HAVEN ✓

Three

"Can we talk?" Markee asks, standing across from me, the wooden counter of Vera's Vegetables separating us.

"I'm working right now, Markee. I don't have time to talk." I immediately regret the venom seeping into my reply as I rearrange the yellow bell peppers sitting in a wicker basket that rests on the countertop. Hopefully I look too busy to carry on this conversation, but Markee ignores my snarky tone.

"You're right, you have so much business right now," she comments, gesturing to our surroundings. The market overhang is empty.

Vera's Vegetables is one of the many open-air shops in Market Circle. Sometimes I imagine what it would have looked like a hundred years ago when supermarkets still existed. With a wall of stone between us and the rest of the world, there isn't a way to import or export goods, so the merchandise in Market Circle is all local. Its placement at the very center of Herald makes it a perfectly accessible hub for citizens to purchase fresh foods, clothing, jewelry, tools, and other various items. The commodities are made by the people, for the people.

Though the role is crucial to a family's livelihood, being a merchant is not always easy. The Council regulates the booths monthly, and has zero tolerance for illegal commercial items. Guns are given only to those who are Placed in positions where they are needed, such as the military or hunters. Drugs, medicinal herbs, and certain other substances can only be purchased from local apothecaries, and are regulated just as heavily, and offenders are put to work in the labor camps. Even law-breakers here are considered useful to society, doing the most rigorous, but necessary, jobs like mining the coal used to power the city.

Working in Market Circle is an alternative for Placement, making enough to survive on, but lacking the comforts and security of a Placement job. There is a future for those who are Placed.

Vera, the older woman currently hauling heads of cabbage from crates to the wooden display rack, has some of the biggest squash in Herald. Most people that choose to work in Market Circle have a family history of their trade, like how Vera's mother and father farmed the land before her, and why her market booth is so vital to her income. This is the way of life she chose for herself, as opposed to the council-appointed Placement.

The only reason I'm here is because she took pity on my family after what happened two autumns ago.

A change of scenery to occupy the mind, Vera had said, but I hate the guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Though I am thankful for her giving me work to keep me busy, I choke on the shame every day. I've been working full-time since I turned eighteen this summer. Instead of going to school in the fall, I will be working at Vera's as I await Placement in October.

Mom and Dad met through their Placements, both working in the power plant. Dad oversees the mechanics of the coal-burning steam station, while Mom is one of the scientists there. When I was first starting school, Mom would give me her own engineering lessons in hopes that I would follow in her footsteps, but I haven't told her the news yet. I don't want to crush her hopes by telling her I don't know what I want to do, and how could I begin to explain how lost I'd been recently?

"I can handle things here, Sophie," Vera calls to me, wiping her hands on her threadbare apron. "Take a break while there aren't many customers."

I narrow my eyes at Markee when she gives me a look of triumph. Once we step out of the vegetable stand's shade and around into the service alley, I whirl on her. "What do you want?"

"Come on, Soph. It's been two days and you're still mad at me? I mean, it was kinda my fault, but—"

"But what?" My anger, fear, and frustration that plagued me for the past two days, pent up and boiling beneath the surface, is now exploding from my mouth faster than I could choke it back down. "How can you justify almost getting us killed, or worse? How could you drag me into this? You knew how dangerous it was. You knew how I felt about going out there! You knew what happened to Rhett!"

I'm trying not to cry from old wounds being unstitched, but fail miserably. My hands shake and I don't know if it's from rage, regret, or something else entirely.

"As if I knew anyone would be out there!" she says, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "And it's not like I forced you to come, so don't put the blame all on me. You're still responsible for your own choices."

That makes me swallow my next words. She is right. I decided to go with her out of my own accord and I have no right to blame her for my decision, even if it feels like it wasn't much of a decision at all. My anger turns inward, burning myself from the inside, red-hot.

I should have stopped her from going. I should have talked her out of it. All the should-haves and the what-ifs overwhelm me in a dark cloud that hangs above my head. What would Rhett have done if he had been there, confronted by an Outlander? Sirens echo in my head as I spiral into memory. If only I hadn't begged him to take me hunting with him that one cool autumn day, soon after he was Placed. If only we hadn't been found by the gruff-looking man I now know was an Outlander. If only I stayed and fought the man instead of running away after Rhett was knocked out cold. If only he hadn't been taken over the wall and into the Outlands. It was all my fault, and now I'm trying to blame Markee for something she didn't do. I know guilt, and for Markee to feel the weight of that kind of burden is the last thing I want.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, wiping away a renegade tear. "It's not your fault."

She closes the distance between us, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and squeezing. "I forgive you." Patting my back, she adds, "Rhett forgives you, too."

I shake my head and sob silently onto her shoulder. What I have done cannot be so easily forgiven. Because Rhett wasn't just my best friend.

He was my older brother.

◊ ◊ ◊

When I return to Vera's, I find Miles waiting for me there in his dark green border patrol uniform, a bright smile and a bottle of unknown contents in each hand. I rub my eyes vigorously in effort to cover up the fact that I had been crying just a few minutes ago.

"What's this?" I ask as he hands me one of the bottles. I unscrew the cap and sniff the liquid in question. A sweet aroma fills my nose and my taste buds perk up.

"Just your favorite human being on Earth here to brighten your day." He grins when I give him a look. "Oh, and a strawberry banana smoothie."

"You know we sell these here, right?" I say as I gesture to the fridge full of Vera's homemade fruit smoothies.

"Well these are special." Miles wiggles his eyebrows. "Mom made them."

I tilt the bottle back to take a sip. The fruity taste brings memories of hot summers past. We would spend the break from school building opposing forts, Markee and I on one team and Miles and Rhett on the other. We stifled giggles when Miles' mom would fret about, searching for her missing dining chairs and cushions. Eventually, she booted the lot of us to the backyard where we'd play kickball and wrestle. We always put up a fight with Markee on my team; even with the height difference, her relentless ferocity kicked butt.

I sigh happily, sweetness on my tongue and the warm tingle of nostalgia enveloping me, eclipsing my earlier distress. "Great, right?" His grin widens and we clink our glass bottles together in a pretend toast, and my eyes follow how his muscles flex when he lifts his arm to take a drink.

When did Miles get muscles? Not that long ago he was the boy who helped his mom carry home groceries and helped me with dreaded math homework. After his eighteenth birthday, he went through four months of training to be Placed as a soldier guarding Herald from the Outlanders. Now he is a whole head taller than me and much broader than I remember. His dark brown hair is cropped shorter now that he's on active duty, making it look darker, closer to black.

My cheeks burn as I catch myself staring at him in this different light. "Any updates?" I ask, attempting to mask my previous chain of thought.

Miles shakes his head, his eyes losing a bit of their laughter. He takes his time capping his smoothie before speaking. "There's no trace of him. The forest is clear of any Outlander, and my entire regiment scoured the inner city—nothing." He shrugs. "The brute must have gotten out the same way he got in."

Relief cools me from head to toe, and I immediately feel lighter. I want to toss all my apprehension aside, but some small tug at the back of my mind refuses to let me relax completely. It was something in the Outlander's eyes that day, boring into mine, that still leaves me with nightmares.

Miles checks his watch. "Gotta go, Soph. Duty calls." He mock-salutes me and turns to go, but I grab the back of his shirt before he can get too far. He looks at me with his eyebrows raised in a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Thank you," I tell him. "For everything." The redness creeping into his ears has nothing to do with the July heat. With a smirk, he ruffles my hair and walks out of the vegetable stand.