Will’s mouth is a thin line. “Any news on the enemy?”
“They’re still holding the Panama Canal, and reports in the area say that they’ve taken over the hospitals and research clinics in the neighboring cities—just as they have in all other conquered territories.”
“Have our spies figured out what the king’s men are doing in these locations?”
“Same as all the others—a little of this and that. Stem cell research, the regeneration of cells, you know, the usual work up.”
And we still had no idea what real medical developments the king was actually researching. He’s managed to keep that under wraps for as long as we’ve been fighting this war.
“There was, however, one thing unusual about this takeover,” the Resistance member says. “Many of the technicians the king let go were dazed.”
“What do you mean by ‘dazed’?” Will asks.
“They were confused. Couldn’t answer our questions.”
“Any ideas what might’ve happened to them?” I cut in.
The voice on the other end pauses. “None except the most general.”
“And what would that be?” I press.
“They lost their memory.”
The next day a knock on my door signals that it’s time to go. I sit alone in the barracks, fingering my mother’s necklace around my neck. I’m already wearing one of the dresses that Lisa tailored for me.
I despise the thing.
The door opens and Will pokes his head in. The sight of him brings me back to last night’s conversation with the Resistance. The king’s overtaken the Panama Canal; no wonder the WUN’s folding. The war’s ending soon if they’ve wrangled control of it.
And the hospitals … everywhere the king goes, he infiltrates the labs first. Initially we’d thought it was to decimate any chance of medical relief—and yes, he does do that. But when stories of his unusual research trickled in, we began to take note.
“Mind if I come in?” Will asks. His eyes widen as they move over me.
I motion him inside, banishing thoughts of the king. “What are you doing here?” I ask once Will closes the door behind him.
“I wanted to say goodbye to you,” he says. He shifts his weight, sliding his hands into his pockets. His eyes flick over me again. “You look really nice.”
I snort. “Yeah, if by nice you mean I look like a giant peacock,” I say, picking up a piece of the dress and letting it flutter back to my side.
Will sits down next to me. “You make it look good,” he says, his eyes full of that same intensity I’d seen him wear earlier.
Suddenly I get the impression that this isn’t just a friendly goodbye. Will’s not looking at me like I’m the soldier who fought alongside him. Nor is he looking at me like the friend who would stay up late talking about anything and everything that crossed our minds.
He’s looking at me the way a lover should.
“Serenity, you’re going to save our country,” he says, clasping my hand.
I shake my head. “Don’t put that on me, Will. We both know how this ends.”
“No,” he says, squeezing my hand tightly. “We don’t. And the representatives wouldn’t send you if they didn’t think you’d sway the king.”
The king. I’d have to speak with him, smile at him, pretend that he didn’t destroy everything that I held dear.
“But more than that, you have to come back because I’ll be waiting for you.”
My throat constricts. I can’t tell if it’s from this strange ardor of his or that, in this moment, I realize I will never experience love. Not given my circumstances.
Will’s expression softens. It’s such a foreign emotion on him that I almost laugh.
And then he leans down and presses his lips to mine.
For a moment, I’m so shocked I do nothing but sit there. And then I recover and kiss him back. I would’ve thought my lips would be clumsy, but they’re not, and the kiss … the kiss is nice.
When it ends, I blink at him. Will has a whimsical look on his face. It relaxes his hard features, and it speeds up my heart to think that I’m responsible for it.
I take in his dark eyes. “I didn’t know.”
“Now you do.” He’s looking at me like he’s waiting for something else. Something more.
I touch my fingers to my lips. “I wish things were different,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can.
The sharp lines return to his face. “So do I.” He eyes the door across from us and clears his throat. “We should probably get going. I’m supposed to be escorting you out.”
I nod and grab my bag. As I sling it over my shoulder, both Will and I hear the clank of metal inside it.
Will raises his eyebrows. “They’re not going to let you take your gun.”
“Then they’re going to have to pry it away from my cold, dead hands.” And I mean it. If I’m going to die on enemy soil—and I have no doubt that I am—I want the few beloved possessions close by. One of those is the gun my father gave me. Morbid, I know, but during the last ten years it’s become a dear and trusted companion.
A smile spreads along Will’s face. “I’m not sure even death could take that gun away from you.” His smile slips as soon as he says the words, and I get the impression that he’s vividly imagining it. My death.
“C’mon, let’s go.” Will takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. This is the first time he’s held my hand that I can remember. I can’t help but think that it’s too little too late.
I take one last look at the barracks as we slip out the door. The room is the closest thing I’ve had to a home for a long time now. But as I take in the narrow beds, the cement walls and floor, the basin all eight of us use to wash out hands and faces, I can’t say I’m all that sorry to leave.