Forged(75)

Ryder’s body was found among the trampled in the public square, leaving Elijah to inherit the role of Rebel commander. Already he has teams working to shut down the Forgery production lab at the Compound, and in the coming days he’s set to meet with Vik and high-ranking Order officials to discuss the future of the once-divided country.

“You’ll stay and help with the transition, right?” he asks me. “The people will want to see the fugitive for freedom playing an active role.”

Even before he says please, I know I can’t. There’s a Wall I need to climb, a dusty community I need to revisit. I’ve only delayed this long because I’m waiting for Bree to be well enough to travel. But Elijah looks so hopeful that I strike a compromise. I’ll see to my hometown, and I’ll return.

“No promises on how long I’ll stay, though,” I warn. “I never really pictured myself living somewhere so . . .”

“Free? Liberated? Revolutionary?”

“Big,” I say.

Two days after that, Vik shows up wearing a pair of impressive dress pants and a collared shirt. His hair is parted and swept out of his eyes, and when he winks at me, I suddenly know why the picture in Frank’s office looked so familiar. That woman’s eyes—they are also Vik’s. He has her mouth, too. And Frank’s chin and polished composure.

Adam said it was just a story, but now I have to wonder if Vik purposely discouraged the rumors.

Vik’s the right age—maybe thirty years younger than Frank. He’d have been born roughly a decade after Frank came into power, when the governing methods were only just beginning to grow questionable and the first few generations of the Laicos Project’s Heisted subjects faced operating tables.

“Hey, Vik,” I say as he shakes my hand in vigorous congratulations. “What’s your full name?”

“Viktor Frank LeRoy.”

“LeRoy’s your father’s surname?”

“My mother’s. I’ve never met my father.”

Never met him, I believe, but that doesn’t mean he’s clueless as to who his father is. This always seemed personal to Vik, the fight, the outcome. He lashed out when Frank made contact one too many times, including an attack on Taem’s dome just to prove it could be done. Like a boy trying to show his father that he’s his own man. And his middle name . . .

Vik leaves to find Elijah for what will be days upon days of meetings, and I decide it doesn’t matter. I won’t press this. Vik is his own person, and from what I’ve seen, he’s good.


Bree’s on her feet again. Despite many warnings, she keeps attempting push-ups, only to be greeted by a searing pain in her shoulder that is followed by an immediate scowl. She doesn’t scowl when she apologizes to me though—for doubting me, Harvey, the plan. She speaks with complete sincerity, and I tell her to forget it. It’s behind us. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“I still have to admit I was wrong,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I was, and you deserve to hear that from me. And also because I don’t want you to be able to hold it against me. I’m crafty like that.”

We learn that September and Aiden are on their way east. They fared well despite the fighting that broke out in Bone Harbor on Sunder Day, and while I’m anxious to see them, I’ll be gone by the time they arrive. Bree’s well enough to travel now, and we’re leaving in the morning. All that remains is looping in Emma.

Her response is not what I expect.

“I’m staying here,” she says when I find her exiting Sammy’s room. She has a medical kit in her hands and bandages tucked under one arm. “The hospital’s overflowing, and I can’t afford to step away, not with so many injured. Tell my ma that I love her, and that I’m here whenever she chooses to follow. You are going to tell them to climb, right? That’s why you’re going back?”

Not to tell them to climb, but to tell them the truth, to let them have what so many victims of the Laicos Project never did: a choice. Still, I nod.

“How’s Sammy doing?” I ask.

“Oh, he’s a huge baby. He keeps saying he needs bandages changed, and it hurts, and he swears he’s getting an infection.” She rolls her eyes. “He could have been out of his bed days ago. He had the smallest puncture in his lung from the car crash. So small we didn’t even operate. It’s healing on its own. The only bandage he does have is on his left wrist—a sprain—and it’s certainly not infected.”

“He just likes when you visit him,” I say. “Hence all the complaining.”

“He reminds me of Craw,” she says. “Overly fond of girls, cocky, sarcastic. Good-looking and aware of it.”

“Yeah, but Sammy really does like you. I’ve seen it. You don’t owe him anything, but I still think you should give him a chance.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re looking out for me?”

“Because I am.”


How can she not see that? That I might not be in love with her, but that I still love her, that I’ll always want the best for her. In the same way I never want to see Sammy hurt. In the way I’d have done anything to keep my father or Blaine alive.

“Thank you for everything, Emma. On the roof, in the hospital . . .”