Of Dreams and Rust - Sarah Fine Page 0,9

Melik, because it will only bring you more pain. It is best if you let him go.”

“You don’t know that I haven’t,” I say, lifting my chin.

Father stares at me for too many long seconds. “You say his name in your sleep.”

I cover my mouth, my cheeks on fire with the humiliating knowledge that my father is aware of my dreams. I mumble something about needing some air, grab my overcoat from the hook by the door, and flee. Something is happening inside me. I thought I was headed toward a kind of peace, an understanding that Melik was gone paired with a never-ending hope that I would one day see him again, a place where I could think of him without so much pain and longing. Today has destroyed all of that.

With every moment I find more hints that something terrible is brewing. As I walk past the factory floor, it is still bustling with activity, though it was scheduled to close an hour ago. Despite having no good reason to do so, I cut through the administrative hallway, and my insides knot when I see the foremen from all three shifts crowding into Boss Inyie’s office. Fearful someone will see me and guess that I am spying, I bow my head and hurry away.

Stone after stone of evidence is falling into place, and now the truth is as big and ominous as a mountain. I don’t know exactly when. I don’t know exactly how. But I do know this: Our war machines will be marching west very soon.

Chapter

Three

FEELING AS IF I am suffocating, I leave the factory. At the compound gate the guard on duty—who must be a new hire, because I know all the staff by sight if not by name—hesitates when I tell him that I don’t know when I’ll be back. He scratches at the patchy beard on his cheek. “It would be best if you returned by midnight, sister,” he says, conveying a respectfully polite kind of concern that I’ve rarely heard since moving from the Hill to the Gochan complex.

His gaze darts toward the factory entrance. On this day of all days workers should be flooding out of this place on a wave of eagerness and celebration, but the opposite is happening—men from the night and morning shifts are filing in, looking grim but determined. All of them are carrying rucksacks, as if they are going on a long journey. The guard looks back at me. “The fireworks can be seen from our compound’s square. You can come back early and watch them here.”

I give him what I hope is a beguiling smile. “Because the streets are dangerous? I’ll stick to the main thoroughfares.”

His brows lower. “That’s comforting to hear, but it’s not why you should be back by the arrival of First Holiday,” he says quietly, his lips barely moving.

I wish he would confirm for me what I already suspect, that he would be the one who drops the final stone into place, if only to release some of this burning, twisting anticipation. I lean forward a bit. “You are kind to worry about my reputation, brother.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “You work here, I take it?”

I nod. “I assist in the medical clinic. I’m also Dr. Guiren’s daughter.”

“And you live on the compound. Not out in the Ring.”

“Of course! Gochan Two has been my home for a year.”

He folds his arms over his chest and peers about as if he’s concerned someone will overhear. “I’ve been instructed to lock the gate at midnight,” he whispers. “Anyone not inside will be unable to enter until they open again.”

My eyes go wide. “In the morning?”

He shakes his head. “It’s lockdown, sister. It will be longer than that.”

I cover my mouth with my hand and try to look excited instead of horrified. “Something is happening, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve already said too much.” He gestures toward the street. “Go have your fun, buy yourself a sweet, and return early if you know what’s good for you.”

I thank him in a chirpy, overly cheerful voice and leave the compound with my fists balled in my skirt. I walk through the Ring on sidewalks already crowded with vendors and First Holiday celebrants. It’s all bright and festive and normal, like it has been every year since I was a child. There is a bounce to each stride, a smile on every face. A mother and a father walk by, each clutching a hand of the small

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