Forged(12)

“That was the plan. But I got attached to the kid and let him stay with me when I found a safe apartment. And he’s come in handy. The Order is inspecting every vessel leaving or arriving in Bone Harbor these days. Something about having a kid and a dog with me when I travel makes the lie that we’re visiting relatives more believable.”

Aiden and September could not look more unrelated—his complexion is nearly as dark as my hair, whereas September is fair—but there’s an undeniable innocence pouring off the boy and his dog. It must be enough to draw eyes away.

“Where’s Jackson?” Aiden asks. He’s finally given up on chasing Rusty and has paused to assess the group. “And Emma?”

Dead. Both Forgeries are dead.

Jackson bent his will to help us escape Burg, only to be murdered at the hands of my own Forged counterpart. Emma betrayed us, although Aiden never knew her true nature. He adored her, just as he did Jackson. What should be a cheerful reunion is shaping up to be anything but.

“Are they coming later?” Aiden asks. “I want to play Rock, Paper, Scissors with Jackson.”

“I’ll play,” I offer.

“Okay. And then Jackson when he gets here.”

I bite my lip. It’s all Aiden needs to know the truth.

“They’re not coming, are they?”

I shake my head.

“Not ever?” A tear trails down his dark cheek.

“No. I’m sorry, Aiden.”

He crumples to the floor and dissolves in tears. “It’s so unfair,” he gasps out. “I hate it and it’s not right and it’s not fair.”

“That’s life, kid,” Bree says, which only makes his tears come faster. She drops to a knee and touches his elbow. “Aiden?” He coils into himself. “Aiden, look at me.” Finally, he glances through teary lashes. “Life is rarely fair,” Bree says. “It’s hard. Really, really hard. Sometimes terribly cruel. But the bad stuff isn’t worthless because it makes us stronger, and you are going to be so strong, Aiden. Understand?”

He blinks a few times, then throws his arms around Bree’s neck. The look on her face is priceless—first shock at the hug, then pleasant surprise as she envelops him in return.

It was what he needed to hear. Not that everything was okay. Not even that everything would be okay, because who can promise that? Bree spoke the hard, honest truth, and somehow, it pulled the world back beneath his feet.

Charlie says something about dinner, and the tension dissipates as we shuffle into the kitchen.





FIVE


AFTER EATING, MOST OF OUR group drifts away from the table. Clipper stumbles off to bed, exhausted, and Blaine and Sammy disappear downstairs after swiping a bottle from Charlie’s liquor cabinet. He dozes on one of the couches, blissfully unaware of their theft. Camped out on the second couch, I’m in the middle of a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with Aiden, but most of my energy is spent listening in on Adam’s conversation.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table with September, discussing the state of Bone Harbor and the number of supporters she’s rallied. Somewhere else in Pine Ridge, Heidi is having a similar discussion with Bleak. I sort of wish it was happening here. I miss the guy. Want to ask him if his outlook on life is still . . . bleak.

From what I pick up, September has been busy in Bone Harbor. She’s assembled a team to forge inspection slips so vessels carrying freshwater can slip in and out of harbor more easily, and she’s also struck up a friendship with the woman who runs the Bone Harbor Harbinger, an underground newspaper aimed at exposing Franconian lies and providing tips and insider info for struggling AmEast citizens. The paper now serves as an additional Rebel recruiting outlet—if read from front to back, taking in only the corner words on each page, locations and times for meetings September holds can be deciphered. But most notably, September is using the paper to combat the lies spread on Franconian signage. The Harbinger prints stories about how I stole a vaccine to ensure the Rebels’ safety last fall. How I freed Burg from Frank’s clutches, eluding an entire squad of Order soldiers in the process. How I fled to AmWest—to people who are not the enemy—and am currently rallying Expats to aid in the East’s fight for justice.

The pieces sport slogans like Lead the way, Gray, and The wanted Expat: a fugitive for freedom. I see Bree’s point—how focusing on my face and name keeps everyone else safer—but I’m not the miraculous, one-man hero these stories paint me as. I’d have been a goner in any of those past situations had it not been for the help of numerous others, and everyone deserves to know that.

As the discussion shifts to technology, it sounds like September’s been spending a lot of time in a basement lab similar to the one Sylvia had beneath her Expat safe house. September’s been using this place to communicate not only with Ryder, but with fellow supporters in the domed cities of Haven, which I’ve heard of, and Lode, which I have not.

“We lost touch with Crevice Valley around the same time you did,” she says to Adam. “We had started sending digital files of the Harbinger to Ryder a few weeks earlier, and he was working to spread those around Taem. I’m guessing one of his crew got caught, because the day before our lines died, the Order ran a search and seizure effort in Bone Harbor looking for the press. They tossed our place good, but didn’t find the trapdoor. Maybe when Frank couldn’t crush the paper at its source, he just retaliated on Crevice Valley? Leveling it would at least cut off the supply of the paper to his city.”