Wings of the Walker - CoraLee June Page 0,219

this harder than it was? I needed this.

How was I supposed to heal? There were still so many unanswered questions. Josiah’s death was devastating enough, but knowing I didn't have my guys to help me navigate my grief was just too much.

"I don't know how," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "I'm so angry, Huxley." I pushed thoughts of Josiah from my mind. I didn't love him. But I did. I missed him. But I didn't. I hated him.

I hated him.

When I looked at all the steps that led to this point in my life, it infuriated me. Anger was the only emotion I had left, and I clung to it like it was a weapon. I was angry at Josiah. I was angry at Cyler and Maverick and Jacob. I was angry at Hux. Patrick. Kemper. This empire. And above all, I was angry with a ghost. Emperor Lackley was at the top of my list, and he wasn't even alive to feel my fury.

Spinning around, I made my way over to a tall, white tree where my canteen of water was resting at the base. Unscrewing the top, I chugged the tangy water without flinching. The tainted deadlands’ water tingled down my throat. At first, I had hated the taste of it and had to choke down even a drop. Over time, I'd gotten used to its sharp acidic flavor. It didn't even bother me to bathe in the creek anymore. The burning sensation almost felt soothing on my sore muscles now. Time changed things, I guess.

I'd stopped looking in the mirror a few weeks ago when I saw that, at the very base of my scalp, the strands of my hair were turning white. I’d been here long enough for the deadlands’ water supply to bleach my coarse chestnut hair. Ingesting it was making my new growth turn white.

Five months. It'd been five months since I'd seen Cyler, Jacob, and Maverick. Five months of living in the deadlands with a Scavenger camp on the outskirts of the empire. Five months of hearing the reports filter in from the scouts.

One by one, Cavil claimed the people of Dasos. The death toll was insurmountable. His rise to power, unprecedented. Without Emperor Lackley and Josiah, there was no one powerful enough to stop him. No one brave enough to try. He had the weapons, the influence, and now the rejection cure. Lackley was an amateur in comparison.

Maverick managed to fix the rejection phenomenon—at the expense of the cure. Maverick and Allaire’s vaccine made the cure for influenza X impotent and obsolete. Everyone was now susceptible. But many considered this the lesser of two evils: most could avoid exposure to X but couldn't avoid the internal ticking time bomb of the cure. However, Cavil demanded submission in exchange for the rejection cure. Members of the Elite now donned fetters and spent their days hiding in their manors to avoid exposure to X.

Since our escape, Huxley treated me like a wounded animal. He used to stroll up to me with confidence, claiming the parts of my heart and body like they were his for the taking. It killed me to see him have so much pity in his gaze. I hated the pity. Pity was a wasted emotion, it did nothing but accentuate a person’s suffering and enable self-loathing. It's one of the reasons I enjoyed our nights sparring. Here, in the shadows of my anger, Huxley looked at me with that half smirk, half determined scowl I loved so much. But I guess I had to ruin that too. I was ruining everything lately, and they pitied me for it. Just a toxic cycle that made sinking into my emotionless state more appealing.

"Tell me why you want to fight," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a question he’d asked me many times before. They say that before you start a war, you have to know what you’re fighting for. But I was at war with myself. I swallowed, visions of an ivory room and the bloodied face of a guard filling my vision.

I still couldn't say it. Couldn't even think about it. I shook my head, willing the flashbacks and Josiah’s dead body to disappear from my brain. I had to fight. Punch. Scream. Anything to keep those thoughts away.

A byproduct of these nights was that it exhausted me to the point of dreamless sleep. I spent my days in a sore, tired stupor, but at