After the Gardenias Have Fallen
by Michelle C. Willianto
Mentor’s Remarks:
Ever since Term 1, Michelle has remained actively inquisitive and critical about global issues. In this term, she was interested in understanding abolition. This story is her way of trying to make sense and explore the possibilities of a world without institutions and systems which confine power to a few individuals and which abuse power for their own gains. That kind of world isn't impossible; it's just hard. But Michelle believes that innovation and progress is powered by imagination and the belief that things can and will change.
Drip, drip, dripping steady from somewhere in the leaky ceilings of the prison, a drop fell on Aithne’s head. She flinched at the sudden spot of cold and wrapped her arms around herself in a protective hug, hurrying to the two older members of the team, who she’d been lagging behind from. The dusty bars of each cell seemed to close in on Aithne as she strode through the narrow hallways, the flickering lights leaving her fearing for the moment they would finally black out. She was starting to lose track of how much time they’d spent in this damned place when the two backs in front of her stopped.
One of them turned around; Prerna, revolution leader, youngest champion of the Duels and probably one of the few people Aithne trusted. Friend, sister, somewhat-admire-her? Aithne wasn’t good at labeling relationships. She already knew what Prerna’d ask from the stormy look in eyes and her furrowed brow, that she’d tell Aithne she could back out now — they had this exact conversation on the way here. She brushed Prerna off, stepped away to cut the conversation short.
The courtyard, a rectangular area boxed by four grey walls and the only place where the sunlight reached.
Their third member finished setting up the candles on the prayer mat. Aithne walked up to her, not bothering to speak — the last time she’d tried to start a conversation, the shaman from Mihyx had looked at her as if she grew another head. Aithne found the woman’s eyes closed, her lips moving in silent prayer.
Prerna followed closely behind, and Aithne mentally celebrated making it this far. She mimicked the two’s clasped hands.
How... How do you pray?
Aithne wasn’t religious. It’d been years since she even spared a thought about what was Above, nor did she know what prayers the others were reciting. Praying, simply the act of it, had seemed useless to past Aithne when she denounced loving, cherishing — because she was on her own, and there was no ultimate being to save her.
But now things were different. Aithne had seen how small acts could make a difference, that the world could change.
Aithne’s parents used to pray. They learned a prayer from listening in one of those religious gatherings the nobles went to every week. Ma said it made her feel lucky, so when times hit especially hard she’d force them to recite it again and again. Aithne remembered the resentment she felt back then; it wouldn’t help, of course not! The prayer wasn’t even about fortune.
‘May all beings everywhere plagued
With sufferings of body or mind
Be freed from their illnesses.
May those frightened cease to be afraid
And may those bound be free
May the powerless find peace
And leave their wishes to us.’
Aithne opened her eyes, having said the words in her mind, feeling oddly at peace.
That was before her ears were assaulted by a cacophony of voices — invisible, all overlapping on each other until they melded into a hivemind of voices. Aithne glanced at Prerna in panic. Prerna’s calm indifference was infuriating, and her mouthed Listen even more so.
Listen to what? They were just echoes with sharp edges grating on her ears—
Oh.
Aithne slowly unfurled her hands from her ears. If she listened hard enough — she could tell some voices apart. Vicious laughter, cries of pain, screams. And there were words.
They asked why they had to suffer, laughed and called others lowlifes, apologized for the sin of wanting to survive, but most... Thanked them. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Eventually, the ghosts faded with a sigh, leaving behind a tranquil field and three people. Yet the revolutionaries were unable to relax. Throughout the whole ordeal, they’d heard one clear statement across those cries, remarks, thanks.
Please, make sure they are punished.
—
Aithne didn’t know how things ended up like this.
She’d been fine, or so she thought, in the aftermath of the ghosts disappearing. Prerna had gone straight to business with the discussions of the prison’s renovation and told Aithne they were finished, you can go now, we’ll come after you. Recognizing this as her exit ticket, Aithne had gladly complied, feeling a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in months. It was as if for a moment the anxiety backing her into a corner of her mind had disappeared.
She wasn’t skipping down the halls or anything, but maybe she did have a small smile on her face as she found her way through the narrow rows of prison cells numbered from one, two, three, seven...
Fifty-seven.
Aithne stopped in her tracks. It wasn’t even a conscious decision, but she couldn’t feel her legs, as if they didn’t exist anymore. Vaguely, she realized the thud-thud-thud echoing in her ears from her aching chest was in fact her heart. If it was beating so fast, why couldn’t she breathe? It was too cold. Too hot at the same time. Her head was spinning, splitting, falling apart with the tilted room. The thoughts going through her mind were indistinguishable, blending together into one scream of terror. She was going to die, and the only exit was miles and miles away in her tunnel vision, a barely visible rectangle of light.
And then, just as quickly, it ended. Aithne blinked in a daze, only realizing it was over a beat later. She was trembling. Hated how it felt, curling into herself from — what? A number? Pathetic.
It was her cell number. For several months, it was also her name. Fifty-seven this; fifty-seven, do that, the prison guards said when she was a prisoner. Fifty-seven, murder your opponent in cold blood to prove your honor.
She shut her eyes and tried to breathe, which was easier but not easy. Focused on the way sensation was returning to her body, the coolness of sweat on her back, and the ringing in her ears fading so she could hear the drip-drip of the leaks in the ceiling. Aithne had no idea how long she had been sitting against the wall of cell fifty-seven, only it was long enough that Prerna found her there.
She knew what happened. Of course. Prerna only asked Aithne if she needed any help, one hand extended and voice gentler than she’d ever heard. Aithne gripped the bars of the cell, using it to hoist herself up. Her legs weren’t as shaky as before, but she shifted closer to the older as they navigated their way out in a silence she was grateful for. The evening sun was a sight to behold, painting everything in hues of orange, as if enveloping them in comfort after hours of being in darkness.
They found the other groups of revolutionaries assigned to different prisons at the designated meeting spot; a plaza surrounded with mostly empty shops. Aithne spotted a familiar head of dark curly hair, nudged through the crowd, and tapped Ondina on her shoulder. Ondina flashed her a smile with an acknowledging nod of her head, before turning to Prerna who took a stand at the centre of the plaza. Being the unwavering leader she was, Prerna announced that they would be going back soon.
Wait!
A voice rang out from the crowd. Aithne strained her head to take a look. Some rebellion member she wasn’t familiar with. They moved to the front to face Prerna. She tilted her head, leaned over to ask them what the matter was. They exchanged whispers. Prerna nodded, shouted back over the gathering crowd about a change of plans.
We’ll be going to the post office.
Instantly, Aithne could hear the murmur of conversations all around. She understood the excitement; it wasn’t often they had a chance to send a letter or two to their loved ones. Especially with the instability from the recent rebellion and the location of their base. Back then, or rather a few weeks ago, when the prison still operated, the authorities had scrutinized everything that came to inmates — they’d censor or even dispose of mail if needed. Most of Prerna’s letters to Aithne were in code, or slipped in via bribes by a distant anonymous sponsor.
But she couldn’t help but be left with a sense of frustration somehow. Or maybe it was jealousy? She frowned at the tight knot in her chest. Relatives, friends, partners, roommates... Maybe it was the fact that she’d have no one to even send letters to.
Her parents left her long ago, a memory she left in the rubble of their home in the Corner of Colen. She didn’t blame them for that decision. It was logical, after all, and she ended up fine. Aithne tried to emulate their indifference. She was always a step further away from everyone else, walls impossibly high. Love was an act of frivolity. To cherish meant to burden.
Aithne looked at the little girl in front of her.
She used to keep a distance from Ondina, one she considered ‘safe’. For both of them. Better that way, she thought, to never have a bond with one another. They were too different. Ondina was the adopted child of nobles and Aithne was just a maid of said family.
But she had been wrong. The two of them were similar — both lonely and alone. Aithne liked to believe she didn’t think that way anymore. They were literal partners in crime now, and she was opening up to more people, albeit a short list consisting of two names total.
Ondina waved a hand in her face, effectively snapping Aithne out of her daze. I’m gonna write someone a letter.
That was surprising. Aithne could name exactly one candidate, and the thought made her gut sicken slightly. There was no way.
Is it him?
Ondina startled from the sudden sharpness of her tone. She averted her eyes. Who do you think? Was her reply, too joking for a situation like this. Aithne could feel the panic building up in her throat. She reached forward and gripped Ondina’s shoulders, forcing her to look.
Ondina, I’m not fooling around. Tell me. Are you going to send a letter to him?
What’ll you do, report to Prerna? Ondina was starting to get defensive. I’ll slip the letter in through Kamali. I’m not even seeing him in person.
There’re reasons why Prerna’s banning you especially from any contact with him.
And I’ve got my own reasons too.
Aithne couldn’t shout sense into Ondina right there, so she set- tled for a stern whisper. This is one of the most reckless and frankly stupidest things you’ve ever wanted to do.
I’m just writing to my father. You’re the one being foolish here, Aithne. Ondina’s eyes were glassy. When she spoke, her voice was as fragile as the glass in her eyes. Why does everyone talk about him that way? Like – like he’s a monster. He can’t be!
Aithne stopped.
Could he be forgiven? The answer used to be so simple. For all his sins- the huts razed to the ground, people killed and enslaved and suffocated in prisons, he should be condemned. Only a beast without any human heart could do the things he had done. And yet—
The only person who hadn’t shunned Ondina was him. He’d adopted an orphan girl from an offshore island and, although he was absent sometimes, actually tried to raise her properly and with... love, for no apparent reason that benefited him. There must be some good in him for that.
A person split into two halves. Doting father, snippets of a gentler version behind the visage of hidden horrors, from Ondina’s anecdotes shared in solitary nights when the barrier between them seemed to be broken. Master of the prison, who orchestrated the Duels and poisoned land, a cog keeping the system running on the blood of others.
—
Sometimes, Calder liked to window-watch. There was a window a bit higher than the left side of his bed, complete with curtains if he wanted privacy. From there he could sneak a view of the revolutionaries going about their schedules day by day.
Calder had tried to convince himself that he was doing this purposeless activity to observe the weaknesses of his enemies. He’d done this as the prison warden, witnessed countless inmates breaking out in brawls from his spot by the one-way mirror in the office, purposefully sending the guards a little too late after. Ironic that Calder was the prisoner now. The truth was: there was just a sort of charm in watching the scenes unfold. As if the children running about playing tag, people carrying boxes and baskets back and forth, and strangers going for strolls were some sort of theatre with a cast that kept changing, and he the only audience member waiting for a good show.
The window in the tiny cottage wasn’t reflective to the people outside, so occasionally someone would notice his gaze. There’d be a look of nervousness, maybe disgust, or even fear. Suitable for their kind. When that happened he would simply smile back. Not his award-winning smile, the one that he practiced in the mirror everyday. It was taut, something he tried to inject his anger into, filled with thinly-veiled disdain. They may have taken everything away from Calder, but not his pride.
Ondina should’ve been somewhere on the island. Yet Calder hadn’t even seen a hair of her, nor that maid of hers. He hadn’t, ever since the news finally came to him that Ondina had been arrested.
A coward, that’s what he was. The kind of father who turned a blind eye to his child rotting in prison, forced to fight for her life. Sure, Calder hadn’t known until a little too late because the information was kept from him, but he could have done something after, bailed her out or at least visited her.
At the same time, Ondina had killed. She took a knife to the throat of another Brimstone, her family, and a life had been lost. What made Ondina different from the garbage in those cells? He was... angry, he realized. That she hadn’t given him a chance to explain, just left and joined the enemy of all things. The isolation left him toiling in the endless cycle, questioning who to blame and what he should feel. He was going insane.
So it felt like a dream somehow when Calder held the baby blue paper in his hands, missing just a seal from a certain noble family.
Dear Father Calder,
It’s been a while, how have you been? I hope house arrest isn’t too hard on you. Everyone’s tried their best to make the cottages more humane, less like a prison. Unfortunately, you’ll have to guess who this is— I’m trying to be discreet, and Prerna wouldn’t like it if she found out.
I’m sorry this letter took so long to arrive because I didn’t know what to say. Do you even still care You probably want an explanation for... everything. Especially about leaving with the rebellion instead of going with you once it all blew up. So after the drafts and drafts that are now sitting in the trash with my rambling, I’ll just get straight to the point.
The thing is, I have never been a Brimstone. Your daughter, yes though now I don’t know anymore
They never accepted me as one, but they couldn’t do anything about it, unless there was proof of violence. They tried to push me over the edge behind your back, and they succeeded. Did you know about this? I hope for the sake of our relationship, that you did not. That you were not complicit in the hell that I’d been put through.
I joined the revolution because nobody should go through what we — Aithne, Prerna, I and the others — did in the prison, in the Duels. This is all we’ve known our entire lives, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. Everyone has been working hard to move forward. I hope you can join us too.
The letter ended there, signed anonymously. But the familiar handwriting and the crossed out word beside his name, which he could barely discern, gave away the writer. He read the page over, once and twice and then again. Then he looked at Kamali, who had handed it to Calder. It was on the porch, he’d said, then promptly went straight to the living room table to work on the pile of paperwork he’d brought. Kamali’s lack of questioning or suspicion never stopped confounding him. It was either the guard didn’t care for whom Calder communicated with, or he respected his privacy — which Calder had come to appreciate, after having been deprived of it.
Kamali locked eyes with him. Calder froze, waiting to see how he’d react, but the guard simply gave him a good-natured nod. Are you alright? He offered hesitantly. Calder wondered what kind of face he was making for Kamali to ask him that.
What kind of face should he make? He thought Ondina had given up on him, and he was about to start giving up on her too. Happiness, relief, like the feeling of the clear sky after a storm. Guilt growing in his stomach, how did he never notice her suffering, was he not around enough, maybe things would be different if he intervened—
His gaze dropped to his hands, where the letter lay. I just... Pause, a shaky breath, sudden uncertainty while Kamali looked at him, stare level and patient. Don’t know how I should feel. Or what to do.
Calder had never stopped and reflected on his feelings much in the busy clamor of his everyday life, a schedule that quickly got menial. The warden’s duties as the administrative power of the prison, while described impressively, was actually quite tedious. But it kept him up with the mountains of things always to be done; not only overseeing the prisoners themselves but the staff and the facilities. Sometimes Calder wondered why they didn’t just send them straight to death sentence everytime he had to deal with yet another inmate who thought they could do anything they wanted. At least most of them were too scared of him to try anything.
When he had free time, he spent it all on family. By that he meant trying to catch up with Ondina and the rest of his family, who tried to invite him to various social events as a trophy son. He had to dutifully attend them all, and that left him with barely any quality time with Ondina. It was never enough no matter how he tried to overcompensate in other ways, Calder had always thought, and that thought was proven right.
Work or family always took priority. And in the end, he’d failed both. He found certain emotions were better shoved in his mind’s mental blacklist of things to think about than expressed. Or else he’d spiral down a rabbit hole again, just like he had been the past few – days? Weeks?
But this was a fragile topic that depended on his emotions, how he’d respond. Their relationship was hanging on a thread and Calder could not fix it.
He handed the paper to Kamali without looking at him. Please, burn this.
Erasing all evidence of communication between them, so that Ondina’s act of betrayal wouldn’t be found out, seemed the most logical way to proceed. She would be safe. It would be Calder’s last gift to her before cutting their connections completely.
That wasn’t the full reason why he’d decided to destroy the letter.
Truth be told, Calder couldn’t even bear the idea of facing Ondina. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Not after all he allowed to hap- pen to her. By all accounts she should be angry at him, but she wasn’t. His twelve year old daughter was somehow the bigger person than him in this situation. He waited for Kamali to take the sheet of paper, too light for the weight it held. He didn’t. Instead, he asked Calder: Are you sure? Why do you want to?
And Calder found himself freezing up from the man’s gaze. What the hell did that mean? He scanned Kamali’s eyes for anything accusatory, provoking him to fight back. Something in him snapped as Kamali silently refused him, a thoughtful expression on his face as he stared.
What, you’re questioning all my actions now? Am I not redeemable to you? I’m trying, for once, to do something good! That’s all you revolutionaries keep saying, right? Goodness and justice – and all that crap!
Calder flung his arms to the air in defeat, despair, and ran his hand down his face.
God. She’s my only family left, but I was the one who helped exterminate her family!
He stormed to the door in the beginning of a hazy anger, only realizing stupidly that it was locked. Even if he had made it out, what would he do? It wasn’t like the escape of an enemy ex-general and warden would go unnoticed, especially if he was literally making a fire. Damn it. He couldn’t think straight when he was like this. Calder tensed as Kamali caught up with him. But Kamali didn’t do anything. He kept his space. Didn’t say a word for a while until Calder had mostly calmed seeing that Kamali wasn’t hostile. Finally, as Calder’s breathing slowed, Kamali broke the silence.
I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it that way.
Calder sighed, running his hands through his hair. No, I’m sorry. For blowing up at you. I just want her to be safe and happy, so this can’t continue on.
Why do you think that losing you would make her happy? Kamali questioned him.
Because she’s better off without me. The answer weighed heavily in his heart, but he knew it was true. I don’t deserve to be forgiven by her.
Calder, Ondina sent that letter because she wanted to see what you would do. She hasn’t forgiven you, but she’s trying to take a chance despite being afraid — Afraid that you’ve rejected her like the rest of the family. Ondina needs her father. She needs you. If she’s better off without you or not, that’s not the point. You have to try making amends.
Then what is the right thing to do? Calder suddenly had the mortifying urge to cry, which was ridiculous. The last time he had was when his mother died, years ago, when he was a boy. And then he’d thrown himself into his studies until he was finally put into the role of general — there was no room to cry nor feel then, and Calder was always somewhat numb during that time, unable to remember the faces of anyone he’d mowed down in his objective to eradicate. Not a single emotion or feeling was strong enough to surface from the murky sea that muted everything.
At least until Ondina.
The wreckage of a small hut lying by his feet, two people buried under it. Calder inspected them, a fleeting thought in his mind that they were dead, until the woman gasped into slipping consciousness and snatched his ankle. He simply paused, watching the blood around her soaking the coarse soil. ‘Please. Take her away. Save her.’ Said in a whimpering voice with wild eyes that light drained from. Her grip slackened. Calder started walking away, only to find his way blocked by a crumpled heap that was slowly getting up.
A little girl — alive, no heavy injuries from the carnage except for a few wounds and bruises. A miracle. She must have been pushed away from the impending explosion by her parents, who she had just noticed buried under her home’s ruins. She cried out.
At the age of no older than five, she no longer had a family. And at that moment, Calder felt a sharp stab of something. Guilt. He waited for it to dissipate. Instead it lingered, twisting his stomach, until he felt compelled to awkwardly step over to the child and—
What? Then what? He was the one who had killed them. No comfort could he offer to her, even if her mother had ordered him to rescue her. His arm hovered unsure over the girl’s back. She shocked him by flipping around and sobbing into him, her chubby arms wrapped around Calder. They stayed like that for a while, Calder patting her back gently until she suddenly fell.
He caught her. It was probably the overexertion and her mild head injury. Calder would bring her to get treated, then straight to Colen. The war was mostly over. The child would be a Brimstone, safe and raised away from this gruesome story. He would make sure of it.
Reliving the memory finally broke the dam on his tears. He turned away. Even if Kamali probably wouldn’t judge him for it, this weakness was embarrassing. Kamali shuffled away from the door, taking a seat on the floor and gesturing for Calder to do the same. After a split-second of hesitation, he did, wiping away at his face. Kamali said nothing about it. He put the letter on the table, then a blank paper and pencil. That’s what we’re going to figure out together. But first, do you want to say anything to her?
He did. A lot of things. That Calder was sorry, that he wanted to improve, that he always loved her and was so, so proud of her. So he set to work, Kamali at his side. It took way too many crumpled drafts, a broken pencil, and maybe Calder almost gave up a couple of times, but he didn’t and Kamali never left until finally it was done.
He sealed the envelope, let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and handed it to Kamali, who actually took the paper this time. Then Calder watched as Kamali made his way to the door, reluctant to let him leave despite the hours they’d already spent together. He would probably start overthinking the letter for the next night and skip sleep altogether. Not pleasant to look forward to.
Unfortunately, Kamali did notice his sulking. Fortunately, he stopped and turned back. You know, we can still talk if you want.
And so they did. About anything and everything, even the things Calder would have considered previously too taboo to converse about with the enemy. It was a bit more comfortable than before. As if the tension between them had somewhat disappeared. Kamali talked a lot more, Calder noticed. He wondered what kind of information the man kept from him.
Somehow, they ended up on the topic of the prisons. Warning sirens were blaring in his head. He ignored them and tried swimming through the conversation anyway. But it was a vain effort anyway, and all because of what Kamali offhandedly mentioned.
Recently, we visited the Colen prisons. Prerna has concluded that they will no longer be used as carceral facilities, but maybe reimagined as healing spaces, places to pray.
Calder raised his eyebrow and scoffed. Alright, healing and all that, he knew what the revolution believed in, but this was a dangerous decision. Where would prisoners go? He said as much to Kamali with a careless scoff.
Kamali just stared at him in silence. Calder stopped. Shit, was there something he missed? He... probably wasn’t supposed to say that. Trying to compensate for the mistake, he scrutinized Kamali’s expression. Mad, sad, disgusted? He thought he was making progress.
Calder finally recognized what Kamali was wearing on his face. And it shocked him, because he’d never seen Kamali look that way.
It was an expression of being lost. A little fear. Kamali didn’t know the answer.
—
Everybody here? ... Then, I hereby announce the start of this meeting.
Ten stood in a circle, listening to the man who’d spoken, north of the lineup. They were like vultures, Prerna considered. Though that metaphor would include her too, as another figurehead of the rebellion, and the three people caught were hardly prey nor innocent.
A family of three – mother, father, and daughter from the looks of it. Probably one of the lesser-known in the higher class if Prerna couldn’t recognize them. They were pressed as close as humanly possible, the little girl surrounded by her parents in the middle in a subtle form of protection.
She found them shifting into the image of another family, one with faces mirroring her own. This scene was all too similar to another in the past, only the tables had turned. It was unsettling. They glared at the revolutionaries with scowls, but she could tell they were putting up a front. There was fear in their eyes. Deep down, the family of nobles were terrified for their lives.
Prerna recognized that expression. And she hated it because it made her falter, question the rightness of her actions if they made someone look at her like she’d once looked at the nobles and the people of the prison. Logically, she knew the situation was different. The faction that caught them had treated them nowhere near what the prisoners had gone through.
Had this been a ‘normal’ trial, or rather using Colen’s version of so-called justice previously run by the nobles themselves, the answer so-called justice previously run by the nobles themselves, the answer would have been clear. Heads severed under the guillotine, a life sentence in darkness worse than death, torture — variations of the same revenge.
But that was exactly why.
It was a rabbit hole back into the ways before. Revenge would only repeat the unbreaking cycle of the social hierarchy they had tried so hard to reform. How would the revolution be any better than their captors if they chose to take that road? The question haunted them and nobody knew the answer. Not even the people who had orchestrated the revolution. Prerna watched as the people in front of her, who were supposed to be its wisest, spat at each other with thorny words. They were getting nowhere with this. The tension in the room was rising like a mounting wave about to burst into a disastrous tsunami.
Surely we cannot let them go off without any punishment. We have a right to, after all they’ve done!
A scoff. What brutish reasoning. Have you forgotten what it is we stand for? To lower ourselves to that level...
Everyone, everyone. This is a diplomatic discussion.
Do not get in the way of this!
Ridiculous. The squabbling only grew worse, voices shouting over the other. A headache was throbbing painfully alongside Prerna’s irritation. Anything she said now would probably be ignored. But someone had to try and break up the fight, and after trading glances across the room, it probably had to be her. How to go about that without escalating the situation was a difficult problem. She needed more time. A temporary solution that could work, and quickly.
Prerna slammed her hands on the table, and with a jolt, everyone stood shocked at her. We’re getting nowhere with this. If nobody can decide a thing, then we should at least relocate the nobles somewhere they can be surveilled and accounted for until the circumstances are clear.
A few nods, but still some of the people seemed reluctant.
I’ll assume you mean your faction. But isn’t that terribly convenient for you? Prerna, you’ve said not a single word since arriving. What are you thinking?
She narrowed her eyes. He was playing at something, trying to make everyone think twice about her suggestion.
I simply think we should have a truce for a short period of time, maybe a week, so we don’t end up arguing amongst ourselves again. If you are that untrusting of me — of your own ally — then you can station some of the people from your faction there too.
It worked. The man scowled, but gave a noncommittal response that Prerna took as a do whatever you want. Everyone else surprisingly followed fast enough. Too fast. Prerna couldn’t help but think there was something off. The tension was still there, simmering in the air, but everyone maneuvered around it without mentioning the nobles again.
As they made their way out of the building, she heard a whisper from the other revolutionary, the man who’d tried to trip her up before—
Don’t think I’ll forget about them.
And then he was gone. Prerna realized with a cold drop of her heart what she was missing. The other factions weren’t agreeing with her; they were waiting for a chance to strike.
Then and there, she could feel the start of the revolution splitting.
