For the past week Kyra's life had been simple: sleep, eat, train, and repeat. And she liked it. Patterns were familiar to her; they put her mind at ease. There was nothing for her to worry about, no decisions to make, nothing out of place. When she wasn't busy she could hide in her room with a good book, oblivious to the world, and she took comfort in that - there was no reason for her to be seen by people, no opportunity for them to stare at her bruises. It was a rare moment of solitude.

All of that changed, however, when she found a note slid under her door.

There are a thousand things I should apologise for, but all I can say right now is that I'm sorry - for everything. I know you need answers, and believe me if I could give them to you I would. But for now I can't. It's too risky - something you'll understand one day.

I need to see you, to at least apologise for vomiting on your floor. If you're ready to talk to me, meet me at our usual Saturday morning spot.

Hint: I'll be the guy in the depressingly dark clothing waiting for your insults.

James.

Kyra ran her fingers across the paper, crumpled from all the times it had been folded and unfolded since early that morning. She didn't want to go, didn't want him to lie to her again, but part of her wanted to see him, to see if his bruises had healed faster than her own. All she had left from the incident on the train were faint yellow patches, and a small scar on her chin from the scrape.

"So stupid," she murmured, gripping the bridge rail as she came to a stop. Whether she was talking about herself or James, she wasn't sure, but either way her stomach was filled with dread. She hadn't seen him since he'd turned up in her room covered in injuries, driven delirious by a concussion. Whether James remembered it or not, they had the biggest fight of their relationship that night, and Kyra still recalled every word of it. Something had happened to her that night. It was like all her stored rage from the past eighteen years came out in a flood and drowned everyone near, including herself. And yet, it was the realest she'd ever felt.

Despite the strong easterly breeze, the river below was smooth, not a single wave breaking the surface as it moved steadily towards the other end of the city. It was shallow, but standing against the railing, staring down into its depths, Kyra could see neither an edge nor a bottom, a thought which made her uncomfortable. A face stared back up at her, familiar and yet foreign because of the faint yellow patches against her skin – one of the only things left over from last week's ordeal. The water seemed to make the faded bruises on her face stand out even more, despite the measures she'd taken to cover them up.

As she shook her head, hair fell into her eyes, which she impatiently swatted back. The air was full of laughter and chatter as Kyra continued over the bridge, pulling her coat closer to her chest, inhaling the scent of fresh river water - unlike the Control Centre or her house, it didn't smell of chemicals, a scent that she growing far too used to. Though the sun had not yet fully risen, each of the ten bridges scaling the river were full of people; despite her preference of being alone, people watching intrigued her, and filled her with the kind of inspiration only new experiences could. Kyra longed to be one of the Citizens passing her, heading back towards her house - that would be better than confronting James.

Head bent against the wind, she stepped onto the concrete boardwalk, following the familiar path without thinking. The buildings that lined the river were all rather small, painted in bland colours, their names fancy and the writing used on their walls ornate. Behind that the buildings slowly grew taller; they resembled a haphazard set of bleachers in the way they rose in lines.

She crossed to a little black and white shop, with the phrase 'raison d'etre' written across the top. Nestled in between two taller buildings, it was mainly ignored by the citizens, but that only made the place more appealing; the less people the better, after all. With one hand raised to grab the handle and the other clenched into a fist, she froze, unsure of whether she was making the right call. Before she could change her mind, the door swung forward, pulling her with it. She stumbled inside, her shoes wet with dew sliding on the wooden floors, causing her to bang shoulders with someone and reach out to steady herself on their arm.

"Oh sorry, I-" she broke off, staring into the eyes of the person who opened the door. A swirling mass of blue and grey, one so familiar it relaxed her shoulders and lifted the weight on her chest in one glance. "James."

His face was frozen in disbelief. "Kyra."

She glanced at him up and down. "Are you leaving?"

"No." As quickly as he let his guard down he recovered, his lips turning up into a smile. The pendant light above his head cast a warm glow over the room, and threw the yellow-green patches on his face into focus. "You came."

"Of course." She closed the door and looked up at him through her lashes. "But not for you. The coffee was calling to me."

James breathed a laugh. "Well, there's no time to waste then." He smiled a tight-lipped smile and turned his back on her, heading for their usual table. To the untrained eye he appeared happy, if not a little under the weather, but Kyra's picked up on the tightening of his jaw and the stiffness to his spine. There was something bothering him. It seemed like there was always something wrong lately.

She sat down at their usual table nestled in between the window and the far wall; it was simple and black with ornately carved chairs scattered around it. From that spot the whole café and the street outside were visible, making it the perfect spot for people watching while she wrote. The shop was as busy as Kyra had ever seen it. People sat sipping drinks and chatting animatedly with their friends, while others read books and sat all alone, more comfortable in the company of whatever was on the pages in front of them. A waitress weaved between the tables, delivering mugs of steaming liquid and collecting unused plates.

All the while the silence at their table was deafening; James stared at his hands, biting his lip, while Kyra stared at him, taking note of the faded bruise across his jaw.

"How may I help you, Citizens?" A rectangular metal frame slid out of the tabletop as a robotic voice sounded from a small speaker at its top. The empty space inside of it suddenly glowed blue as a list of options appeared one by one.

"I'll have a coffee, please. Do you want anything?"

James shook his head. "No. I already had something earlier, but thanks."

Kyra smiled politely and turned back to the machine, wondering how long he'd been waiting for her before she'd arrived. "That is all."

"Scan your bracelet under the red light." Kyra did as it said. A piece of paper slid out of the top of the machine displaying her caffeine allowance for the day. "Thank you, Citizen. Enjoy your hot beverage."

The silence returned once again. While she waited for him to speak she looked around the room. A staircase near the door led to a second floor; built into its side was a bookshelf full of old novels and new ones alike, organised in alphabetical order. The off-white walls were decorated with pictures of their previous presidents and city slogans, broken up only by a polished mahogany countertop built into the far wall, allowing a snippet of the kitchen to be seen. The café always seemed to change - not in a big way, but enough to intrigue her. It was so different to the rest of the city, organised but not as sleek or perfected.

The waitress placed a mug in front of Kyra, who thanked her and took a small sip. Eyes closing involuntarily, she wrapped her hands around the mug and pulled it close to her chest, savouring the warmth that filled her chest.

"How are you?"

Kyra's eyes widened as she hurried to reply, spilling her drink in a hurry to place it down. "Oh, good, yeah. Very busy with work. What about you?"

"I've had better weeks." He looked up, absentmindedly touching his bruised jaw. The burn on his wrist was faded to a light red patch of new skin. "It's good though. I started my training."

"Oh really? How's that going?"

"Good. Great actually." He half smiled, leaning forward across the table. It was rare to see him smile like that; half ecstatic and half surprised. "I didn't think I would like it, having to learn all the laws and rules. But we haven't even opened a book yet. It's all about defence and attack, and I'm actually good at it."

Kyra laughed and ran her finger around the edge of her mug. "The one time you don't think you're the best at everything is the one time you really are. Ironic."

The pair laughed, and for a moment it seemed like nothing had changed. They were just two friends cracking jokes, nothing more, nothing less.

"That's really great, James. I'm glad you enjoy it."

"Me too. It makes everything else seem a bit less... stressful. For once my parents are supportive rather than passive aggressive. That in itself is a miracle." He laughed again and shook his head, staring down at his hands.

She reached forward and pulled one of his hands into both of hers. "I'm sorry, about the other night. I don't know how much you remember but I was in a bad place. Ever since the Vinctures I've felt... I'm not sure, it's hard to explain. Tormented, I guess."

"I've felt like it too, Kyra. The things I did in there-" he shook his head, squeezing her hand tighter "-they felt more real than this conversation. I didn't know I was capable of what I did."

"Neither did I. That and my training and fighting with you - it's been really hard, and I-"

James silenced her by running a finger across her wrist; it came away stained with tan powder - the makeup she'd used to cover her bruises didn't work well enough it seems. He reached forward and ran a finger under her eye, along her cheekbone, ending at the healing scar on her chin. "What happened?"

She leaned back in her seat and shrugged. "I had an accident."

His eyes widened. "An accident? Did you fall on someone's fist?"

"We've both been keeping things from each other lately James."

"That's a problem we might not be able to fix."

"It was never a problem for us before, not until now. I think we need to be honest."

He sighed. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the truth is treason in a world of lies?"

Something tugged at her memory as the sentence bounced around her mind. There it was again. It was so familiar. The origin was on the tip of her tongue, so close and yet so far.

A buzzing sound stopped her from speaking. James looked around, before patting his pockets; he muttered something crass and pulled out a handsome silver watch. He ran a hand through his hair and stowed it back in his coat, fuming.

"Sorry, I have to go. The Enforcer in charge of training us likes scheduling random classes; she says it's to test us, keep us agile, but I think she just likes seeing us sweat."

"Oh, well I'll walk you out," Kyra offered, getting to her feet.

"Don't worry about it, really." He smiled a grim smile and ducked his head, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. As his lips grazed one of her bruises she suppressed a grimace, but in an instant his face changed, and she knew she didn't hide it well enough. "I agree with you, by the way. We need to tell the truth. We'll talk later, okay?"

Kyra nodded and dropped into her seat huffing, thinking that of all the ways it could have gone, this was one of the more positive ones. They talked, they laughed, they were polite. He may have seen her bruises, but that was a small issue; he was bound to find out anyway. That wasn't the thing on her mind though. She ran a finger around the edge of her mug, thinking about the way his lips had felt against her skin, soft and yet sure all at once. Maybe they could recover after all.

"Jackson!"

Kyra looked up. James was hovering in the doorway, one hand on the handle. His face was torn between a smile and a frown; he settled for a lopsided smile.

"Sorry for vomiting in your room."

A laugh escaped from her parted lips as he slipped outside and jogged past the window, his face tucked into his coat to shield it against the harsh wind. At least he kept his promise.

She drained her mug and headed for the door. It opened with a tinkle of bells and a blast of cold air that made her want to retreat into the warmth; it was the beginning of winter, and already she was freezing. While she was undecided on most issues at that point, one thing she knew for sure was that it was going to be a cold year. Pulling her coat tighter around her, she stepped into the icy air, an idea for a new short story blooming in her mind.

A whimper broke her out of her reverie. She looked up in time to see a bundle of blonde hair, familiar blue eyes and a flash of crimson rush past her. It was a girl, with long golden hair and a thin body; much like James' it was made for running, darting from place to place without making a peep.

"Ashley?" The name came out in a whisper as Kyra stared after the girl. Surely not, she thought. James' sister had been missing for weeks, something Kyra knew for a fact; if she'd made a reappearance she would have heard about it. But there was something so familiar about the girl that Kyra couldn't put her finger on.

All thoughts of going home forgotten, Kyra followed the girl as she turned down a nearby alleyway, easily keeping up with her quick pace; Kyra may not have been the most sure-footed person, but her size made it easy to be agile. The business sector of the city was made up of many horizontal streets, each lined with towers that blended into the skyline. Alleys connected the streets like a labyrinth.

With every corner the surrounding buildings got shabbier, alerting Kyra that they were nearing the factory sector of the city. And still the girl did not stop. Lungs screaming, thighs aching, all Kyra wanted to do was sit down in the alleyway and let the cool air settle her heart rate, but she couldn't.

She sprung around a corner and staggered to a halt. The girl was standing in its centre, one hand against the wall and the other gripping her side; it was then that Kyra saw the blood coating her hands, like crimson gloves against her pale skin. Her hair was matted as she shoved it backwards and let out a ragged breathe.

"Are, are you alright?" At Kyra's call the girl whipped around, stumbling into a bin as she scurried backwards. "Wait-"

She was gone. Why would she run away from help? Frowning, Kyra took after her. When she reached the next corner the girl was out of sight.

"Damn it." Kyra rubbed her temple and leaned against a crumbling brick building, taking in deep gulps of air.

A scream pierced the air. Blood drained from Kyra's face as she tore forward. What she would do when she got there was a mystery, but all she knew was that she had to do something. It was then that she heard it; the faint pitter patter of footsteps, moving slow, as though afraid they would startle her.
She whipped around, gulping as she came face to face with a figure dressed all in black. Face hidden in shadows, all that could be seen was a swish of black hair across pale skin and a pair of dark green eyes. She stumbled backwards with a gasp – straight into a waiting set of arms.

The feel of a stranger's skin against hers filled her chest with ice, a mixture of anger and dread that was enough to get her heart pumping. She would not get hurt. Not again. Her mind raced as it ran over the tactics the Controllers had taught her since the incident on the train. Using her size to her advantage, she slipped out of the person's grip and directed a shot towards their ribcage. The girl groaned and threw her fists forward. Kyra ducked under the assault the way Ethan had shown her and threw one of her own; it missed its mark.

Eyes narrowed, the blonde girl raised a hand to her head and pulled, exposing a mane of long black hair beneath the wig. Whoever the girl was, it definitely wasn't Ashley. She smirked and started forward. "When the wig comes off, the lion gets to play."

"Stop."

Hands grabbed Kyra from behind, but they were gentle, and she somehow knew the words weren't directed at her. The boy's voice was full of authority as he addressed his partner.

The girl pouted. "I never get to have any fun anymore."

A sigh escaped the boy's lips. "You're only mad because she got in a few good punches, Bell. The boss said we couldn't hurt her, not that she wouldn't put up a fight."

"But-"

"No. You aren't going to hurt her. Plus, you know who would kill us if we did."

Who? Kyra wondered. She struggled against the man's tight grip.

The girl, Bell, unclenched her fists with an eye roll. "Fine."

With one quick jerk the boy could have broken both her arms, but instead he held her wrists as the girl approached with a rag in her hand. The smell stung Kyra's nostrils even at a distance.

"Why are you doing this?" Her words came out like a plea as tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Fear twisted Kyra's stomach in knots as the foul taste of the cloth hit her tongue. She tried to struggle but her limbs were weak and her brain empty of plans. The last thing she felt before the darkness consumed was a hand, steady and warm, pulling the cloth away from her lips.

— author's note —

In celebration of me being an official adult (whoop whoop) here's an extra chapter!

Wow, Kyra's been through a lot lately. What are your thoughts so far about what's been happening? I'd love some reassurance that you're still enjoying the plot, if that's alright.

Anyway, thank you guys so much! As always I'm so grateful for your feedback and support, it means the world to me that people are enjoying my work. x

- Brianna