Shadow Me (Shatter Me, #4.5)(16)

“Nah. But don’t worry, it’s an invisible cat.”

Nazeera tries and fails to force back a laugh. She coughs, hard. Haider looks at her, confused, and I watch for the moment he realizes I’ve been screwing with him. And then— He glares at me. “Hemar.”

“Say what?”

“He just called you an ass,” Nazeera explains.

“Wow. Nice.”

“Hatha shlon damaghsiz,” Haider says to his sister. “Let’s go.”

“Okay—wait—that sounded like it might be a compliment.”

“Nope.” Nazeera smiles wider. “He just said you’re an idiot.”

“Cool. Well, I’m glad to be learning all these important words in Arabic.”

Haider shakes his head, outraged. “This was not meant to be a lesson.”

I stare at him for a moment, genuinely baffled. “Your brother has no sense of humor, huh?” I say to Nazeera.

“He’s not good with subtlety,” she says, still smiling at me. “You have to knock him over the head with a joke or he doesn’t get it.”

I place a hand over my heart. “Wow, I’m so sorry. That must be so difficult for you.”

She laughs but quickly bites her lip to kill the sound. And she sounds serious when she says, “You have no idea.”

Haider frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“You see what I mean?” she says.

I laugh, staring into her eyes for just a second too long. Haider shoots me a murderous look.

I take that as my cue to leave.

“All right, yeah,” I say, and take a quick breath. “I better get going. Symposium starts in”—I glance at my watch; my eyes widen—“thirty minutes. Shit.” I look up. “Bye.”

This thing is a scene.

There are around six hundred commanders and regents—officers at the same level as Warner—in the audience, and the place is buzzing. People are still settling in, taking their seats, and Juliette is up at the podium. The group of us are standing behind her, onstage with her, and I’m not going to lie—it feels a little risky. We’re perfect targets for any psycho who might show up with a gun. We’ve taken precautions of course—no one is supposed to be allowed in here with any kind of weapon—but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. But we all agreed that standing united like this would send the strongest message. The girls remained back on base—we decided it would be best for them to stay safe long enough to save us if we get injured—and James and Adam are MIA. Castle said that Adam doesn’t want to participate in anything even remotely hostile anymore. Not unless he has to.

I get it.

In my less charitable moments I might call him a coward, but I get it. I’d opt out, too, if I could. I just don’t feel like I can.

There’s still too much I’m willing to die for.

Anyway. Juliette is pretty much invincible, so as long as she keeps her Energy on, she should be fine. The rest of us are vulnerable—but at the first sign of danger we’re supposed to scatter. We’re too outnumbered to fight; our best chance of survival is to spread out, spread far.

That’s the plan.

That’s the whole goddamn plan.

We hardly even had time to talk about the plan, because everything has been so insane lately, but Castle gave us all a quick pep talk before J took the stage, and that was it. That was all we were going to get. A quick good luck and I hope you don’t die.

I’m definitely nervous.

I shift my weight, feeling suddenly restless, as the crowd goes still. It’s a sea of military faces, the iconic red/green/blue stripes of The Reestablishment emblazoned on every uniform. I know they’re regular people—blood and guts and bones—but they look like machines. And they turn their heads up at the same time, eyes blinking in unison as Juliette begins to speak.

It’s creepy as hell.

We always knew that no one outside of Sector 45 would willingly accept Juliette as their new supreme commander, but it’s chilling to witness in person. They clearly have no respect for Juliette, and as she talks about her love for the people, for the hardworking men and women whose lives were stripped for parts, I can see them strain to contain their anger. There’s a reason so many are still loyal to The Reestablishment—and the proof of it is right here, in this room. These people are paid better. They’re given perks, privileges. I never would’ve believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but once you see the things people are willing to do for an extra bowl of rice, you can’t unsee it. The Reestablishment keeps their higher-ups happy. They don’t have to mingle with the masses. They get to keep their finery and live in real homes on unregulated territory.

These men and women sneering at Juliette as she speaks—they don’t want her version of the world. They don’t want to lose their rank and the privileges that rank affords. Everything she’s saying about the failures of The Reestablishment, about the need to start over and give the people back their homes, their families, their voices— Her words are a threat to their livelihood.

So it’s really no surprise at all to me when the crowd decides they’ve had enough. I feel their restlessness growing more wild as she speaks, and when someone suddenly stands up and screams at her—makes fun of her—I worry this won’t end well. Juliette keeps cool, keeps talking even as more of them jump to their feet and shout. They’re shaking their fists and demanding she be removed from the podium, demanding she be executed for treason, demanding she be imprisoned, at the very least, for speaking against The Reestablishment, but her voice can hardly be heard over the crowd.