Page 1 of Breakaway

PROLOGUE

Andilyn

My steps are quiet as I make my way through the dense foliage that surrounds the compound. I’ve walked this path a thousand times, but something is different today. There’s a weighted feeling in the air, like I’m teetering on the precipice of something dreadfully monumental, but I can’t quite pinpoint what has me so unsettled. Maybe it’s because my thoughts have never felt as volatile as they do right now, my growing repulsion becoming an entity of its own. I’ve known for quite some time that this place isn’t what it was made out to be, but even my wildest imaginings couldn’t have dreamt up such wickedness.

A part of me, the tiny fragment that’s buried beneath the expectation of perfection, begs me to test the bounds of my freedom. To bear my chin defiantly and march across the vast expanse of property I’m forced to call home, right through the guarded gate that bars the rest of society from our existence. But deep down, where clarity and common sense reside, I know that wouldn’t be possible. Despite what we’ve been led to believe, leaving isn’t an option. They’ve caged and conformed us to their liking, and the so-called autonomy we were promised is nothing more than a worthless illusion.

Two years ago, my parents were persuaded to join Veritas. Not that it took much convincing. My childhood was spent gallivanting around the country in a rusted Airstream, forced to tag along on whatever bandwagon adventure my mother and father were duped into crusading. If Danny and Prissy Adams have a kryptonite, it’s hairbrained ideas. Nine times out of ten, they can be talked into just about anything if properly incentivized. I can vividly recall an instance where we stumbled upon a group of activists who’d been enraged by our government’s overreach and the myriad of resources our elected officials were using to spy on their own citizens. The very next day, my parents were armed with protest signs, voicing their outrage and the unjust impediment of our constitutional right to privacy.

Given the right circumstances and cause, they could be a powerful ally for legitimate civil rights concerns. But like a dog spotting a squirrel at the most inopportune time, their nomadic tenacity eventually causes their attention to stray, and off we go in search of the next big thing they’re all too eager to get behind. And on a random Tuesday at a roadside diner in Oklahoma, my parents were presented with a pipe dream that was far too tempting to resist. Without invitation, a man I’d never seen before took the empty seat at our worn Formica table and proceeded to pitch a spiel so enticing that even I, the travel-weary teen who’d seen more than her fair share of ill-conceived notions crumble in the wake of reality, was intrigued by the idyllic scenario he was presenting.

Kennedy Stillwater spun a fantastical tale, waxing poetic about a sacred place free of worldly constraints and expectations. My parents ate up every word like it was the finest delicacy to ever grace their taste buds. His offer to join their movement and discover what life could be like without such tiresome hindrances couldn’t have come at a better time. The state of political and cultural rapport was in an upheaval, with violent crime at an all-time high. And then there was Veritas, riding in on its white horse, offering the perfect solution to those who were fed up with the government and wanted to separate themselves from the insanity our country was falling victim to.

In the midst of strange and uncertain times, when it was easy to feel lost and insignificant in the grand scheme of things, a place that represented the simple existence that Kennedy described was a welcome reprieve in the exhausting continuity of always bouncing from one place to the next. I was sick to death of being so transient, and the possibility of planting roots, however minuscule, excited me more than any half-cocked plan Danny and Prissy would inevitably fall victim to. Plainly put, Veritas was offering secession from the world as a whole, and while the premise was promising, seldom is reality as wondrous as the idea.

Looking back, I wish I would’ve given more credence to the proverb: if it’s too good to be true, it likely is. I should’ve paid more attention to the way Kennedy had been so fixated on my two-toned eyes, the way he hemmed and hawed about the rarity of such a flawed phenomenon, but his drivel had barely registered. It’s basic human nature to be inquisitive about things we perceive as different, and I’d learned from a young age not to take offense to people’s abrasiveness when it came to my heterochromia.

Curiosity doesn’t always translate in the best light, and children show far less restraint than adults do when filtering their comments. I’d developed a thick skin when it came to any taunting, and as a result, I made it a point to remove myself from conversations that could do more harm than good. It was a practice I frequently implemented when it came to my own parents. I had no interest in listening to a grown man make passive-aggressive remarks about my appearance, so I’d tuned out everything Kennedy said beyond the initial sales pitch he’d delivered. What felt like seconds later, we were throwing our half-eaten lunch in the trash and stowing away our belongings in preparation for the long trip ahead.

Unbeknownst to us, the second my parents accepted Kennedy’s invitation, our fate was sealed. We piled inside our ancient Airstream for the last time and began our days-long trek to some rural patch of earth in Southern Mississippi. The compound was massive, and upon arrival we were assigned living quarters, then given a cursory tour of the property. Their initiative was centered around self-sustainability and a lack of outside influence, so it made sense that the majority of their necessities were sourced from within. My eyes practically bulged when I caught sight of the massive garden. It was lush and well-tended, and though I didn’t particularly salivate at the thought of vegetables, it was preferable to eating off the value menu from the nearest fast food chain.

For weeks we were coaxed into a state of contentment, convinced we’d made the best decision of our lives. I was thrilled to finally interact with other kids without the dread of knowing that any connections I was making would only be temporary, and there was plenty to keep my flighty parents occupied. But slowly, inconsistencies began to make themselves known, popping up like dreaded bearers of bad news. Unfortunately, it appeared that I was the only one concerned with the eeriness our new home was seemingly entrenched in.

The first red flag, of what would become many, was the startling number of people I began to encounter with heterochromia. It was barely more than a handful, but for being something that Kennedy thought so rare, there sure was an abundance of the condition within a rather small community. Subconsciously, I began to take note of the hierarchy that was becoming increasingly obvious, despite their best attempts at pretending otherwise. The harsh reprimands I’d overhear and the way a certain group was sequestered from the rest of the commune had raised a multitude of questions, but any time I attempted to voice my concerns, I was brushed off, and the subject was swiftly changed to a more pleasant topic.

However, nothing prepared me for the day we were summoned to The Atrium–a circular monstrosity with a glass dome ceiling, located at the center of the compound, and a place we’d been forbidden from entering thus far. A dais sat front and center, with church-style pews curved around it. On the floor directly beneath it sat a stone rectangular box, and for some inexplicable reason, the sight of it made my skin crawl. I immediately took notice of Kennedy and his militant posture, the way his hands were crossed behind his back as he surveyed the growing crowd from his raised platform. He tracked my every move as I scrambled to find a seat, his unwavering attention making me anxious and paranoid. When he lifted a single hand, a hush fell over the cavernous room instantaneously. The power he wielded with such a simple gesture made my spine tingle.

To my absolute horror, the first thing that left his mouth was my name–Andilyn⁠* Rae Adams–as he beckoned me to join him with a crook of his finger. My gaze sought my parents, searching for any inclination that they were aware of what was happening, but they only smiled and nodded their encouragement. Cautiously, I made my way to the dais, doing my best to ignore the probing stares of everyone in attendance. Without uttering a word, Kennedy held his hand out, and despite the heavy dose of wariness weighing me down, I reluctantly took it and allowed him to position me so I was visible from every vantage point in the room. Placing a single finger beneath my chin, he angled my face until my eyes met his.

“Andilyn Adams, you’re hereby promised to the Order of Veritas. Under oath of fealty, you will serve this commune as our Divine intended you to. Should you stray or backslide, your souls be damned.” My strangled inhale was unmissable in the otherwise silence, but I refused to look away from Kennedy. My brain had already deduced that he was the most dangerous person in the room. Extending his arm to the side, he took the items being offered by another member. From my peripheral vision, I noted a dense, dirt-colored fabric of some sort, along with a crudely carved knife. Before I could properly panic, he slipped behind me and cut a clean line down the back of my bright yellow sundress.

It was the nicest thing I’d ever owned, and as it pooled to the floor around my feet, it was like the sun itself had been stripped away, leaving nothing but darkness in its absence. No one batted an eye at my sudden lack of clothing, and I was too stunned to do anything but stand there and gape at the crowd. My parents’ gazes were fixated on the floor, refusing to watch the resulting consequences of their horrifically poor judgment. Their shame was palpable, making me realize our chance encounter with Kennedy was likely never chance at all. The next face I sought out was Tobias’, the one and only person I’d truly connected with since arriving.

Kennedy’s son.

He looked just the same as he always did–curly blond hair, arctic blue eyes, regal and poised in a way I’d envied since the day we met. But where a warm smile usually met my unabashed staring, his face was wiped of all emotion. He seemed to have perfected a mask of indifference in the span of a few hours, making me question everything–from our first encounter to this very moment. Was he playing a part to appease his father, or was this version the real Tobias? A cold, robotic sheep, willing to do whatever’s been asked of him without any pushback.

I glared hotly at the boy I’d considered a friend, funneling every ounce of my confusion and hurt into a scathing look of betrayal. Maybe it had been ignorant of me to place so much of my trust in a person I’d only known for such a short time, because it’d become abundantly clear that no one was incapable of duplicity, least of all my own parents. A million questions flooded my mind, leaving me lightheaded and desperate for an exit strategy to miraculously make itself known.

It felt like time was standing still, and then Kennedy draped the heavy material he’d been holding over my body, giving me something else to focus on besides the panic flooding my nervous system. As I cataloged my new attire, I realized I’d seen it before. Those with dichromatic eyes wore the same drab sheath. I’d naively thought it was something meant to be used while working the more physically laborious jobs. Foolish me for not putting the pieces together and recognizing that no one else was clothed even remotely the same.

“Our Divine has chosen and found you worthy of redemption. Walk carefully, Harbinger, lest you slip from his graces for good.” Quicker than I could track, Kennedy brought the makeshift knife to my mouth and pressed the sharpened blade against my lips. Blood dripped from the faint cut he made, the sight of my own life force making me dizzy. As the crowd began to chant quietly, heat flooded my body, a visceral reaction to the incredulous scene playing out before my very eyes–eyes that were the bane of my current predicament, as I’d soon come to learn. I was completely oblivious to what they were saying, too focused on remaining conscious, but the tail end of their murmuring finally caught my attention.

“...those who walk a path of righteousness and ardently pursue redemption shall find favor amongst the Divine’s chosen Seekers. Let your Cleansing commence.” Silence descended as every person in the room bowed their head, unwilling to do or say anything until instructed otherwise. My breathing had grown so ragged it was a miracle I hadn’t fainted from a lack of oxygen.

“Please proceed as normal. And do remember,” Kennedy stated. “Watchful is the Eye…”

“...And the Eye is thee,” his congregation of followers responded in unison. Like soldiers, they rose and left The Atrium, leaving me all alone. I’d sunk to my knees, attempting to make sense of what transpired, but it was a pointless endeavor to try and rationalize what could only be categorized as clinically insane. Their hive mentality was terrifying, and I was certain it’d been Kennedy’s intent to flaunt his control, for his show of power to make it abundantly clear who held the reins and wore the bastardized crown in his corrupted kingdom.

Hours later, Tobias found me in the same spot, my body stiff and achy from a lack of movement. Tears filled my eyes, the hurt overflowing from the knowledge that my own parents couldn’t be bothered to comfort me, much less explain themselves and their lack of concern over Veritas’ seedy underbelly being exposed. I’d long ago accepted that Danny and Prissy weren’t ever going to be doting or affectionate, but the sense of abandonment I felt was so crushing, it was difficult to breathe.

I was a maelstrom of opposing emotions, and as much as I wanted to take comfort in Tobias’ presence, I was terrified to trust the version of him I’d come to know. I desperately wanted to unleash the full force of my anger, but I didn’t have the willpower to follow through with it. Even the slimmest possibility of him being a potential ally meant it was much too risky to isolate myself. So as he brushed the sweat-slicked hair off my face and whispered apologies for being incapable of intervening, I made a spur-of-the-moment judgment call and chose to believe that he was genuinely remorseful. That he loathed having his hands tied, and it was simply his age and eagle-eyed father that kept us from leaving then and there. He promised to keep me safe, by any means necessary, and gullible as it might’ve been, I believed him.

Knowing Tobias is just as disturbed as I am by Veritas’ unhinged dogma helps to reinforce the trust we’ve built over the years. As soon as it’s safe and the opportunity presents itself, we plan to free every person they’ve taken and held against their will. I’ve left the logistics of our exit up to him, but after today’s Claiming ceremony, I fear that day needs to happen sooner rather than later. I’m not sure I possess the strength it requires to continue biting my tongue, pretending I feel anything but disgust every time I’m forced to interact with Kennedy Stillwater. I’d love nothing more than to divulge my true sentiments regarding this hellacious existence he and his ancestors have manufactured as justification for being such vile human beings, but that would effectively undo any progress we’ve made to escape their control.

When I finally break through the brush and the eastern corner of the compound comes into view, a sigh of relief parts my lips. Glancing around the clearing, confusion knits my brows together when Tobias is nowhere to be found. He knows me better than anyone, so I have no doubt he’s aware this is the place I’d seek comfort from. It can be disconcerting at times, how attuned he is to my every move, even when I’m certain his focus is elsewhere. I turn my gaze skyward, noting the sun is starting to set. Trusting that Tobias will join me shortly, I decide to wait him out.

As memories of today’s Claiming ceremony swirl around my mind, my nose wrinkles at the pungent scent of charred wood and ash still clinging to my clothes. Without conscious thought, I’ve started pacing, causing the hem of my dress to drag along the forest floor. My need to do something is making me restless, but it's the heartbreaking knowledge of just how powerless I am that makes my shoulders slump in defeat. I’d long ago erected a wall to protect my empathetic nature, but these past four years have hardened parts of me that should’ve stayed soft. As much as I want to have the same optimistic outlook that Tobias has, my time with Veritas has made me jaded. They have a way of crippling what little faith you’ve been clinging to.