The Needle's Edge.
Gazda, Erydia.
Morning.

Jax turned pale, all the blood rushing from his face as his grip on Harper tightened. "What—Where can we go?"

"We can't be here when they arrive." Dellacov stood up from where he'd been sitting against one of the walls. "How much time do we have?"

Mim shook her head. "Minutes, seconds." She held up her hands. "Birk caught her calling them. I—I'm not sure how much she said. Not much, I don't think. He took the phone from her and ended the call pretty quickly, but they'll investigate it regardless."

Before she could finish speaking, Jaxon was already up and moving, tugging on his shoes. "We'll go to another safehouse. There are others. Tons. I...There has to be somewhere close by we can go. The tunnels stretch all over—"

Mim shook her head. "You won't make it across the city. Not in broad daylight. And the tunnels can only take you so far."

Harper caught hold of Jaxon's wrist, stilling his panicked movements. She scanned the group of us, calculating. "The shop," she said after a second. "We can go to the shop. It's just down the block. We can go through the alley and then in through the back door. No one will see."

His eyes widened. "No. Absolutely not. Harp, if they find us there—"

"It'll be fine. The shop is dead at this time of day. No one will be there. And...And it's what my father would want. He'd say it was worth the risk." She cut him off, turning to look at Cohen and the other goddess-touched girls, and then the soldiers. Dellacov was already strapping on a weapon, and Cohen was buckling on a harness of knives. Harper nodded, as if deciding something. "It is worth the risk. I believe it is."

Mim's gripped the ladder tightly. "Hurry then."

The next few minutes were a flurry of movement. Weapons and supplies were gathered, each word from Jaxon was a sharp command. Harper was the eye to his storm. Her voice remained steady as she directed us up into the workroom and through a heavy metal side door. The alleyway outside was cold and damp—rain still fell in a thick mist, half frozen.

We followed Harper down a brick corridor, with only vines and grime bricks to witness our treacherous escape. The end of the alleyway opened up onto a different street, this one filled with mingling shoppers and the ringing of laughter and faint music. Heidi and Cohen made it to the front of the group, and my shoulder scrapped stone as I sidestepped to make room for them. For a moment, I was transported back to a different alleyway, a different market bustling with people and noise.

I remember the heat of strange hands on my skin, the tang of chemicals, the look on Kai's face as he'd killed the man who had attacked me. But then I blinked at I was back in Gazda—Deca Market, not Linomi.

We'd almost reached the other end of the alley when I heard the echoing of a fist against wood. Even with the distance between me and the sound, I flinched. The knock sounded again, as a muffled male voice called, "City guard, open up!"

They'd arrived at the font entrance to The Needle's Edge then.

Harper hurried our step, nearly turning to a jog as I heard Birk says, a touch too loudly, "Gentlemen, what can I do for you today."

"Sounds like Newman and Hyatt," Jaxon whispered.

Beside him, Harper nodded. "Do you think they'll cause trouble for Birk?"

Jax considered. "No. They're lazy. If Birk has calmed Em down and she doesn't give us away in front of them, I don't think they'll linger any longer than they've got to."

We came to a stop at a small side door, similar to the one we'd come out of at The Needle's Edge. Harper's hands shook as she dug into her dress pocket and produced a small ring of keys. She found the one she was looking for and unlocked the door.

She shot all of us a backward glance and then turned to Jax. "Wait here. Let me draw the curtains at the front."

He nodded and held the door cracked while she hurried inside. Ten seconds later and she must have signaled to him because he opened the door wider and gestured us inside.

The smell of rain was quickly overtaken by the sharp smell of ink and paper. The room we emerged into was dark and filled with open crates of paper, some blank and others covered in dark black ink. The papers nearest the door had the heading: The Oredison Oracle, but as I moved deeper into the room, I saw piles and piles of papers stamped, The Hare.

These papers seemed to hold a different purpose. The smudged ink of the columns held information—truth unlike I'd ever seen printed. News of Britta's coronation. An article entitled: The Puppet King. For every printed issue of The Oracle, there were dozens more of The Hare.

A print shop.

A rebel print shop.

Bold.

And incredibly risky.

At the front of the building stood Harper. She held a box of matches and was in the middle of lighting a small chandelier, her lithe frame balance on a rickety stool. Cohen pulled the door shut behind the last of us and Jax moved to help Harper with the lights. She flinched in surprise, her focus shattered, as his hands found her hips steadying where she stood.

Once they were finished, Harper stepped down from the stool and turned to face us. "There's a bathing room upstairs and a pot of coffee on the stove in the back. I suppose we're stuck here until Mim or Birk come to tell us the coast is clear." She offered us a small smile. "It isn't much, but's home and it's safe...relatively."

"Oh, I love relative safety," Heidi said, her voice tinged with trepidation. "That's my favorite kind."

"Relative safety is the only form of safety we know. Don't be a brat." I shoved her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble into a stack of papers, nearly knocking them to the floor. "The proper response is, 'Thank you'."

Heidi steadied the stacks of papers and muttered a half-hearted, "Thanks."

Jax draped an arm around Harper's shoulder and pressed a kiss to her check. "Yes, thank you."

She nodded, her gaze moving around the group of us. There was just over a dozen of us, combined with the soldiers from The Felice. And while it wasn't a lot of people, the print shop was substantially smaller than The Needle's Edge.

Nadia must have also seen the worry on Harper's face because she spoke up, "Thank you, truly. We all appreciate your quick thinking and your hospitality. We're in your debt."

Harper waved her off. "There are no real debts amongst allies. Fewer still amongst friends."

After a moment, everyone seemed to settled. Tavin and few of the soldiers found closed crates to sit on, the deck of cards was once again being dealt between new player. Dellacov, Cohen, Nadia, and Heidi moved to sit on the floor in one corner. Their conversation quiet, but light.

I moved to sit with my friends but a hand caught my arm. I turned to find Jax looking at me, his smile amused. "How about giving Harp that interview."

I glanced over to Harper. She'd settled onto the wooden steps that led up to the second floor—where I assumed her living quarters were. I smiled up at him. "I thought there were no debts between friends."

Harper must have heard me because she let out a soft laugh and shook her head.

He laughed too, the sound rich and inviting. "Harp said that. Not me. I, unlike her, believe in debts. And I believe in collecting them in a timely fashion."

I pursed my lips and shook my head, unable to muster the energy to be annoyed. "Then I suppose I'd better pay up."

"Exactly, Benson," he said, guiding me towards the stairs. "Exactly."

***
The Oredison Oracle.
Gazda, Erydia.

I don't think I'd have minded if Jax stayed for the interview, but Harper seemed to prefer to do this without him overseeing it. "He makes me anxious," she told me, her voice quiet as we sat alone, side by side on the staircase. "Well, maybe not anxious." She said, considering her words. "Self-conscious, I guess is more like it."

I offered her a small smile. "I understand."

She adjusted the notepad on her lap and looked down at the blank page. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip, a nervous gesture, and then asked pointedly, "Does...Does Kaius make you nervous like that?"

I swallowed. And so it begins.

"Kai," I corrected. "And sometimes, yes."

She didn't write anything down, only smiled and repeated, "Kai."

I nodded. "Only Caine calls him Kaius. And maybe his mother."

Her brows rose. "His mother?"

"Adopted mother. She's his aunt really, just how Caine's his uncle. But they raised him...But—uh—" I offered her a small smile. "This...This is my interview, not his, right? I don't think it's my place to tell Kai's story."

Harper pursed her lips to hide her own smile and nodded quickly. "Yes, tell me about you."

"Do you want to ask questions or do you just want me to talk to you about my life or the Culling or...?"

"What would make you more comfortable?"

I wasn't sure. I'd never really laid out everything from start to finish. Even when I'd told Third Corps, and later Kai, about my past, I'd censored some things. And there was something about Harper that told me she already knew enough that she would notice if I left out details. So this would be a full retelling, nothing held back.

Me at my worst.

I winced at the thought. "Who...Who exactly will read this?"

Her brows rose. "Well, everyone eventually. But, to start, it'll just be those on our list and those in the safehouses. We only deliver The Hare to specific locations and those in our circle know when and where to get their paper."

"And how many people are in our circle?"

Harper leaned back and tapped the tip of her pen against the paper. "A few hundred."

Only a few hundred?

I thought about everything I'd overheard, everything I'd learned from Britta about her rebellion. It was large. Bigger than the Culled had been. Smarter and quieter and deeper rooted than that first rebellion.

It was the sort of ache that grew and grew until it had infected too much to be stopped. It was the sort of rebellion that didn't need a name. It just was.

And it was bigger than just a few hundred.

I met her eyes. "Why do I feel like you're lying?"

She let out a breathy laugh. "It isn't lying exactly."

"How many people will see this, Harper?"

Her expression sobered, mirrored the seriousness in my own. "Everyone," she said after a second. "Everyone in the gutters and the burrows and the alleys. Everyone who lives on stale bread and hope. Everyone who has lost someone to a government—a world—that doesn't value human life or human rights." Harper shrugged, her voice no more than a whisper as she said, "Everyone who needs to hear it can and hopefully will. If not now, then eventually. This...This is history where living. History we're writing. Together."

"And what will my story do? What can I possible say that could help?"

The corner of her mouth twitched. "You're goddess-touched. You've fought in an arena and you've dined with royals. You've found favor with two princes. You've killed and you've spied and you've crossed oceans. All of that is news worthy, yes. But what is more important, I think, is that you're one of us. You're from Varos. A city on the edges of our society—a place where people go to be forgotten and yet..." she shrugged. "And yet, here you are. Unforgotten. More than that, you've risen up. You have fought against the temple and the Crown and you are alive. Monroe, that alone speaks volumes. It gives hope. If you, someone who is fated to die in the Culling, can survive it—what else is possible?"

I met her gaze. "You really believe that my story matters that much?"

She nodded. "I do."

I sighed and leaned back into the step. My throat burned, anxiety sharp in my chest as I took a deep breath and began: "The two letters arrived one after another—the one announcing the draft came on Monday and the second, the one announcing the Culling, came on Wednesday..."

***

After I'd begun, it was easy enough to tell Harper the whole story. There were moments when I couldn't quite remember the order of things, but I pieced it together well enough. By the time I'd finished, leaving the story where it now lay—sitting in Harper print shop—Harper and I were both tired. We'd paused three times during the telling and we'd each had two cups of coffee.

Even with the added caffeine, my eyelids were heavy and my words muddled. She was quiet for a long time after I finished speaking and, despite her assurances during my storytelling, I felt compelled to once against ask, "Did I do okay?"

Harper glanced up at me, her pen still moving furiously—her notetaking a few sentences behind my speaking. She finished the last line and then nodded. "Brilliant. Really." She set the pen on the steps between us and smoothed a hand over the ink blotted page where my last nine months resided.

Strange that such a short amount of time could feel so long, but I hadn't started living until I'd left the homestead. And I hadn't left the homestead until I'd tried to run. That running had landed me on a train, a train heading to Gazda. A train with a brown-eyed princess who had offered me a clean change of clothes and friendship.

Now, nine months later, she was gone and I was here.

Uri would want me to tell my story.

I cleared my throat, trying to push away the sudden burning in my eyes. "Do you have everything you need?"

Harper's gaze darted from the paper as she offered me a small smile. When I didn't return it, she bumped her shoulder against mine. "Yes. I have everything. Thank you. I really do think this is important. There are children out there who need to hear this. They need to know that you can make your own path and that...and that fate is something we can wield for ourselves, if we only have the courage."

"I don't think I'm very courageous. I just didn't want to die."

She sighed and ran the tip of her pen along the outer edges of her notes. "You, Monroe Benson, don't give yourself nearly enough credit."

It fell silent between us.

After a long moment, I asked, "You said that Kai exchanged an interview for your help getting Ruthie to a rebel safehouse."

She swiped a strand of red hair behind one ear and nodded. "He did."

"Do—" I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Do you have that interview?"

"Yes," she pursed her lips. "Yes, I do. But..." She shook her head. "I don't think you need to read it."

I straightened, worry sparking in my gut. "Why not?"

"I...Well, I think it would hurt you unnecessarily."

Don't come back.

"What did he say in it?"

She held up a hand. "Nothing bad. Nothing bad about you or about his feelings for you. I just think he wouldn't want you to read it. It's things you already know—all information you just repeated to me in your own story. He lied. He broke your heart. He wasn't who he said he was."

I bit my lip. "Does he admit to that in his interview?"

Harper's hand fell over mine on the step. Her fingers were warm against my skin as she said, "He admitted to that and much more in his interview."

"I still want to read it."

She sighed and stood up. She abandoned the notebook and pen on the step as she lifted her arms high above her head and yawned. "I know," she said, her words still muffled from the stretch. "I know you do. But, it's on my desk upstairs. I'm editing it and getting it ready to go out. Wait a few days and you can read it when everyone else does."

I shook my head. "I want to read it first."

She turned to look at me. "Reading it now or reading it later will change nothing. What he said is what he said. I won't change it between now and when it's printed. Trust me, Monroe, there is nothing in his words that you don't already know. I don't think you need to dwell on any of that right now. Not with everything else happening. Let's let the past lay where it does for now and we can pick it up once this is all over and done with. You already know what happened between the two of you. Seeing it written down won't change it. Okay?"

I nodded, resigning myself to the truth of what she was saying. Harper glanced towards the storage room behind us, where the printing press, crates of newspapers, and our hidden rebel group still rested. She made to step away, heading for where Jax sat against a far wall, his hood pulled up, his chin to his chest and eyes closed—sound asleep.

"Hey, Harper?"

She turned back to me, her brows lifting in answer.

"Will you give a message to Kai, the next time you go into the palace?"

"What message?"

"You can tell him...Tell him I'm still bad at following orders." Harper nodded, a little confused, and started to turn away from me. "Oh," I said, catching her attention once more. "And you can tell him I said hello—from Gazda."

***

Hey! I just got a new job, two new kittens 🧡🖤, and I'm preparing to move towns/apartments (again)! I'll be working as a Community Director at the University of North Carolina at Pembroke starting the middle of this month.

Any readers attend school there?

If you enjoyed this chapter, leave this emoji in the comments 🍉.