If They Take Me (Chapters 7-9)

PART 2

The Waking

1 MONTH LATER

SEVEN

Replacement Quarter

3:00 P.M.

Today I dream of him again. The boy. The stranger with the blonde hair. He’s gripping my shoulders and shouting, his eyes wild and frantic.

“You can do it, Scar! You can fight this! You have to!” he tells me, only I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Then, his image fades and a new one fills it, a man in dark clothing who stabs my arm with a needle and shoves a pill into my mouth. He speaks with a soothing voice and chuckles as my body goes limp. I feel frozen and I thrash about, trying to claw my way out of his grip, but it feels as if my throat is closing in. And then there’s darkness…

“Scarlett!”

I wake slowly, chest tight, throat dry. My eyes flutter open to see a girl hovering over me. Her hair, strawberry pink and blazing in the light, brushes my face.

“Scarlett, get up. You fell asleep.”

I’m lying on a sofa, stretched out among lobster carcasses, shrimp tails, and lipstick-stained wineglasses.

“Did I eat all this?” I ask, dazedly.

Stella laughs. Her voice sounds like the melody of a song. “You wish,” she says, helping me sit up. “The party lasted until dawn. See for yourself.”

I blink the sleep from my eyes and squint against sunrays spilling through the wall-to-ceiling window. Already, I can hear the hiccupping sounds of laughter and the motors of skycrafts outside. The city is awake. I shoot up from the couch and stumble backward, my foot hitting an empty bottle of champagne and clattering against a tray of half-eaten hors d'oeuvres.

“How long was I asleep?” I ask.

Stella thinks as she smoothes out the rumples on the couch. “Let’s see,” she says. “The party began at midnight and lasted until two in the afternoon. It’s three in the afternoon now so…a long time?”

“I wasn’t asleep when it began,” I protest. I help her pick up after the place, tossing the trays of food into the trash chute located next to the bar. I don’t tell her that this is the first time in days I’ve been able to sleep.

“I never said you were.” Stella runs a hand through her hair and sighs. She’s dressed in her outfit today, the one with the cherry ruffles on the shoulders and feathery plumes of skirt that expand like the wings of a dove when she twirls. A night of waiting on others and dancing and she still looks beautiful. 

“It was amazing, wasn’t it?” she says, her cheeks two candied apples.

I nod. Replacement parties always are. If I didn’t have to clean up after I think I’d enjoy them a lot more.

We clean until the room is as spotless as when we first arrived. In the bathroom, we doll ourselves up again, reapplying makeup and dabbing powder on our faces. Stella peels eyelashes from her eyes and pops out her ruby contacts so that her eyes are hazel once again. I draw a streak of liner around my eyelids and Stella complains that I always do that and that it makes me look dark and brooding. I kind of like it.

When we finish, we take the skywalk through the city. It twists and coils around building tops and over golden bridges and parks with sparkling lakes like a slow-moving treadmill, the railing the only thing keeping you from falling. From here, I can see the Citadel. The glass dome glistens against the sunlight.

I lean over the railing as the conveyer belt pulls us forward, letting the breeze stream through my hair. This many stories high, looking down is dizzying. My liner smudges as I blink the windswept tears from my eyes. A family standing behind me watches on, a mother and father and a little boy. The little boy is scolded when he tries to do the same.

“Do you have to do that?” Stella mutters when the skywalk stops.

Together, we step off onto the third floor of our high-rise. Like most buildings in the Quarter, it is painted just the right color and shade that guarantees a gag reflex. Our apartment happens to be painted rose. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is the reason Stella decided to live here. But then again, we aren’t the only domestics to move into the building.

As soon as we reach the apartment, I head to my bedroom and shut the door, peeling off the dress that clings to my body. I replace it with a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that would make Stella puke. My pill still sits on mahogany dresser, untouched. As domestics, we are responsible for dropping the pills in partygoers’ drinks–the ones that make them calm when they’re upset. Some only add flavor like mint and raspberry. But others can change you.

We are told to take them every night for our health, but recently I’ve been skipping. My throat is sore, I tell Stella. She doesn’t badger me, but instead, leaves it by my bedside in case I change my mind. They’re always gone the next morning which seems to satisfy her, but only because I flushed them down the toilet.

I do the same to this one, walking it to the bathroom. For a moment, I stare into the reflection in the still water. The marking of the jewel on my forearm ripples in the water. With my thumb, I trace circles over the ink. My stomach clenches and I drop the pill inside. The toilet sucks it down.

At my bedside, I kneel before the dresser and open the bottom drawer. There, I find the thing I’ve been staring out for ages. I don’t know how it got there. Maybe a housemaid left it on accident. But either way, it’s mine now. It’s a dollhouse, a small, broken one that can’t even speak or move or entertain children in any way. Yet, somehow I love that about it. Rolled inside is a photograph of a man and woman I’ve never seen before. The woman’s hair is golden and her nose is curved. The man’s hair is dark and rich almost like mine. They both look grubby, but wild and free. Happy. This is when I get the sense of something I’ve lost.

I’ve had this feeling countless times before. The nagging, burning feeling that I’d forgotten something. Something important. I’d never thought much of it. Lately though, it has become an unrelenting and deafening cry.

“Hurry up in there!” Stella yells. “We’ve still got to set up for the ceremony.”

“I’m coming!” I call back. I tuck the photograph back inside the dollhouse and shove it into the drawer.

Whatever it was, it can’t be that important.

EIGHT

The theme tonight is jewels and coals. Stella and I, along with the rest of the domestics are fitted in cocktail dresses made fine silk. The dresses are shaped like jewels and fall sharply to our knees. A coal-colored strap hugs our waists and rough stitching grates at my skin. I feel like I’ve been jammed into a straw, but I do feel beautiful and I guess that’s all that matters.

“This is possibly the most important occasion of your life so I expect you to look and act your best,” a sharp-nosed stewardess tells us. “Try and blend in and don’t draw attention to yourselves. Humor them. Kiss up. I don’t care. Keep the drinks flowing and always remember to smile. Especially you,” she adds, shooting me a scowl.

A smirk slinks across my lips. “Of course,” I say, and my voice is pure honey.

As soon as the stewardess open the oak double doors, Stella loops her free arm around mine and pulls me forward. She is carrying a platter full of cheese cubes and crackers.

“Isn’t this place remarkable?” she gushes. Her sparkle and her dimples practically throb in her cheeks from excitement.

I have to admit, it’s pretty incredible. Pretty extravagant. I can practically smell the wealth. The dance floor, endless and round, gleams under the radiance of a hundred sparkling chandeliers. It is made of thick glass so that a hundred foot drop shows below. Lumps of coal, each burying jewels in their stony fingers, sit as centerpieces on each table. I crane my neck to see the dome ceiling. Like the dance floor, it is made entirely of glass. Stars glisten like teardrops in the sky.

We are in the Citadel, the glass edifice and the Quarter’s fortress. I pass it everyday in the skywalk, but I’ve never actually been inside. Today is a special occasion.

Stella drags me to the enormous window and we press our faces against it, not caring who can see us. The Quarter is beautiful at night. Buildings graze the sky, light though their windows shining brighter than the stars. We stand on the highest floor where skyscrapers lurk below. It’s thrilling being out past curfew. I’ve done it so many times yet every time, I feel a rush of freedom.

The stewardess snaps at us and we turn away from the window. The first guests have arrived.

+ + +

The crowning ceremony is displayed on the on every teleboard in the Quarter, but I am there in person. Socialites spill in, one after the other. Stiff-necked officials take their seats or mingle on the outskirts of the crowd. But it is Liam Stronghold, who arrives fashionably late, that makes everyone stand at attention. His younger brother, Nolan, walks beside him. The domestics all stand still and stare in awe at the boy who will officially become heir to the Stronghold fortune. Liam doesn’t look nervous. But I know him. His jaw is hardened, his smile a little too wavering, and his pale eyes flitting. He’s afraid.

A freckle-faced girl joins him on his left, wrapped around his arm like a bloodsucking leech. She is slim, her face narrow, and her smile toothy and broad. The head of security’s daughter, Piper. I have seen her countless times before, but each one sends a stab of annoyance through me. It’s obvious to me that Liam doesn’t like her, yet she stays around.

“I wonder if he’s gotten used to her yet,” a domestic whispers beside me. She’s not talking to me, but another domestic.

“You remember when she disappeared? Liam was devastated. He’d barely eat,” the other girl says.

When she disappeared? Who? Words like these could destroy you, so the girls speak low and fast.

“It took them forever to find another girl from the Taking Quarter,” the first girl says.

“No one there is pretty enough, I guess.”

My stomach drops. No wonder, I think. The freckle-faced girl…she’s a substitute! The domestics change the subject as Liam and his entourage draws near. Some of the waitresses’ courtesy to him and others bow. Liam dips his head at them and the girls practically melt under his gaze. He winks at me as he passes and I can only force a smile. How could I not know?

The girl smiles at me too, then wraps her arm around Liam’s, nudging him with her hip. Something passes over Liam’s face. There’s an ache in his eyes, one I’ve never seen before. All too quickly, he turns away from the girl, his hand dropping hers. He can’t bring himself to look at her.

Why didn’t he tell me?

When they leave, I search for Stella and find her dancing on the floor. She is a limber swan tonight, her movements fluid and graceful. The plume of her dress takes wing, soaring and fluttering around her as she twirls. From the beaming smile on her face, its clear there’s no other place she’d rather be than here. She’s the entertainment and she knows it. Partygoers clustered around the dance floor marvel at her. It may be my imagination, but Nolan seems to be watching and she winks at him before allowing someone to dip her so close to the floor that her hair grazes the glass. Claps follow her show, but when the crowd disperses the stewardess scolds her sharply. Stella couldn’t be happier.

I tug on the hem of my dress and smooth the wrinkles from the skirt. Watching her, the tray felt lighter, but now it presses onto my shoulder. 

“Killjoy,” Stella mutters when strolls over. “Can’t she see I’m only keeping them amused?” She flicks her hair out of her face and readjusts her necklace.

“Did you know she was a substitute?” I ask Stella. We pretend to collect more food from the buffet table.

Stella skims the room and locks eyes on Piper. “Oh. Redhead. What about her?” she says. “My feet are killing me.”

“Why didn’t Liam tell me?” I ask.

“Because you’re not supposed to know,” she says with a shrug. “And if you do know you’re supposed to act like you don’t. It happens all the time. Someone breaks the Law and they just get replaced.”

If there’s one thing Replacements know how to do is pretend like nothing’s happened. We’re supposed to put on a mask of ignorance and bliss, but inside we know something’s wrong.

“Where do they get the substitutes?”

Stella sighs. “From the Taking Quarter, I guess.”

“And they can’t even remember who they were? Just like that?”

“What’d you think brain chips were for? It’s the Way. Otherwise, how could we ever have the ideal family if every dad and mom and son and daughter broke the Law? Ugh, I sound like Stronghold.” She fixes me with a look. “You’re not even supposed to speak to Liam anyway. He’s in a higher class than us.”

“He talked to me first,” I tell her. “Remember that day they assigned me as his housemaid?”

“You shouldn’t say that too loudly. Any other domestic but me would get jealous.” Stella looks around the room again and sighs dreamily. “But I only have eyes for Nolan.”

I roll my eyes. Who doesn’t have eyes for Nolan? He’s eighteen, the same age as Stella, and unreasonably handsome. At seventeen, I’m younger than them both.

A voice booms before us and Stella and I both turn. An official stands at the head, a cluster of soldiers behind him. Like Liam, his eyes are pale and his jaw is full, but he is much older, the grays already sprouting in his head. William Stronghold.

“Welcome,” Liam’s father says. “Welcome everyone to my son’s Induction Ceremony. It is an honor to have you.”

“Looks like he showed up in person,” I say to Stella, but when I look to the left, she’s no longer standing beside me.

“He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

It isn’t Stella who says it. The deep voice makes me jump. Liam stands behind me, a small peach-tailed shrimp clutched in his fingers.

I look around, but Stella has vanished. I don’t give Liam the satisfaction of knowing he scared me. “Are you always sneaking up on people?”

“Only you,” he says, fixing me a look. “My father thinks this is one of the biggest accomplishments of his life, you know. Not the day I was born. The day I continue his legacy. Talk about pressure.”

“What’s the worst that can happen. He’s just handing over his estate and that’s if you accept.”

He shoots me a look like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in human history. “If?” he echoes with a snort. “If I don’t accept, he would have my head on a silver platter.”

“I doubt that seriously.”

Liam’s eyes suddenly grow dark. He's no longer laughing. “Then obviously you don’t know my father. And anyway, usually when people say ‘what’s the worst that could happen,’ it never turns out to be a good thing.”

I stifle a laugh and shift the tray on my shoulder. “You know we’re not supposed to be talking.”

“It’s my ceremony. I can do whatever I want.”

We both know this isn’t true, but I don’t argue with him.

“Where’s Piper?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t, but suddenly I’m curious.

Liam doesn’t make a big deal of it. “She’s in the restroom, I think. Powdering up.”

We watch then, the two of us together but apart so that anyone watching would assume we’d never even known each other. William Stronghold’s voice carries throughout the room like a trombone.

“Years ago, there were numerous evils existed in the world,” he addresses the crowd. “War, crime, race, and economic inequality among others. In these ways, we were unequal. For years, humanity dreamed up ideas of a perfect society, but could find no remedy. Then the Great War tore us apart and from the ashes, we rose together. Now we live in a world that has far exceeded even our greatest dreams. Truly, we have created the ideal society built on sacrifice.”

Claps resonate off the walls. Liam tosses the shrimp in the air, eats it, and claps his hands together mockingly. His father continues his speech, but I don’t get to hear it. A socialite flags me over, whistling.

Liam gives me a knowing sigh. “Better go see what he wants.”

“And you better prepare for your acceptance speech.”

Liam smirks. “Touché.”

I make my way through the crowd, balancing a tray on my shoulder and trying not to draw attention to myself. No one’s watching me anyway; they’re all preoccupied by Stronghold’s speech. The man seated at the table whistles. If he does so one more time, I think I’ll snatch his lips off.

“More of this,” he mumbles, motioning to his wineglass. His breath reeks of champagne. I’ve seen him before–a regular socialite and notorious drunkard.

“Of course,” I say, lifting the glass. I start to turn away, but he raises a hand.

“What? No kiss?” he says, laughing. He nudges his friend and both creeps snicker. Then he taps his left cheek twice and leans towards me expectantly.

Is he serious? I swallow my annoyance, blinking away the silvery eye shadow clinging to my lashes.

“Sorry,” I say remembering to smile. “Maybe next time.”

The man’s face twists up, his eyebrows knitting in surprise. He’s obviously not used to rejection. “Kiss me,” he says, and this time he’s not laughing. It’s an order.

The socialite’s bloodshot eyes narrow as he waits for me. No on else at the table watch. They act as if nothing’s happening. I don’t know how to respond, don’t know how to refuse without sounding rude. The stewardess’ words come to me. Humor them. Kiss up. She couldn’t mean literally.

“Is he bothering you?”

I turn to find a boy standing behind me. He’s taller than me by half a foot. He’s smiling, but I can tell from the tone of voice that he’s not happy. Not even close. Untrimmed hair the color of bread crumbs trickles into his eyes like a wild shrub and brushes the back of his neck. He doesn’t look like a Replacement. New money, if anything, but how is that possible? People leave the Quarter all the time–but no one ever comes in.

“Who’re you?” The man sitting at the table frowns, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

The boy frowns at him like he’s offended him. “Does it matter?”

“Give me a name or I’ll call the authorities.”

“I think someone’s had too much to drink,” the boy says coolly, but I can see him flinch. So he’s afraid of the authorities.

“If you don’t mind, I was trying to get a new glass of champagne,” the man spits. “This fine girl was tending to me.”

“Looks like you were trying to get more than that,” the boy says.

With a look of outrage, the man sucks in a gasp. The kid is defending me like he knows me, like he cares. But why would he? I don’t know whether to be grateful or wary. Naturally, I choose to be wary.

“She doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, now does she?” the man says. “Just playful teasing is all.”

His gaze has shifted to me, but I can only stare blankly. The stewardess’ words run through my mind: Don’t draw attention to yourself. Great. I’ve broken the first rule and the night’s only just started.

“Next time, go tease someone else,” the strange boy says.

The man mouth cracks open in outrage, but before he can say a word, the boy slips his arm around mine and leads me away.

“You okay?” he asks me when we’re out of earshot.

“Better now,” I say. “I’ve never seen you around.”

“I don’t get out much,” he says, releasing me.

He must be around twenty years old. A trace of fuzz hugs his chin. His face is sunburned, his skin a russet brown that comes only from days in the blistering sun. Muscles poke from his shirt like they’re trying to tear through. He is familiar, though I don’t know why. I’ve never laid eyes on him before. Or at least, I think I haven’t. He doesn’t look like an official’s kid. He must be a polo or lacrosse player. An athlete lining sports magazines.

“You’re new here...aren’t you?”

“Look, I don’t have much time to chat,” he says. “I’d stay away from the dance floor if I was you.”

“But-”

“Just do it, alright?” He’s serious, his eyes stone cold.

Who does this guy this he is? “And why should I listen to you?” I say.

The boy sighs and a smirk tugs at his lips. He’s staring at me for way too long, his eyes searching my face, but not in the way you’d expect. I feel like a child and he’s a dad, but he’s much too young for that. Stepping forward, he cups my hand in his.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” he says. “You never did listen.”

It’s then that I remember where I’ve seen him before. He is the boy in my dreams–in my nightmares. He’s the one telling me to do something, to fight.

Before I can say anything, he’s gone, like the breath of a dying flame. I call for him. He weaves through the crowd, his shaggy hair bobbing above the swarm then vanishing. For a second, I imagine I’ve daydreamed the entire thing. That would’ve been easier. It’s too bad I didn’t.

I feel the rumple of something in my hands. It’s a note. He must’ve slid it into my palm when he took my hand. Glancing around, I sink deeper into the corner of the room where no one can see me. Fingers trembling, I unfold the paper. The words are smudged. They’re legible, but barely.

Never forget, Scar. We are coal.

NINE

I’m tucking the note in my chest when the stewardess catches me.

“Are you lost?” she snaps. She looks like a witch in the light. “Tables need waiting.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. I dash off to work, but I can’t think clearly. That boy...I dreamed of him before. How do I even know him? Moments pass before a headache takes over, bashing my skull into a pulp. Stumbling sideways, I collide with a waitress. She whips around to scold me, but her eyes furrow in worry.

“You okay?” she asks me.

I try to nod, but that only makes the pain worse. I need to find Stella, but she is nowhere in the crowd. The waitress asks me again if I’m okay again. I barely hear her.

Stella must be by the buffet table. I don’t have time to find her. I need fresh air. Now.

Bodies press in around me, a maze of sharp elbows and stiff backs. Sweat slithers into my nose, but it may be own. I rush to the double doors and throw them open. The tray of food I’m holding clatters on the cement. With shaky hands, I grip the icy railing, sucking in deep mouthfuls of frosty air. The salt from the nearby sea stings my eyes, calming me.

“Relax,” I whisper to myself. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” Music and laughter drown out my whispers.

You can do it, Scar. You can fight this.

There’s a voice in my head, his voice. The words are forceful and insistent. I’ve heard it once before, but I always assumed it was a dream. The voice only makes my headache worse. I grip my temples in my hands and squeeze to drive away the pain. It stays.

When I open my eyes, I can see his face in front of me, but it’s not really there. The instant I reach out to touch the floating head, his image dies away like a hologram, his eyes leaving last. My stomach convulses, but nothing comes up. I feel drunk, but I haven’t had a drop of wine.

What’s happening to me?

Voices snap me back to reality. There are two of them. Whispers and giggles cling to the air. Someone else is outside. Without thinking, I stagger forward to investigate the sound. I want to make sure that I’m not imagining them. My legs feel like rubber under me and my heels scrape against the cement. I press myself against winding balcony and listen. This time the voices aren’t in my head–they are real.

“I’m the substitute, the standby, the wannabe actor who takes the real actor’s place when he takes the phrase ‘break a leg’ literally.” It is a boy’s voice, deep, but young too.

“You’re Nolan. And you’re important, okay?” The second voice is a girl’s. It sounds sweet and familiar, though I can’t place it.

“Maybe to you.”

“Yes,” the girl says. “To me.”

I lean forward around the corner, squinting to catch a glimpse of the scene. Nolan lurks in the shadows, leaning back against the balcony’s railing. A girl stands before him. Nolan fingers her hair which catches in the breeze. She is shorter than him and shaped like an hourglass.

I know that shape, I think. Then I see her. I choke on my own breath and stumble backward.

“Scarlett?” Stella hisses in the dark. “Is that you?”

I don’t want her to see me, but it’s already too late. Nolan eyes me in annoyance. I ruined his fun. Nostrils flaring, Stella wrenches away from him and stomps after me. Her gaze burrows into me, acusing.

“Were you spying on us?”

Nolan groans from behind her. “You can’t be serious. How did a domestic find us? Wait-” His eyes narrow. “Aren’t you that server Liam’s always talking to?”

My cheeks burn and I look from him to Stella. Betrayed. That’s what I feel like.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to speak to others in a higher class than us,” I say, coldly.

Stella opens her mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. I whip around to leave, but a hand clamps onto my shoulder and yanks me around. Stella’s face hovers inches from mine. This close, I can see the spotches of acne her makeup couldn’t conceal. Times like these, I’m reminded that she’s older than me.

“You can’t say anything,” she snaps. “This is between me and you, understood?”

“I’d hate to be a third wheel,” I say.

“You don’t get it. Nolan and I are in love.”

I laugh and slap her hand off my shoulder. Yeah right.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand anyway,” Stella crows. “When’s the last time you’ve had a guy? Like never, right?”

I’m about to come up with a snarky comeback when a sound cuts me off. A cry spills from the throat of someone in the distance. We look up, Nolan and Stella and I, confused. A bellow follows. Nolan is the first to react. He shoves past us, throwing himself at the double doors.

“Father?” he gasps. Then louder, “Father!”

With a terrified glance, Stella and I race after him. We burst into the ballroom again. It is a picture of chaos. Partygoers head for the doors. Pounding feet and shrieks stab at the air. Nolan plows into the crowd, ignoring Stella’s cries.

“What’s happening?” I shout.

Stella searches the crowd. “I don’t know!” Her eyes lock onto Nolan and she begins to run.

Breathlessly, I chase after, pushing against the crowd. Twice, I’m shoved out of the way. That’s when I see them. There are five, clad in black with skintight masks on their faces. Rifles point into the crowd. They are the soldiers, only they’re not working for the Regime. They must be traitors. Rebels.

A man lies in a pool of blood in the middle of the dance floor. It is Stronghold. Nolan rushes for him, but Liam is nowhere to be seen. I hear the stranger’s words: I’d stay away from the dance floor if I was you.

“Nolan!” Stella cries. She starts forward onto the glass and I try to grab her, but she shoulders me off. “Just stay out of my way!” she spits.

One of the rebels spots me. He tips the barrel of the gun at my forehead.  I don’t know what to do. Everyone is fleeing, but I stand still, frozen. A boy in Replacement clothing thrusts his arms in front of the gun and jostles the rebel out of the way.

“You idiot!” he yells. “That’s my sister.”

But I’ve never seen him before. Then I realize that this is wrong. I have seen him before.

The first rebel, the one with the gun stares at me with eyes wide. Recognition dances in his eyes. “Scar?” he gasps.

“Stick to the plan,” the Replacement boy says. He’s the one from before, the one that slipped me the note. “Where’s Liam?”

“I don’t know. His brother’s here, though.” The soldier motions to Nolan who is still hunched over his dead father.

“His brother’s useless,” the kid says. “No unnecessary blood shed. Got it?”

He takes the rebel’s gun and looks at me one more time. It’s a fleeting glance, but there’s so much there that I don’t understand. Then he raises the rifle high above his head like he’s done this a million times before and pierces it into the edge of the dance floor with so much force, I can see the agony on his face.

The glass shatters, rippling like an ocean swell. In pieces, the dance floor collapses, plummeting down. Nolan’s eyes follow the path of the broken glass. In desperation, he scuttles backward  and scrambles to the edge of the dance floor, leaving Stella behind. On hands and knees, Stella scrambles after him. Only Nolan’s father remains.

Down, down, the shattered glass plummets until the entire floor has imploded, dragging William Stronghold’s body down with it into the floor’s open mouth.

Nolan gapes after it in horror. A moan escapes him. “FATHER!” he cries. There is blood on his hands, on his shirt. In his eyes.

I look back at the boy in Replacement clothes. He is watching the falling shards glass, his expression unreadable. My ears are ringing now. A word escapes me before I can stop myself. It’s an unconscious thought, a foreign name on my tongue.

“Puck?” I breathe.

Then a crack of throbbing pain shoots through my skull. Darkness fills my eyes and consumes me. I can’t breathe, can’t see. I picture his face again. Remember, he tells me. Scar, you have to remember. You can do it, Scar! You can fight this. You have to!

But I don’t remember. I can’t.