“Ty?” His voice didn’t sound right. Sounded like someone far away. He couldn’t touch her. He was going to break her. No, that wasn’t right. She was unbreakable. She was the strongest person he knew.
“Ty, stop!” he shouted, and then he did put a hand on her wound, and felt the warm, sticky liquid pool against his palm. “Stop, okay? Quit messing around!”
Doctor, he thought absently. And then: the Brotherhood doctor won’t see her. It was stupid. They’d find a doctor, and he’d help her, and if he refused Colin would kill him, plain and simple.
“Colin?” Her voice was a weak groan. She held absolutely still, her hands clenched at her sides. The only things moving were her heaving chest and her fluttering eyelids.
“Where’s the doctor?” Every muscle in him twisted. “Find someone!”
Footsteps as someone tore off toward the Stamping Mill. He followed the sound, eyes locking on the red path from the Small Parts main entrance that Ty had left on her struggle to this spot.
She was hurting. She’d been hurting a long time.
He pressed down harder, trying to slow her bleeding, but she cried out in pain, and he ripped his hand away. It hurt him, too. The pain was in his chest, in his muscles, but though he would have gladly done so, he couldn’t bleed in her place.
“I’m sorry,” he choked. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t have your back. I’m sorry I sent you for Lena. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
Her lips were moving, and he leaned down over her face.
“Took you long enough, Prep School,” she gasped.
The sob tore through him, like thunder from a black cloud. He gathered her close then, pulled her onto his lap and held her as tightly as he could. He could keep her here with him if he just held tight enough.
“Don’t die,” he whispered. “Don’t die.”
She choked, and he heard the gargle of fluids in her lungs. It was the same sound he heard at home, every night—the sound Cherish made when she coughed. But Ty wasn’t sick. Not like that.
Fight harder, he willed, angry with her. Furious at how easily she was giving in after all they’d been through.
“Keep talking,” she rasped.
“I … I don’t know what to do.” He didn’t know what she wanted. He felt like an idiot. He was her best friend; he should know what to say.
“Rosie’s.”
His chest ripped wide open. He didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want to say a word, because that made what was happening even more real. Real, in a way Rosie’s could never be.
But this was Ty, and she never asked for anything. He couldn’t deny her now.
He pulled in a shattered breath. “It’s on the sea. Where the water’s still blue.” Her hands knotted in his shirt. “There’s a dock in the sun, and it’s warm, hot even, and when we get too hot, we’ll just jump in the water.”
She smiled against his cheek. Her breathing slowed.
He wanted to die.
“And we’ll fish, you and me. We’ll go out on one of those big boats like they used to have. And we’ll catch all sorts of stuff, and then we’ll cook it up and get fat. You and me, we’re going to be old and fat one day, okay?”
Her hand slipped from his chest. It landed on the cement and lay unmoving, and Colin rocked back and forth and stared at the hazy sky and tried to imagine Ty as an old lady.
He tried and he tried. But he could never see her older than she was right then.
41
TY
Blue water. Blue like steel. Blue like Colin’s eyes.
She could feel it. Filling her. Seeping between her fingers and her toes. In the spaces between her bones. In the gaps between her teeth.
“Ty?” His voice was far away. She clung to it, even through the water. Even after the sky went dark, and his face faded into memory.
“Ty!”
* * *
He was thirteen. All arms and legs. Fresh meat. The older boys at the factory, they knew it. They’d backed him into the corner, intending to give him a proper Metaltown welcome, and he snapped back at them like a wild dog that didn’t know he was already beat. Back off, she snarled. I’ve got safety on him. He’s mine.
* * *
They lay on their stomachs in the high grass, watching the trains. The bugs bit at her neck and her wrists but she didn’t care. He told her stories about his brother. He told her about his family. And soon, they were her stories, too.
* * *
She taught him how to fight. To keep his elbows close to his body. To protect his throat. Hit me, she said. If you can. He would see how it felt then. He’d be ready next time.
He wouldn’t hit her.
* * *
He was laughing with the others. He laughed so hard his eyes pinched shut, and he gripped her thigh and rocked back. Three layers of clothing to his touch. She could feel the heat from his palm. Don’t stare. Don’t move.
He laughed, and she wasn’t hungry anymore. He laughed, and she wasn’t cold.
* * *
They were walking to Beggar’s Square and he was talking about Rosie’s Bay. Blue water. White sand. Every time he talked about leaving her insides crunched up.
Once I get the money, we’ll go, he said.
We, he said. We’ll go.
He’d never said we before.
* * *
More water. She didn’t know drowning could feel so soft. So quiet. Like relief.
Mine. He’s mine.
“Mine,” she whispered. From somewhere far away she heard his voice, strained thin, begging her not to go. She knew then that this was not a journey they could make together, that this was their good-bye. The one that lasted beyond sunrise. The one that lasted forever.
I am not afraid.
And then pain grew bright and sharp and white, and then was gone.
42
LENA
They met three days later in the foreman’s office at Small Parts. Lena’s father did not tell Otto of the meeting as he was still recovering in the hospital, nor did he request a police detail. Instead he arrived accompanied by only a few of his personal guards, and left Lena to reach the facility on her own.
His distance was fine with her. After he’d conceded to call off the Bakerstown police, he’d returned to his office in the River District. It wasn’t until late that night that she heard him come home. His footsteps were heavy as he trudged up the stairs, and his tie was a slack noose around his neck when he appeared in her bedroom doorway.
“Are you leaving?” he’d asked, looking around her room as if for a suitcase.
Thinking that was an invitation to clear the premises, she’d reached into the bureau for her coat, exhausted by the long day. She looked at the long scratches her fingernails had carved with a vague, detached interest.
“If you stay, I’ll let you manage the factory,” he’d added. “A trial run, under my supervision.”
She’d frozen in her tracks, and turned back to assess him. His hair was disheveled, the stubble on his face casting a shadow over his hard jaw. With the gleam and the ego stripped away, he really was just a man.
“What about Otto?”
“He’s incapacitated, in case you forgot.” Her father sighed. “Regardless. It appears Otto does not have what it takes.”
She’d closed her eyes then, remembering the heat of the factory and those who had fought against it. Remembering the sound of Colin’s mother coughing in the slums of Metaltown. Remembering Colin’s tortured face, and his hands stained with blood, as they’d assessed the damage on Factory Row after the riots.
And then her father, crushing her perfect yellow bird in his fist.
Did she have what it took to do the right thing? Or was the Hampton blood running through her veins stronger than the will of her heart?
“What about the Advocates?”
He lifted his chin.
“I won’t do it if you’re only going to ship weapons off to the enemy.”
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It was a risk, and she knew it. He could retract his offer, and then she would be of no help to anyone. Even if she exposed her father’s transgressions, which was dangerous, no one would take her word over his. The weapons he’d sold to the enemy, the things he’d done to Ty, and Darcy, and Colin, would never come to light. He would never go to jail, not while he still had connections in the police department. Would never be tried by the military after donating so much to the cause. And the other politicians, his friends, would never turn their backs on him. They were probably guilty of the same things.
Her father being cornered into doing what was right was the only punishment he would ever receive.
“They won’t work for you,” she added. “But they’ll work for me.”
A long, heavy silence stretched between them.
“When I was young, I was like you,” he said finally. “I’ve forgotten what it was like to be so … idealistic. Pure in purpose.” His head hung forward, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
It was neither an apology nor a compliment, but regardless, it meant something.
“Agreed,” he said. “We’ll supply the Northern Federation. No one else.”
It was a victory, but maybe not the brightest of them. Even if she rebuilt the factory and put the charter back to work, they still built weapons. The war would continue, which meant more death, more hunger, more loss.
For now.
Two days later Lena had approached him with a stack of old reports and a proposal—an appeal to his arrogant Hampton greed. To her surprise, he’d considered it. Now she just hoped Colin would as well.
* * *
Lena paced in Mr. Minnick’s office—or at least the office that had been Mr. Minnick’s prior to her firing him. Her father had allowed her the honor of his dismissal as her first act of management. She frowned at all the things she would have to run by him, but it was better than nothing.
Josef Hampton sat in the chair across from her, his legs neatly crossed, hands folded across his vest. Whatever thoughts worked through his mind were locked behind his marble features. He’d been silent since their earlier report to the police, in which he’d explained that the explosion at the testing facility was a result of improper chemical treatment rather than an attack, as previously suspected.
In order for him to save his company—Division IV included—he needed the support of Metaltown, and Metaltown, for the moment, had rallied behind Colin. Making a martyr of him would only prolong the workers’ holdout.
“Perhaps he’s not coming,” offered her father, a tinge of relief in his tone.
She shook her head. “He’s coming.” But she worried about how it would be between them when he did. They hadn’t spoken since he’d hit Otto in her room at the estate. That felt like a lifetime ago now.
The floor had been cleaned, and the chairs replaced. Even the desk had been moved aside to the corner to make room for their meeting. It looked so unlike the place where Jed Schultz had imprisoned her just three days prior.
She shivered, remembering how the police had removed his body on a stretcher.
Her arm had been set in a sleek cast to her elbow. It barely impeded her movement, though it made her gloves bunch at the wrist. She pressed her opposite hand against the hard plaster, wishing her heart were so protected.
When the door opened and Colin pushed through, Lena’s resolve weakened. Their eyes met for just an instant, just long enough for her to see the sorrow behind them. To feel it punch into her, real and unyielding. He wore a suit—one that was a little big, but clean. He’d shaved his face and trimmed his hair.
He looked invincible, even in his grief.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” His eyes landed on the scarf—his scarf—that she wore proudly around her neck. “There was something I had to do.”
She nodded, and noticed then that he hadn’t come alone—Martin and Henry flanked him on either side. It was smart, considering their last meeting, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. She had assured his protection, threatened her father that she would tell everyone of his role in the war, and in Astor Tyson’s death, if Colin was harmed.
The great Josef Hampton nodded. And to Lena’s surprise, he waited for her to speak.
Her mouth immediately went dry.
“The Small Parts factory plays a crucial role in Hampton Industries,” she began nervously, feeling their gazes upon her. Feeling like she had so many times at her father’s parties. As the entertainment. As a piece of art on display. Unconsciously, she reached to smooth down her hair, but caught herself.
She was not meek.
“This war will not last forever, and when it ends, the weapons divisions will be forced to reduce staff.”
Colin inhaled through his nostrils. Behind him, Martin balked.
“We all work, or we all don’t,” Colin said.
“Understood,” said Lena.
“Hampton Industries is investigating the expansion of one of our divisions.” Josef met Colin’s gaze straight on. “The Medical Division.”
There was a bristling in her nerves. It wasn’t theirs, it belonged to a dead girl—but regardless, if there was opportunity in Division IV, there was work there, too. Despite their dual purposes, Lena felt a whisper of pride. Her father had read the reports she’d dredged up, those that contained figures Darcy had only alluded to. Once, the Medical Division had made more than the weapons divisions. Once, it had been believed that the federation that held the cure would be the strongest, and that they would win the war.
If Hampton Industries found the cure, they wouldn’t need to sell weapons to anyone, their side or the other, to be rich.
“If we do expand, the Small Parts factory would transition its focus from weapons to medical supplies,” said Lena. “Not immediately, but over time. Once a plan can be established.”
The business of life from the business of war.
“And what happens to us then?” Colin frowned.
She cleared her throat. Then removed her black gloves, one at a time. Her fingertips lay exposed, black and distorted. Permanently bruised. Like so many here in Metaltown.
Martin and Henry barely noticed. But her father’s gaze lingered.
“Membership in the Small Parts Charter would ensure that all workers would remain employed by Hampton Industries,” she said. “You would keep your jobs. There would be training involved, of course, but no reduction in workforce as we transfer the factory’s purpose.”
Colin never took his eyes off her face. And when he smirked, the strength pulled through her, and turned to sheer determination. She owed it to him to change things. She owed it to all of them, and to herself as well.
“In the meantime, we’re going to fix this. The right way,” she said. “Tell me what you need.”
A whisper of understanding, of silent, mutual respect drew Lena, Colin, and Josef Hampton into a central point. It turned their blunt words to dialogue and their rigid posture into the dance of negotiations. They discussed the demands of the Small Parts Charter one by one. They proposed solutions. They argued. They agreed. And when it was done, Colin shook Lena’s hand and left.
Their final touch felt professional and stiff, and she wondered sadly if it was, in a way, his good-bye.
* * *
Lena exited the building through the employee entrance. There was much to do; she had to hire a new foreman, to start. Someone dependable that the employees trusted; perhaps Colin’s mother, or the man who ran the corner cart. And then do something about that torturous hot room before Matchstick set the place on fire.
She mused about how ignorant she’d once been to all that went on inside the factory, and how fearful she’d been of all that existed outside. She knew better now. The workers needed her voice, just as they needed Colin’s. And she had family here. Shima lived just down the street. Lena was bound to Metaltown in ways she never thought possible.
She pulled the door closed behind her, locking it with a key from around
her neck.
“How’s your stay so far in Metaltown?”
At the sound of Colin’s low voice, she jumped and clutched her chest. Her gloves fell to the ground. He pushed off the wall where he’d been leaning and dipped down to pick up her things. It warmed her, knowing that he’d waited.
“I’m just here for work,” she said finally, with a short laugh.
“What a coincidence, so am I.” He smirked. The long shadows of the evening made him look taller when he stood.
He didn’t offer the gloves right away, and when she reached for them, his fingers twined in hers. Gradually, they walked toward the street, where she knew her driver would be waiting to take her back to the River District. The thought weighed down her steps; she wanted to stretch out each moment before he came looking for her. To steal what time they had before life caught up with them.
Colin’s thumb grazed the inside of her wrist and made her pulse flutter.
“I know what you did,” he said, voice thick. “It was a good thing.”
She watched their boots come to a standstill. Hers, polished and small; his, borrowed and scuffed. When she’d heard what had happened to Astor—to Ty—Lena had arranged for her body to be taken to Bakerstown for a proper cremation. It was the least she could do for the girl who’d saved her life. Though she had intended to oversee the arrangements herself, she’d silently removed herself to the back room when Colin had arrived. That time was his alone, and she could not take it from him.
He’d stayed with Ty until the very end.
“Chip and I took her ashes to the train yard,” he said, squeezing Lena’s hand a little harder. “She always liked it there. I think she would have gone away if she could.”
Lena’s throat tightened, for Colin’s pain. For her own, as well.