“I know, right? Me neither,” he says, mussing my hair. “But it’ll be okay. You just need to calm down. Anyway, you look cute. You’ll do great.”
I slap his hand away. “I may not know much about being a supreme commander yet, but I do know that I’m not supposed to be cute.”
Just then, the elevator dings open.
“Who says you can’t be cute and kick ass at the same time?” Kenji winks at me. “I do it every day.”
“Oh, man—you know what? Never mind,” is the first thing Kenji says to me.
He’s cringing, shooting me a sidelong glance as he says, “Maybe you really should work on your wardrobe?”
I might die of embarrassment.
Whoever this guy is, whatever his intentions are, Haider Ibrahim is dressed unlike anyone I’ve ever seen before. He looks like no one I’ve ever seen before.
He stands up as we enter the room—tall, very tall—and I’m instantly struck by the sight of him. He’s wearing a dark gray leather jacket over what I can only assume is meant to be a shirt, but is actually a series of tightly woven chains strung across his body. His skin is heavily tanned and half exposed, his upper body only barely concealed by his chain-link shirt. His closely tapered black pants disappear into shin-high combat boots, and his light brown eyes—a startling contrast to his brown skin—are rimmed in a flutter of thick black lashes.
I tug at my pink sweater and nervously swallow my gum.
“Hi,” I say, and begin to wave, but Kenji is kind enough to push down my hand. I clear my throat. “I’m Juliette.”
Haider steps forward cautiously, his eyes drawn together in what looks like confusion as he appraises my appearance. I feel uncomfortably self-conscious. Wildly underprepared. And I suddenly really need to use the bathroom.
“Hello,” he finally says, but it sounds more like a question.
“Can we help you?” I say.
“Tehcheen Arabi?”
“Oh.” I glance at Kenji, then at Haider. “Um, you don’t speak English?”
Haider raises a single eyebrow. “Do you only speak English?”
“Yes?” I say, feeling now more nervous than ever.
“That’s too bad.” He sighs. Looks around. “I’m here to see the supreme commander.” He has a rich, deep voice but speaks with a slight accent.
“Yep, hi, that’s me,” I say, and smile.
His eyes widen with ill-concealed confusion. “You are”—he frowns—“the supreme?”
“Mm-hm.” I paste on a brighter smile. Diplomacy, I tell myself. Diplomacy.
“But we were told that the new supreme was wild, lethal—terrifying—”
I nod. Feel my face warm. “Yes. That’s me. I’m Juliette Ferrars.”
Haider tilts his head, his eyes scanning my body. “But you’re so small.” And I’m still trying to figure out how to respond to that when he shakes his head and says, “I apologize, I meant to say—that you are so young. But then, also, very small.”
My smile is beginning to hurt.
“So it was you,” he says, still confused, “who killed Supreme Anderson?”
I nod. Shrug.
“But—”
“I’m sorry,” Kenji interjects. “Did you have a reason for being here?”
Haider looks taken aback by the question. He glances at Kenji. “Who is this?”
“He’s my second-in-command,” I say. “And you should feel free to respond to him when he speaks to you.”
“Oh, I see,” Haider says, understanding in his eyes. He nods at Kenji. “A member of your Supreme Guard.”
“I don’t have a Supr—”
“That’s right,” Kenji says, throwing a swift shut up elbow in my ribs. “You’ll have to forgive me for being a little overprotective.” He smiles. “I’m sure you know how it is.”
“Yes, of course,” Haider says, looking sympathetic.
“Should we all sit down?” I say, gesturing to the couches across the room. We’re still standing in the entryway and it’s starting to get awkward.
“Certainly.” Haider offers me his arm in anticipation of the fifteen-foot journey to the couches, and I shoot Kenji a quick look of confusion.
He shrugs.
The three of us settle into our seats; Kenji and I sit across from Haider. There’s a long, wooden coffee table between us, and Kenji presses the slim button underneath to call for a tea and coffee service.
Haider won’t stop staring at me. His gaze is neither flattering nor threatening—he looks genuinely confused—and I’m surprised to find that it’s this reaction I find most unsettling. If his eyes were angry or objectifying, I might better know how to react. Instead, he seems mild and pleasant, but—surprised. And I’m not sure what to do with it. Kenji was right—I wish more than ever that Warner were here; his ability to sense emotions would give me a clearer idea of how to respond.
I finally break the silence between us.
“It’s really very nice to meet you,” I say, hoping I sound kinder than I feel, “but I’d love to know what brings you here. You’ve come such a long way.”
Haider smiles then. The action adds a necessary warmth to his face that makes him look younger than he first appeared. “Curiosity,” he says simply.
I do my best to mask my anxiety.
It’s becoming more obvious by the moment that he was sent here to do some kind of reconnaissance for his father. Castle’s theory was right—the supreme commanders must be dying to know who I am. And I’m beginning to wonder if this is only the first of several visits I’ll soon receive from prying eyes.
Just then, the tea and coffee service arrives.
The ladies and gentlemen who work in Sector 45—here, and in the compounds—are peppier than ever these days. There’s an infusion of hope in our sector that doesn’t exist anywhere else on the continent, and the two older ladies who hurry into our room with the food cart are no exception to the effects of recent events. They flash big, bright smiles in my direction, and arrange the china with an exuberance that does not go unnoticed. I see Haider watching our interaction closely, examining the ladies’ faces and the comfortable way in which they move in my presence. I thank them for their work and Haider is visibly stunned. Eyebrows raised, he sits back in his seat, hands clasped in his lap like the perfect gentleman, silent as salt until the moment they leave.
“I will impose upon your kindness for a few weeks,” Haider says suddenly. “That is—if that’s all right.”
I frown, begin to protest, and Kenji cuts me off.
“Of course,” he says, smiling wide. “Stay as long as you like. The son of a supreme commander is always welcome here.”
“You are very kind,” he says with a simple bow of his head. And then he hesitates, touches something at his wrist, and our room is swarmed in an instant by what appear to be members of his personal staff.
Haider stands up so swiftly I almost miss it.
Kenji and I hurry to our feet.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Supreme Commander Ferrars,” Haider says, stepping forward to reach for my hand, and I’m surprised by his boldness. Despite the many rumors I know he’s heard about me, he doesn’t seem to mind being near my skin. Not that it really matters, of course—I’ve now learned how to turn my powers on and off at will—but not everyone knows that yet.
Either way, he presses a brief kiss to the back of my hand, smiles, and bows his head very slightly.
I manage an awkward smile and a small nod.
“If you tell me how many people are in your party,” Kenji says, “I can begin to arrange accommodations for y—”
Haider laughs out loud, surprised. “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” he says. “I’ve brought my own residence.”
“You’ve brought”—Kenji frowns—“you brought your own residence?”
Haider nods without looking at Kenji. When he next speaks he speaks only to me. “I look forward to seeing you and the rest of your guard at dinner tonight.”
/>
“Dinner,” I say, blinking fast. “Tonight?”
“Of course,” Kenji says swiftly. “We look forward to it.”
Haider nods. “Please send my warmest regards to your Regent Warner. It’s been several months since our last visit, but I look forward to catching up with him. He has mentioned me, of course?” A bright smile. “We’ve known each other since our infancy.”
Stunned, I nod slowly, realization overcoming my confusion. “Yes. Right. Of course. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you again.”
Another nod, and Haider’s gone.
Kenji and I are alone.
“What the f—”
“Oh”—Haider pops his head back in the room—“and please tell your chef that I do not eat meat.”
“For sure,” Kenji says, nodding and smiling. “Yep. You got it.”
Warner
I’m sitting in the dark with my back to the bedroom door when I hear it open. It’s only midafternoon, but I’ve been sitting here, staring at these unopened boxes for so long that even the sun, it seems, has grown tired of staring.
Castle’s revelation left me in a daze.
I still don’t trust Castle—don’t trust that he has any idea what he’s talking about—but at the end of our conversation I couldn’t shake a terrible, frightening feeling in my gut begging for verification. I needed time to process the possibilities. To be alone with my thoughts. And when I expressed as much to Castle, he said, “Process all you like, son, but don’t let this distract you. Juliette should not be meeting with Haider on her own. Something doesn’t feel right here, Mr. Warner, and you have to go to them. Now. Show her how to navigate your world.”
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Despite my every instinct to protect her, I won’t undermine her like that. She didn’t ask for my help today. She made a choice to not tell me what was happening. My abrupt and unwelcome interruption would only make her think that I agreed with Castle—that I didn’t trust her to do the job on her own. And I don’t agree with Castle; I think he’s an idiot for underestimating her. So I returned here, instead, to these rooms, to think. To stare at my father’s unopened secrets. To await her arrival.
And now—
The first thing Juliette does is turn on the light.
“Hey,” she says carefully. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and turn around. “These are my father’s old files,” I say, gesturing with one hand. “Delalieu had them collected for me. I thought I should take a look, see if there’s anything here that might be useful.”
“Oh, wow,” she says, her eyes alight with recognition. “I was wondering what those were for.” She crosses the room to crouch beside the stacks, carefully running her fingers along the unmarked boxes. “Do you need help moving these into your office?”
I shake my head.
“Would you like me to help you sort through them?” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder. “I’d be happy t—”
“No,” I say too quickly. I get to my feet, make an effort to appear calm. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
She raises her eyebrows.
I try to smile. “I think I’d like the time alone with them.”
At this, she nods, misunderstanding all at once, and her sympathetic smile makes my chest tighten. I feel an indistinct, icy feeling stab at somewhere inside of me. She thinks I want space to deal with my grief. That going through my father’s things will be difficult for me.
She doesn’t know. I wish I didn’t.
“So,” she says, walking toward the bed, the boxes forgotten. “It’s been an . . . interesting day.”
The pressure in my chest intensifies. “Has it?”
“I just met an old friend of yours,” she says, and flops backward onto the mattress. She reaches behind her head to pull her hair free of its ponytail, and sighs.
“An old friend of mine?” I say. But I can only stare at her as she speaks, study the shape of her face. I can’t, at the present moment, know with perfect certainty whether or not what Castle told me is true; but I do know that I’ll find the answers I seek in my father’s files—in the boxes stacked inside this room.
Even so, I haven’t yet gathered the courage to look.
“Hey,” she says, waving a hand at me from the bed. “You in there?”
“Yes,” I say reflexively. I take in a sharp breath. “Yes, love.”
“So . . . do you remember him?” she says. “Haider Ibrahim?”
“Haider.” I nod. “Yes, of course. He’s the eldest son of the supreme commander of Asia. He has a sister,” I say, but I say it robotically.
“Well, I don’t know about his sister,” she says. “But Haider is here. And he’s staying for a few weeks. We’re all having dinner with him tonight.”
“At his behest, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.” She laughs. “How’d you know?”
I smile. Vaguely. “I remember Haider very well.”
She’s silent a moment. Then: “He said you’d known each other since your infancy.”
And I feel, but do not acknowledge, the sudden tension in the room. I merely nod.
“That’s a long time,” she says.
“Yes. A very long time.”
She sits up. Drops her chin in one hand and stares at me. “I thought you said you never had any friends.”
At this, I laugh, but the sound is hollow. “I don’t know that I would call us friends, exactly.”
“No?”
“No.”
“And you don’t care to expand on that?”
“There’s little to say.”
“Well—if you’re not friends, exactly, then why is he here?”
“I have my suspicions.”
She sighs. Says, “Me too,” and bites the inside of her cheek. “I guess this is where it starts, huh? Everyone wants to take a look at the freak show. At what we’ve done—at who I am. And we have to play along.”
But I’m only half listening.
Instead, I’m staring at the many boxes looming behind her, Castle’s words still settling in my mind. I remember I should say something, anything, to appear engaged in the conversation. So I try to smile as I say, “You didn’t tell me he’d arrived earlier. I wish I could’ve been there to assist somehow.”
Her cheeks, suddenly pink with embarrassment, tell one story; her lips tell another. “I didn’t think I needed to tell you everything, all the time. I can handle some things on my own.”
Her sharp tone is so surprising it forces my mind to focus. I meet her eyes to find she’s staring straight through me now, bright with both hurt and anger.
“That’s not at all what I meant,” I say. “You know I think you can do anything, love. But I could’ve been a help to you. I know these people.”
Her face is now pinker, somehow. She can’t meet my eyes.
“I know,” she says quietly. “I know. I’ve just been feeling a little overwhelmed lately. And I had a talk with Castle this morning that kind of messed with my head.” She sighs. “I’m in a weird place today.”
My heart starts beating too fast. “You had a talk with Castle?”
She nods.
I forget to breathe.
“He said I need to talk to you about something?” She looks up at me. “Like, there’s more about The Reestablishment that you haven’t told me?”
“More about The Reestablishment?”
“Yeah, like, there’s something you need to tell me?”
“Something I need to tell you.”
“Um, are you just going to keep repeating what I’m saying to you?” she says, and laughs.
I feel my chest unclench. A little.
“No, no, of course not,” I say. “I just—I’m sorry, love. I confess I’m also a bit distracted today.” I nod at the boxes laid out across the room. “It seems there’s a lot left to discover about my father.”
She shakes her head, her eyes big and sad. “I’m so sorry.
It must be awful to have to go through all his stuff like this.”
I exhale, and say, mostly to myself, “You have no idea,” before looking away. I’m still staring at the floor, my head heavy with the day and its demands, when she reaches out, tentatively, with a single word.
“Aaron?”
And I can feel it then, can feel the change, the fear, the pain in her voice. My heart still beats too hard, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.
“What’s wrong?” I say, looking up at once. I take a seat next to her on the bed, study her eyes. “What’s happened?”
She shakes her head. Stares into her open hands. Whispers the words when she says, “I think I made a mistake.”
My eyes widen as I watch her. Her face pulls together. Her feelings pinwheel out of control, assaulting me with their wildness. She’s afraid. She’s angry. She’s angry with herself for being afraid.
“You and I are so different,” she says. “Meeting Haider today, I just”—she sighs—“I remembered how different we are. How differently we grew up.”
I’m frozen. Confused. I can feel her fear and apprehension, but I don’t know where she’s going with this. What she’s trying to say.
“So you think you’ve made a mistake?” I say. “About—us?”
Panic, suddenly, as she understands. “No, oh my God, no, not about us,” she says quickly. “No, I just—”
Relief floods through me.
“—I still have so much to learn,” she says. “I don’t know anything about ruling . . . anything.” She makes an impatient, angry sound. She can hardly get the words out. “I had no idea what I was signing up for. And every day I feel so incompetent,” she says. “Sometimes I’m just not sure I can keep up with you. With any of this.” She hesitates. And then, quietly, “This job should’ve been yours, you know. Not mine.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she says, nodding. She can no longer look at me. “Everyone’s thinking it, even if they don’t say it. Castle. Kenji. I bet even the soldiers think so.”
“Everyone can go to hell.”
She smiles, only a little. “I think they might be right.”
“People are idiots, love. Their opinions are worthless.”