can’t do it now, it will never happen.”
Thomas’s voice falters as I search for my own. I want to stop him again, but I can’t. I’m numb.
Thomas lifts his head and says, “I wish I could tell you all the images whirling through my mind—Commander Jameson interrogating Metias, torturing information out of him, tearing off his nails, slicing him open until he screamed for mercy, killing him slowly in the way that she did to all prisoners of war.” As he speaks, the words come faster, tumbling from his mouth in a frantic jumble. “I pictured the Republic’s flag, the Republic’s seal, the oath I’d taken on the day Metias accepted me into a patrol. That I would forever remain faithful to my Republic and my Elector, until my dying day. My eyes darted to the knife buried in Metias’s shoulder. Do it. Do it now, I told myself. I seized his collar, yanked the knife from his shoulder, and plunged it deep into his chest. Right up to the hilt.”
I hear myself gasp. As if I expected a different ending. As if once I hear it enough times, the story will change. It never does.
“Metias let out a broken shriek,” Thomas whispers. “Or perhaps it came from me—I can’t remember anymore. He collapsed back onto the ground, his hand still clutching my wrist. His eyes were wide with shock.
“‘I’m sorry,’ I choked out.” Thomas looks at me as he continues, his apology meant for both me and my brother. “I knelt over his trembling body. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘I had no choice. You gave me no choice!’”
I can barely hear Thomas as he continues. “A spark of understanding appeared in your brother’s eyes. With it came hurt, something that went beyond his physical pain, a bleeding moment of realization. Then revulsion. Disappointment. ‘Now I know why,’ he whispered. I didn’t have to ask to know that he was referring to our kiss.
