Fletcher woke the next morning to even more soreness than before, enough that it was uncomfortable to do even basic things like stand up or walk. His day passed much as the day before had, complete with him forcing himself to work out twice despite the achy muscles.

  There was lots of time for brooding too. Arguably too much, but he couldn’t do much else. He tried holding onto some of the dishes from breakfast so he had something to fidget with, but the tech that pulled them through the slot was a whole lot stronger than him, meaning he’d never be able to keep something extra.

  The loneliness crept up on him, and by the time the guards came to get him for his nightly shower, he was actually excited to see them, even knowing that it meant showering with an audience.

  He was already pulling his shoes on by the time the woman opened the door. The [Nix] cuffed him, and then they were on their way.

  “So do you guys have to do this with every prisoner?” Fletcher asked casually.

  Silence.

  “Not much for conversation then I guess,” he said.

  They continued to walk, not even looking at him.

  “I think the Mixed are terrorists.”

  Still no response.

  Desperate for anything, Fletcher stopped in his tracks. Neither soldier said anything as the woman immediately threw the butt of her rifle into Fletcher’s stomach. The [Nix] pulled him forward, and the march continued.

  “I guess you’ve got orders not to talk to me,” he muttered between breaths.

  He then did something he knew was probably a bad idea and focused on activating his newest [Skill].

  But nothing happened.

  What had been a simple trick before no longer worked. The [Skill] refused to activate.

  They arrived at the bathroom, and the guards pushed him inside. The woman and [Nix] stood at the door, watching him with perfectly neutral faces. After his shower—and he took his time given the hot water felt wonderful on his sore muscles—he dried off and dressed and then was escorted back to his cell, his guards not saying a word the entire time.

  Inside the locked room, Fletcher sat on the cot with a sigh and wondered if this was going to work out in his favor after all. The only power he had was to refuse to join the military. His mother, on the other hand, had the power and resources to make his life even more miserable, as proven by the silent soldiers.

  The problem was that as much as Fletcher wanted to hold true to his beliefs and remain firm on his stance, he had a sinking feeling that enough time locked up like this would wear him down. Especially if General Anders kept finding ways to worsen the situation.

  The lights turned off, and he laid on his cot, waiting for sleep to take him. It took hours, and he once again woke up repeatedly. He was exhausted when morning came—morning according to his captors at least, and what he hoped lined up with a regular schedule.

  Fletcher was too tired and sore to exercise a lot, so aside from some light stretching, he mainly sat on the cot, lost in his thoughts. Meals came and went, and then it was time for the evening shower.

  But they never came.

  The night passed along with another restless cycle of sleep, and then the day more or less repeated itself. He worked out only once, ate his meals, repeatedly tried to use his [Read Thoughts] ability but continually came up empty, and then to his relief, the guards grabbed him for his shower.

  Both of the soldiers refused to speak with him, but if he made any attempts at resisting, the woman was quick to hit him with her gun. He took his time while showering, but even that couldn’t last forever, and he was back in the cell before he knew it.

  It was long before the lights went off, leaving only a faint emergency glow to light the small cell. It was bright enough that it didn’t activate [Dark Vision].

  Or was it?

  Thinking of his inability to access [Read Thoughts], Fletcher decided to try something out. He took the blanket and stood on the cot to reach the ceiling near where the glow of the nightlight came from. After covering it, he discovered himself in complete blackness.

  No [Skill] activated.

  Somehow, they were keeping him from using his abilities. He really had nothing to do here.

  Days passed as he fell into the exact same routine of eating, working out, and thinking. He got to shower every other day instead of daily, and other than that, he was completely, entirely alone. By the fourth day he openly talked to himself, reciting bits of movies and books just to hear something.

  Fletcher really tried to keep track of time, but days blurred together when the only thing he had to look forward to was getting slammed in the gut with a rifle butt every other day. As pitiful as it was to have that be a bright spot in his life, it was at the very least Human interaction, and he was desperate enough to take whatever he could get.

  He was laying on his cot one afternoon, just having finished his second workout of the day when the door unlocked. Fletcher shot up, curious about this very distinct change in the schedule.

  When he saw who came in, he nearly started crying in relief.

  “Dad!” Fletcher rushed to his father, shocked and excited about this very welcome surprise.

  “Hey, Fletcher,” his father said, pulling him into a hug. Sebastian wore the uniform of the Mixed military, complete with the fancy insignias of a high ranking officer. “Got a minute to talk?”

  He laughed and gestured to the cell. “I have a lot of minutes. Infinite minutes.”

  “That tends to happen in solitary confinement.” His dad motioned to the cot. “Can I sit?”

  “Yeah, of course.” Fletcher sat down first, and his father took the spot at the end of the bed. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “Probably good to see anyone,” Sebastian said. He sighed and looked away. “I don’t have as much time as I’d like, and if your mother finds out I was here, you might end up with a new neighbor.”

  “Disobeying your master’s orders?” Fletcher raised his eyebrows.

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me, Fletcher. I’m not the reason you’re in here.”

  “But you let her do it anyway,” he said. As ecstatic as he was to see his father and have his first real conversation in days, he finally had to acknowledge the anger which had been brewing towards the man for letting him rot in jail. Sure, Hazel was a general, but Sebastian clearly had his own pull within the military, and he still let her bully Fletcher however she pleased.

  “Technically, she’s following protocol.”

  “For what?” Fletcher asked in exasperation. “How can I be a traitor to a government I’ve never lived under?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “Nobody chooses their birth citizenship. You were a Mixed citizen before you were a Human one, and long before the Unhumans claimed you. And that citizenship carries certain duties with it. There’s no way around it.”

  “So I either get to live the rest of my life in prison or become a terrorist? You’re really telling me there are no other options?” Fletcher didn’t believe that for a second. He and Hazel were just locked in a battle of wills, waiting to see who would cave first, but he was determined it wouldn’t be him.

  His father scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fletcher, the Mixed aren’t terrorists. That’s just propaganda you’re repeating.”

  “Oh, and the part where they shot up the train I was on simply for being full of Unhumans? Was that propaganda too?” Fletcher glared at his father. He’d had enough run-ins with the Hexed Humans out in the wild to know the truth for himself, regardless of what his family was trying to tell him.

  “They’re fighting for their very existence. The Second Unhuman War never ended for these people,” Sebastian said. “Or maybe it did, for a time. And now they’re fighting the next war.”

  “You’re really going to call this the Third Unhuman War? It seems a little too one-sided to be called a war,” Fletcher said.

  “The Unhumans kill the Mixhumans that the Humans give to them Fletcher. As well as any Mixed they get their hands on, regardless of whether or not they’re Hexed.” Sebastian’s face was cold and serious. “They take them to what are called conversion facilities—”

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  “Where they Hex them to one-hundred-percent, turning them into full Unhumans with no memories of their Human lives. Jeric and Addy mentioned that part already,” Fletcher cut him off. “And that does suck, but I’m not sure that gives these people the right to go around shooting innocents. It’s not like the Unhumans are actually killing anyone, Dad.”

  “Well, if you feel that way, why don’t we go ahead and hand you off to them, and let you experience it firsthand. Or better yet, we can just convert you to one-hundred-percent here,” his father threatened.

  Fletcher sighed. “No. I didn’t mean that it makes it okay, I’m just pointing out that murdering thousands of innocent Unhumans when they aren’t even killing the Hexed they take in isn’t equivalent.”

  “The people who are converted lose all their memories, their personality, their very Humanity. How is that any different than death?”

  He stared at his father, unable to answer it.

  “And that’s your problem, Fletcher. You’re so hung up on trying to make good guys out of the Unhumans, you can’t acknowledge the fact that they’re guilty of wrongdoing. Add in your determination to see just how much you can piss off your mother, and it’s like you’ve lost all ability to think critically about anything.” Sebastian reached forward and rapped his knuckles against Fletcher’s forehead. “Last I checked, there was a brain in there. Maybe try using it again.”

  Fletcher shoved his dad’s hand away. “Regardless of right or wrong, or terrorist or not, nothing changes the fact that I don’t believe violence and war are solutions to problems. I’m no killer, and I won’t become one. Not for you, and certainly not for Hazel.”

  Sebastian bit his lip and then blew out a long breath. “If you truly understood what we were fighting for, you would change your mind.”

  “I won’t do it, Dad. I’ll die in this cell before I pick up a weapon in the cause of war.”

  His father opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped and put a hand to his ear where an earpiece sat. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll leave now.”

  “Already?” Fletcher asked, unwillingly to let go of the first real interpersonal contact he’d had in a week that wasn’t just having a gun thrown into his stomach.

  “I told you, your mother can’t find out I came.” Sebastian stood up and walked to the door. He then turned with a sad face. “As much as I admire your determination, Fletcher, I need you to understand that you’re not going to win this one. No matter how hard you try, this one’s already chalked up to her. You’d be smart to give up sooner rather than later.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Fletcher said, standing up as well. He didn’t even get the chance to hug his dad before Sebastian slipped out the door and it relocked, once again sealing him off alone.

  Despite his father’s intentions being the opposite, the conversation had reinvigorated Fletcher’s fire, further solidifying his stance. He wouldn’t give in to Hazel Anders. He didn’t care what his dad said, she was going to lose. He would make sure of it.

  ***

  Several days later, that fire died down quite a bit, leaving Fletcher with only smoldering determination as he sat in the tiny room, ready to start ripping his own hair out. Or maybe ripping apart his clothes. Or the blanket. Anything had to be better than another day in this cell.

  His guards didn’t even do him the courtesy of riflebutting him during the trips to the shower. If Fletcher tried to stop walking, they would each grab an arm and physically drag him the rest of the way.

  The time he wasn’t exercising or sleeping or eating, Fletcher sat around thinking. Before his father’s visit, that thinking had been either trying to erase all the bad memories or drowning in his despair. Since that conversation, Fletcher had been seriously considering the position the Mixed were in when it came to protecting the Hexed. He realized that he had been so caught up in thinking of the Unhumans only as the kind ones he befriended, he’d never really acknowledged that there had to be some bad ones among the population as well.

  Fletcher also considered what it would be like to be one of the Hexed who were forcibly converted to a full Unhuman, knowing that they would lose everything that made them who they were while still somehow being alive. Even worse would be being a friend or family member who watched their loved one become something completely new, forgetting about the people they cared about entirely.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he supposed that the Mixed might not be wholly evil. While he didn’t agree with all their methods, they were fighting to save lives in some sense, and that was more than the Humans did for the Hexed. And since he was Hexed, he couldn’t hate them the way he wanted to, the way he’d been taught to.

  One thing that didn’t change during all this contemplation was his distinct belief that war didn’t solve problems. If there was one thing they’d learn since the Merger all those years ago, it was that killing each other never produced real results. It only ever brought more killing and suffering. And as long as he believed that, he couldn’t be a soldier. That was just a fact of life.

  Due to that choice, Fletcher clung to whatever remained of his determination, telling himself that he could hold out a little longer. Eventually his mother would give up. Or she’d stop caring enough that his father could do something to get him out. Either way, Fletcher believed that he would go free sooner than the six months Hazel threatened.

  It was his eleventh night in the cell when things changed—or perhaps his twelfth, he’d lost count given the days blurred together and he had no way of tracking them. One minute he was laying on the cot, drifting off to sleep, and the next, he was back in Alcett, in the apartment he’d grown up in.

  Fletcher didn’t know why, but he was excited. He dashed out of his bedroom and into the main living area, but he stopped in his tracks when he discovered the fallen form of his father.

  “Dad,” Fletcher cried out, running to his side.

  Sebastian’s lips were blue, and he struggled for breath. A smile flickered on his face as he reached up to touch Fletcher’s cheek. He tried to say something, but he choked on the words.

  “Dad, no. Dad, hang in there. I’ll get help,” Fletcher said. He glanced around for a phone, but there was nothing nearby. When he looked back down at his father, he watched him take one last strained breath before going motionless.

  “No, wait. Dad, not yet.” Fletcher grabbed his father’s hand as it went limp, but there was no response. He was gone.

  Fletcher released the hand and covered his eyes as he began to cry. A few seconds later, someone touched his back as a familiar voice called his name.

  He stood up with a gasp. “Dad?”

  “Hi, Fletcher.” Sebastian smiled at him.

  The scene had changed. They were in Bren’it’p now, among the familiar stone buildings and cobbled streets.

  “Dad, but… I don’t understand.” Fletcher said.

  “Don’t understand wh—” His father was cut off as the breath left his body and blood poured from his mouth. He collapsed forward into Fletcher’s arms to reveal Fieva standing behind him with a bloody knife.

  “Dad, no, no, no.” Fletcher lowered him to the ground. “Stay with me. Don’t die.”

  His father bled out in his arms on that cobbled street, a smile flickering across his face as the light faded from his eyes.

  Fletcher held his dad’s body close and sobbed, ignoring the blood flowing from the open wound on Sebastian’s back. He didn’t care that Fieva was going to kill him next. It would be better for him anyway than living in a world without his father.

  He squeezed his eyes closed as he cried, finding the loss harder to accept this time around.

  “Fletcher, what’s wrong?” his father asked from behind him.

  Fletcher flung himself upwards, releasing what was only a pillow now. They were in his cell in the Mixed military base.

  “No. I’m not doing this again.” He backed away from his dad, his eyes scanning the room for some sign of danger.

  “Fletcher, it’s alright. You’re safe.” Sebastian held his hands up in a very non-threatening manner. “I’ll protect you.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No. It’s not what you think.”

  “Fl—”

  Shots rang out, and Sebastian gasped as red holes appeared in his chest.

  “Dad, no.” Fletcher raced forward to catch him as he fell. He hadn’t seen where the gunman was, but he didn’t care. He would rather die too.

  A smile flickered across his father’s face, despite the obvious signs of pain as Fletcher held him. He struggled to breathe for a moment, and then he went still.

  Tears filled Fletcher’s eyes as he set his father’s body on the ground and scooted away from it. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

  He blinked and found himself in a forest, a regular Human one like what he was used to in Loketa when he was a child.

  “Fletcher, come on, buddy. We need to get home,” his father said from behind.

  Still crying, Fletcher shook his head and plugged his ears. He wasn’t going to do this again.

  “Fletcher Sebastian Anders, you know better than this. Stop pouting and come on.” The words were muffled but still audible. Sebastian walked around to stand within his view, but Fletcher simply closed his eyes.

  A howl sounded from nearby, and his father shouted his name. Fletcher refused to budge, grimacing as the howls grew closer. Even with plugged ears, he heard as the beast launched into his father and began tearing into the flesh. Even worse were his father’s screams mixed with pleas for help.

  Fletcher was back to sobbing by the time it was all over. He didn’t dare open his eyes to see the carnage, but he felt the blood and other fleshy bits splattered across his body. Whatever this nightmare was, he wanted to wake up.

  Unfortunately, all the willpower in the world couldn’t make that happen.

  Four more times Fletcher endured his father’s death. At Alcett’s Academy for Unhuman Education when Principal Caston broke his neck, at the warehouse where he used to work when a forklift ran through his body, out in the plains of the Unhuman side of the planet when an Unhuman soldier burned him alive, and then finally again in the cell where Fletcher currently resided when he committed suicide using a pistol.

  It was during that final one, as Fletcher held his dad’s dead body, that he finally mustered himself enough to scream.

  And then he was back in his cot, still in the nearly pitch-black cell, but alone as he actively screamed at the void.

  Fletcher sat up, clutched his knees close, and allowed himself to cry, swear, yell, and anything else he thought of to chase the dream away.

  Only it hadn’t been quite a dream. This was far more real, like reliving a memory, and his skin remembered the feeling of blood from all the times he held his father’s body. The distinctness of the nightmare didn’t fade away, even when the lights came on.

  Fletcher remained on the cot, sitting as far in the corner as he could with the blanket pulled close as he willed away the memories. He didn’t move, not when breakfast came and went or lunch or even dinner. He was incapable of thinking of anything but the dream—or whatever it had been. Dreams weren’t supposed to be that real, and he should have been able to wake up once he realized it was a nightmare.

  Given he’d never experienced anything like that before in his entire life, Fletcher came to the unfortunate conclusion that all the time in solitary confinement was taking its toll, even if he hadn’t been able to see it before. He wanted to believe that he could keep going, but the fear of living through something like that again prevented him from sleeping the next night.

  He didn’t eat the next day either. After the breakfast tray was returned, it was only an hour or so later that the guards came to get him for an early shower. Or maybe to force feed him after the skipped meals. He wouldn’t put something cruel like that past his mother.

  “I’m not sure who I’m supposed to tell, but can you pass a message on for me?” Fletcher’s voice was hoarse from having not had anything to drink in a full day. It didn’t matter why they were here originally. He knew this would change their plans.

  The [Nix] and Human paused, waiting for him to continue.

  Fletcher looked away from them, ashamed of the words that came next. “Tell my mother that she’s won. I give up.”