Page 48 of Veinblood
My chest tightens, throat closing with terror.
“We … we only moved to Ashenvale recently, sir.” It’s weak, and we both know it.
“Show me your papers.”
Oh no.
I don’t have papers. I don’t haveanythingthat proves I belong here.
“I … they’re back at the house, sir.”
The soldiers exchange glances, and the captain’s hand moves toward his weapon. The rest of the patrol shift to surround me.
“That’s not how it works, and you know it. Everyone carries identification. Always.”
Every lie I tell is making things worse. TheyknowI’m lying. Theyknowsomething is wrong. And they’re not going to let me walk away.
Fear destroys what’s left of my control, and the lightning I’ve been desperately suppressing bursts free with a force I have no hope of stopping. Silver light explodes from my skin, and the sky responds, storm clouds forming with sudden, violent fury.
“What in the name of—” The captain’s voice breaks.
Lightning strikes.
It’s not a small, controlled discharge. No, this is a streak of forked lighting that comes down like the wrath of angry gods, slamming into the street less than twenty-feet away, and with enough force to shake the foundations of nearby buildings.
The bolt illuminates everything for one frozen second—thesoldiers faces, their hands raised to shield their eyes, weapons forgotten. Thunder crashes over us, a warning that comes seconds before a second lightning bolt strikes. The soldiers dive for cover, as shattered stone rains down around us.
The confusion gives me the opening I desperately need and I bolt before they can move to stop me. Voices shout orders, but I don’t look back. I just keep running while thunder and lightning fill the space between us.
Shock and horror wage war inside me. I lost control. I let fear override every lesson I’ve learned. I could have brought down buildings and killed people while they slept.
When my lungs are burning and I can’t run anymore, I collapse against a doorway.
I almost killed them. Six men who were just doing their jobs. But they would have taken me prisoner, or worse. I can’t let guilt take me over.
The next few hours blur together in an exhausting pattern of fear and movement. I hide when I hear footsteps, and there arealwaysfootsteps now, more than before as patrols search for me. I wait in doorways and duck into shadows, holding my breath and praying they don’t look too closely. I listen for the all-clear when they’ve moved on, and then run to a new hiding place, trying to stay ahead of the searches. My nerves are frayed beyond repair, hyper-tuned to every sound that might indicate approaching danger.
Eventually, the first hints of light touch the sky, and peoplebegin to stir. Early risers come out of buildings, market vendors start setting up stalls, and the city wakes up.
Now people are moving around, it’s easier to blend in without drawing attention. I watch everyone carefully. How they react when patrols pass. Who shows tension, who shows respect. The same behavior I remember from when I was last here. Maybe there’s someone here who I can trust.
An elderly woman steps out of a building near the market district. She moves slowly, scanning the streets as she walks toward a stall where the vendor sells fresh bread. What captures my attention is her reaction when an Authority patrol passes. Most people duck their heads. She doesn’t. Her spine visibly tenses, her fingers clench into fists, and she mutters something beneath her breath.
A small act of defiance. Something I might be able to use.
But I still have to be cautious. Approaching anyone will be a risk. Just because she’s showing a lack of respect, it doesn’t mean she won’t report a stranger. So, I wait, watching her behavior and looking for more signs that she might be someone I can trust.
She purchases a single loaf, and walks to the next vendor where she picks out a small amount of sliced meat, before heading to a third for a basket of vegetables. She doesn’t linger at any long, and she doesn’t hold lengthy conversations, but she holds her head a little higher than most people, and she chooses her path carefully to minimize contact with any Authority soldiers.
These are the behaviors of someone who cooperates because she has to, not because she believes in what the Authority represents.
When a patrol cuts through the market, crossing her path, I watch to see how she behaves. She deliberately turns away, stepping into an alcove and pretending to examine something in a window until they pass.
I wait until the soldiers disappear, and then I move toward her slowly, trying to project need rather than threat. My appearance probably helps. I’m sure I look like someone who’s had a very bad night.
When she notices me getting closer to her, her expression changes. There’s wariness in her eyes, but also curiosity, and maybe recognition that I’m clearly in some kind of trouble.
This is it. It’s my one chance to find help. Everything depends on the next few seconds. I stop beside her, and duck my head.
