Page 53 of Red

I move outside the fire’s light to the narrow path between two buildings. I press my bare hands on the cool metal and try to slow my breath. What are the fucking odds? But I can’t penetrate minds. If that were possible, I would not be sitting at a fire surrounded by humans who have shot the ones I care for. My hands start to shake and drop from the metal as I pull in a few steady breaths of frigid air. My heart beats loudly in my ears.

They’ve even killed them.

This has to be for something—moving out of my home to be surrounded by those who hate me, being attacked, the daily agony of not turning. I will succeed in my mission here for Pratt, for my home, for . . .

I shake my head. He’s not mine.

“Not one for scary stories?”

I ignore the man’s question as I kick some snow over the melted patch at my feet. I need a minute, and I need to cool the fuck down. I touch the metal once more and let the heat from me drain, the frost melting in the dark.

“You okay?” Tripp moves closer to me, his head above mine. I can see the outline of his eyes without stepping further away. He’s dressed in white camo gear with his hood up.

I wipe my face. “Oh yeah, I needed a minute.”

“Where’s your gun?” He touches my shoulder and rotates me.

“What?”

“Your gun. You can’t be walking around here unarmed. It’s not safe.” His voice rises as he talks.

I cross my arms. “Are one of you going to hurt me?”

“No, but the beasts will not hesitate. They might not have come here yet, but they will, and we need to be ready.”

I just nod, and he grabs my lower arm and pulls me in closer.

“You held your own last night. I was impressed.”

Our dense coats flatten as his body shapes into mine.

“Oh, thanks. I have no time for men harassing me.”

“Well, good thing I’m not harassing you.” He brushes his lips over my head, and the hate in my gut screams. I look up for a better view, but his hood blocks the light from the buildings. “I’ll find you tomorrow. I got a shift.”

“See you then,” I say, only loud enough for him to hear.

He steps around me and walks away from the path to the fire.

Great. They want to give me a damn weapon.

I join Gretch at the fire and my lungs release. This place is better with her around.

“Did Tripp go after you?”

“Uh, yeah, he did.” I lift up the water beside my stool and rinse my mouth.

She shifts and almost bounces off her stool. “Wow, he doesn’t go after anyone.”

“Weird,” I say.

If he’s the second-in-command, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get close to him.

We stay for another two hours, as more Uprising members share stories. A few go on about recent war wounds they’ve earned. If I could just ignore the fact they’re hunting my own, I might be able to enjoy myself. Instead, I’m proud they got hurt. They deserve it.

We make it back to Gretch’s, and I lay awake as her breathing shifts into sleep mode. I’ve been here for almost forty-eight hours and part of me wants to abandon my plan. Tomorrow, they want to give me a gun.

Fire flames in my legs, and I let it burn long enough for tears to drip onto my pillow.