So here I am.
Being followed.
Warner has been my constant guide these last couple of weeks. He’s been teaching me every day about all the many things his dad did and all the things he, himself, is responsible for. There are an infinite number of things Warner needs to do every day just to run this sector—never mind the bizarre (and seemingly endless) list of things I need to do to lead an entire continent.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that, sometimes, it all feels impossible.
I had one day, just one day to exhale and enjoy the relief of overthrowing Anderson and reclaiming Sector 45. One day to sleep, one day to smile, one day to indulge in the luxury of imagining a better world.
It was at the end of Day 2 that I discovered a nervous-looking Delalieu standing behind my door.
He seemed frantic.
“Madam Supreme,” he’d said, a crazy smile half hung on his face. “I imagine you must be very overwhelmed lately. So much to do.” He looked down. Wrung his hands. “But I fear—that is—I think—”
“What is it?” I’d said to him. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, madam—I haven’t wanted to bother you—you’ve been through so much and you’ve needed time to adjust—”
He looked at the wall.
I waited.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It’s just that it’s been nearly thirty-six hours since you’ve taken control of the continent and you haven’t been to visit your quarters once,” he said in a rush. “And you’ve already received so much mail that I don’t know where to put it anymo—”
“What?”
He froze. Finally met my eyes.
“What do you mean, my quarters? I have quarters?”
Delalieu blinked, dumbfounded. “Of course you do, madam. The supreme commander has his or her own quarters in every sector on the continent. We have an entire wing here dedicated to your offices. It’s where the late supreme commander Anderson used to stay whenever he visited us on base. And as everyone around the world knows that you’ve made Sector 45 your permanent residence, this is where they’ve sent all your mail, both physical and digital. It’s where your intelligence briefings will be delivered every morning. It’s where other sector leaders have been sending their daily reports—”
“You’re not serious,” I said, stunned.
“Very serious, madam.” He looked desperate. “And I worry about the message you might be sending by ignoring all correspondence at this early stage.” He looked away. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to overstep. I just—I know you’d like to make an effort to strengthen your international relationships—but I worry about the consequences you might face for breaking your many continental accords—”
“No, no, of course. Thank you, Delalieu,” I said, head spinning. “Thank you for letting me know. I’m—I’m very grateful to you for intervening. I had no idea”—I clapped a hand to my forehead—“but maybe tomorrow morning?” I said. “Tomorrow morning you could meet me after my morning walk? Show me where these quarters are located?”
“Of course,” he said with a slight bow. “It would be my pleasure, Madam Supreme.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Certainly, madam.” He looked so relieved. “Have a pleasant evening.”
I stumbled then as I said good-bye to him, tripping over my feet in a daze.
Not much has changed.
My shoes scuff on the concrete, my feet knocking into each other as I startle myself back into the present. I take a more certain step forward, this time bracing myself against another sudden, biting gust. Kenji shoots me a look of concern. I look, but don’t really see him. I’m looking beyond him now, eyes narrowed at nothing in particular. My mind continues on its course, whirring in time with the wind.
“You okay, kid?”
I look up, squinting sideways at Kenji. “I’m okay, yeah.”
“Convincing.”
I manage to smile and frown at the same time.
“So,” Kenji says, exhaling the word. “What’d Castle want to talk to you about?”
I turn away, irritated in an instant. “I don’t know. Castle is being weird.”
That gets Kenji’s attention. Castle is like a father to him—and I’m pretty sure if he had to choose, Kenji would choose Castle over me—so it’s clear where his loyalties lie when he says, “What do you mean? How is Castle being weird? He seemed fine this morning.”
I shrug. “He just seems really paranoid all of a sudden. And he said some things about Warner that just—” I cut myself off. Shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Kenji stops walking. “Wait, what things did he say about Warner?”
I shrug again, still irritated. “He thinks Warner is hiding stuff from me. Like, not hiding stuff from me, exactly—but that there’s a lot I don’t know about him? So I was like, ‘If you know so much about Warner, why don’t you tell me what I need to know about him?’ and Castle was like, ‘No, blah blah, Mr Warner should tell you himself, blah blah.’” I roll my eyes. “Basically he was telling me it’s weird that I don’t know that much about Warner’s past. But that’s not even true,” I say, looking at Kenji now. “I know a bunch about Warner’s past.”
“Like?”
“Like, I don’t know—I know all that stuff about his mom.”
Kenji laughs. “You don’t know shit about his mom.”
“Sure I do.”
“Whatever, J. You don’t even know that lady’s name.”
At this, I falter. I search my mind for the information, certain he must’ve mentioned it—
and come up short.
I glance at Kenji, feeling small.
“Her name was Leila,” he says. “Leila Warner. And I only know this because Castle does his research. We had files on all persons of interest back at Omega Point. Never knew she had powers that made her sick, though,” he says, looking thoughtful. “Anderson did a good job keeping that quiet.”
“Oh,” is all I manage to say.
“So that’s why you thought Castle was being weird?” Kenji says to me. “Because he very correctly pointed out that you know nothing about your boyfriend’s life?”
“Don’t be mean,” I say quietly. “I know some things.”
But the truth is, I don’t know much.
What Castle said to me this morning hit a nerve. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder, all the time, what Warner’s life was like before I met him. In fact, I think often of that day—that awful, awful day—in the pretty blue house on Sycamore, the house where Anderson shot me in the chest.
We were all alone, me and Anderson.
I never told Warner what his father said to me that day, but I’ve never forgotten. Instead, I’ve tried to ignore it, to convince myself that Anderson was playing games with my mind to confuse and immobilize me. But no matter how many times I’ve played back the conversation in my head—trying desperately to break it down and dismiss it—I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that, maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all for show. Maybe Anderson was telling me the truth.