Rebel (Legend, #4)(86)

They don’t know I’m alive. If I reveal myself to them, how will they react? What will the Republic do to them if they somehow make my family talk?

Another stab of pain lances its way up my side, and a soft groan escapes me. I lean my head back against the chimney and close my eyes. I can’t stay like this. If I do, I’ll die. In the morning, someone will find my lifeless body up on the roof, and a car will come to drag me away to some unmarked mass grave.

The side door to our home swings open, and a rectangle of golden light momentarily beams across the alley. John emerges with a bag of trash. The screen door claps shut behind him as he heads down the block to toss the bag into one of the bins.

I hesitate again, blinking sweat out of my eyes. My world is spinning now, my head dizzy from the loss of blood. Still, I find myself holding back.

Another wave of nausea hits me. I grit my teeth and swear. Then I finally begin making my way painstakingly down the side of the building. My hands cling desperately to the gutter running along the wall. The cold, slick metal is tricky, and I nearly fall several times.

At last, I reach the ground and collapse with a grunt. I pull myself up laboriously, then stagger toward my house right as John starts making his way back to the door. He steps inside, turning away from me.

I open my mouth to call out for him, but I’m too weak. As the screen shuts behind him and he locks the inside door, I crawl up to the steps. One, two, three. I reach the closed door, gather the last of my strength, and knock.

For a moment, I don’t think the sound is strong enough to be heard. I wait a few seconds, listening for my brother, and then try knocking again. Still nothing.

I sink against the steps and close my eyes, savoring the cold of the stone. They might find me dead here in the morning. My mother will scream. John will furrow his brows in grief. And Eden …

Then the door suddenly opens a crack. I look up and find myself staring into the blue eyes of my older brother.

He doesn’t recognize me, at least not at first. His mouth curves down into a frown I’m all too familiar with, and for an instant, I feel like I never left home at all. I crack a feeble smile at him.

“It’s me,” I manage to croak out. My hands move aside from my wound to show him the blood soaking my shirt. “Could use some help, John.”

That’s when the realization hits him. He knows my voice, remembers the way I screamed for him when my train pulled away after I failed my Trials. His face drains of color, and his eyes widen in shock.

“Daniel?” he whispers.

But I’m too weak to answer now. I slump against the steps, trying hard to focus on them. I feel arms wrap around me and scoop me up. I shiver in the cold. Then I’m lying on a dining table lit by a flickering light, and staring up into the bewildered face of my brother.

“It’s impossible,” he’s saying over and over again. He runs a hand through his hair even as he takes a knife and cuts my shirt open. “I saw them take you away—they told us you were—you were—”

“Don’t tell Mom,” I whisper. “Don’t tell Eden.” A hoarse cry escapes from my lips as he wraps something tightly around my wounded waist. “I had no choice but to come to you. But if they know I’m here, they’ll kill all of you.”

John pauses in his work for a moment. He leans his head down toward me and rests it against my shoulder. It takes me a moment, through my delirium, to realize that he’s crying. I try to put my arm around his shoulders, tell him I’ll be all right. But even here, something cuts through my dream.

This isn’t real. Because John is dead.

I try to focus on the ceiling. It twists and morphs, and then somehow I turn into the one standing by the dining table. John isn’t here anymore—I’ve replaced him. And the figure on the table isn’t me, but Eden, a child version of him, chubby-cheeked and wide-eyed, in shock as blood seeps from his chest.

I frantically try to stanch my little brother’s bleeding, but it’s no use.

“Eden?” I call his name. “Eden. Look at me.” My hands are covered with scarlet. No matter how tightly I bandage his injury, the blood continues to pour. What has he done? He’s gone to save others—as always. But now he’s dying, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I look up and scream for help.

There’s no one here, though. It’s just the two of us.



* * *



I jolt awake with a shudder. There are smooth hands on my face, but it takes me a moment to realize that they belong to June. In the darkness, I can barely make out her eyes. She’s looking at me in concern.

“Hey, hey,” she says gently. “You’re okay. You’re right here.”

My body’s drenched in sweat and trembling all over. Apparently, I collapsed on the couch and drifted off to sleep while waiting for Eden’s message to come in, for him to tell us that he’s securely in Hann’s circle. The image of young Eden bleeding to death on the table is still fresh in my mind. I close my eyes in an attempt to blink it away, but it lingers like a stain against my eyes.

“I’m okay,” I finally whisper, nodding at June. “Just a nightmare. It’s fine.”

From her expression, I can tell June knows instinctively that my nightmare must have been about Eden. But she doesn’t press it. Instead, she nods and looks away toward the window. The metal of her epaulettes clinks softly.