I paused in front of a burned-out shell of a building that used to be a bunk, the ruins black and charred. In all fairness, the problems I’d caused had paved the way for the progress the Blackcoats had made so far. I may not have been terribly obedient, but Knox always found a way to make the best of it, opening doors and finding opportunities we wouldn’t have had otherwise. Sending me to Elsewhere for my insubordination, as much as I still loathedhim for it, had given him a reason to come here and spy for the rebellion without raising suspicion.
We were already a team, I realized. A messed-up, dysfunctional team, but a team nonetheless. And that, ultimately, was why I couldn’t leave Elsewhere. If I joined Hannah in some cottage in the woods like Knox wanted me to, he would have no one to blame when things went to hell. And blaming someone instead of taking responsibility for his own weak plans—that was how Knox kept his ego functioning. And without the belief that he alone could make this revolution happen, I was sure he would have stepped aside and let someone else handle it a long time ago.
I shook my head. It was ridiculous, but if he wanted me to try to do more, then I would. I had no idea how to form a government, or how to make good on the promises I’d made the people, but I would do my best. That was all anyof us could do anyway.
“Hey, you. Hart.”
I began to turn, but someone shoved me from behind, and I stumbled into a pile of blackened wood. “It’s Kitty Doe, actually,” I said as I righted myself and brushed the charcoal off my trousers. I turned, facing the woman and three men who had me cornered. Perfect. I tightened my hands into fists, but that wouldn’t do me much good against all of them.
“Doesn’t matter what you call yourself. You’re still as much of a Hart as the rest of them.” One man, squat and with a ragged mustache, stood in the front, his lips pulled back to expose several gaps in his smile where his teeth must have fallen out. That wasn’t uncommon here. No use in the government paying for trivial things like dental work when the citizens of Elsewhere would probably die soon anyway.
“I’m an Extra,” I said. “I didn’t know who my parents were until—”
“You think we care about that, either?” The man stepped closer, his dark eyes narrowing. “Doesn’t matter who you were. Just matters who you are now. And you’re a Hart.”
A second man cracked his knuckles, and inwardly I groaned. This couldn’t be happening.
“The Blackcoats are on your side,” I said. “I’m on your side.”
“Then why do you sit up there in the manor all pretty and comfortable while the rest of us wallow in the mud like pigs?”
“You’re welcome to leave anytime you’d like,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” said the woman. “Let’s walk out into the wilderness in the dead of winter with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
I gritted my teeth. She had a point. It was hard enough walking away from the life you knew when you had the ease of doing so without risking your life. “I’m trying my best. We’re all trying our best,” I said.
“How about a little incentive?” said the first man, and he grabbed my hair and shoved me to my knees. I yelped, and a heavy boot connected with my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs.
“Let go of her immediately,” demanded a deep, familiar voice, and the former prisoner hesitated.
“Make me.”
I tightened my abdominal muscles, preparing myself for another blow, but it never came. Instead I heard the click of a gun, and my attacker went still.
“Fine,” he growled, releasing me. “Worthless bitch.”
I fell to my hands and knees, wheezing as my hair fell into my face, forming a curtain around me. If I’d had the breath to reply, I would have, but instead they all slunk away without another word, their boots crunching against the frozen ground. It was probably for the best. I didn’t want anyone else to die because of me.
“You’re never going to be one of them, you know.” A gloved hand appeared in front of me, and I took it, letting my defender help me up.
“It’s not my fault my biological father was a Hart,” I muttered, wincing as I touched my ribs. Rivers, one of the former prisoners who had been lucky enough to be picked as a low-level guard, touched my chin and inspected my face. His blue eyes were the same shade as mine, and I stared back. I’d been beaten up enough in the past month that another set of bruised ribs wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it was the way they were talking, the thingsthey were saying—that was what made a hollow form in the pit of my stomach. Was this what they all believed?
“It’s not your fault you’re a product of Daxton Hart, but it is your fault you’re up there instead of down here,” he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you to the doctor before they come back with friends.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” I muttered. “I need something to do.”
“You mean getting yourself beaten to a pulp isn’t enough?” said Rivers.
“I’ve been doing that for weeks. I want to help.”
“You just did this morning.” Instead of leading me back up the hill, he guided me into the maze of narrow alleyways behind the buildings, away from the main streets.
“That wasn’t helping. That was just—talking.”
“It did more to help than anything the Blackcoats have done since the battle,” said Rivers, and I huffed.
“Where are we going?”