Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(26)

“It’s not my home any longer, and please, forget I said anything.”

Hawthorne moves away from my side. He descends a few stairs into a sunken seating area and lights a fire table in the center. Simulated flames rise up from its core, illuminating his face with a golden glow. I move to the fusion-made heat, stretching my hands out to it.

Hawthorne faces me across the table. “Did Agent Crow hurt you?” The simulated firelight reflects in his eyes. “You were there for days.”

“I only remember the last dozen hours. I don’t know. He tried to, but I wouldn’t let him. It would’ve been worse if you hadn’t—thank you.”

Hawthorne’s jaw tightens as he grits his teeth. “I wouldn’t leave a drone down there with him.” My heart sinks. A part of me was hoping he’d come to help me because it was me down there. “You seemed to be holding your own when we got there.”

“Agent Crow underestimated me. He won’t make that mistake again.”

“No, he won’t,” Hawthorne agrees with a frown. “Men like that don’t stop, Roselle.”

“Maybe, if I’m lucky, a city will fall on him.” I’m so tired that I’m forgetting to be cautious about what I’m saying—or maybe I trust Hawthorne, even though I hardly know him.

“We can hope,” Hawthorne replies. My eyes widen at his treasonous agreement.

Attempting to change the subject, I ask, “Are you okay?” His stare shifts away from the flames to me. “About Agnes. You said good-bye to her. It looked . . . permanent.”

He shrugs. “We had a date night once.”

“That was much more than a date night,” I reply. “That looked like a relationship.”

He scowls at me and gazes around to see if we’re being overheard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he growls. “You know it’s forbidden for us to have relationships—casual encounters only.”

“I would never tell,” I murmur. “Did you two meet in secret?”

“It’s over, Roselle! Whatever we had is finished now. We can’t be seen together, not with Agent Crow’s threats. I won’t risk her further.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer, and I mean it. He acknowledges me with a curt nod.

Clara opens the balcony doors and beckons us inside. “The rations are here. You’d better come in before everything is gone. Honestly, do they not feed you soldiers?”

I cross the balcony and enter the suite. The soldiers have shed their weapons and body armor, resting them against walls and sofas. Hawthorne follows suit and takes off his rifle and chest armor, depositing them in a neat pile in a corner. I thought his armor was the reason for the breadth of his chest, but I was wrong. The armor is thin and lightweight. All of the bulk is Hawthorne’s muscles. My face flushes, and I look away.

A servant has set us a table in the dining area, and a buffet has been laid out on the lavish side table. Large trays display selections of meats and cheeses, bread and pastries, vegetables and fruit. The soldiers load food onto their plates. Hawthorne hands me a porcelain dish and insists that I serve myself before he takes anything. He sits next to me at the long table. Emmitt sits on my other side.

Gilad, Hammon, Hawthorne, and Edgerton attack their food as if they’ve never tasted anything quite as good. I eat at a sedate pace, trying not to gag. It’s not that it’s entirely bad, but the meat is salty, the cheese isn’t very creamy, and the fruit isn’t as fresh as I’m used to. Emmitt pronounces his meal inedible and pushes it away. Gilad looks up from his plate and stabs Emmitt’s steak with his knife, confiscating it.

Emmitt scowls at him. “Must you?” he asks.

Gilad doesn’t answer, just keeps chewing while staring at Emmitt like he’s next to be stabbed. By the end of the meal, I can barely keep my eyes open. After stifling several yawns, I give up trying to be polite. “I wish everyone a good evening,” I say, pushing away from the table and standing. Hawthorne stands, too, but the other soldiers choke on laughter.

Gilad catches his breath for a second. “Good evening to you, too.” I can tell when someone is mocking me, I just don’t know why. Apparently, neither Clara nor Emmitt knows either, because they’re as baffled as I am.

“Don’t be savages,” Hawthorne says with a scowl at his team. “You could all use some manners.”

“What good are manners in a battle?” Gilad asks.

Not waiting to hear the answer, I walk away to the farthest door at the back of the suite, and Hawthorne follows. “Who is Walther Petes?” Hawthorne asks, his voice low enough not to be overheard.

Hesitating, I turn back from the doorway and stare at him blankly. How does he know that name? “I’m sorry, who?”

“Walther Sword—his last name was Petes until his secondborn processing—I don’t know his number.” He has an intense look, as if he sees right through me.

“I don’t know. Why?” I reach for the doorframe. My knees feel weak. Walther is a secret that I need to keep, no matter what.

Hawthorne seems not to notice my weakness. “He commands a unit at the secondborn Base near the border of the Fate of Stars—the Twilight Forest.”

I shrug and lean against the doorframe. “So?”