The Dividing Sky by Jill Tew, Chapters 19 Liv—32 Adrian

The room we step into is dimly lit, despite the window in the back. When my eyes finally adjust, I see a matronly woman behind a large wooden desk, scribbling on one of many stacks of papers before her.

Her skin is a light beige, and she has an aquiline nose and wide brown eyes that are sharp despite her apparent age. Her hair—black with a prominent streak of gray—is woven into a long, thick braid that disappears into her lap.

“And how was that? Selling your life to those LieCorp cronies?” The woman stands and walks to Liv until their faces are mere inches apart, glaring at Liv as if she’s personally responsible for whatever hardships the raiders have chosen to endure out here.

The bird watches me, his head twitching with unnerving speed. He chirps, then takes flight again, this time landing on a mat in the corner of the room. The mat’s worn brown leather is scored into a dozen squares, each engraved with a different symbol and word. I make out a few from where I stand: river, food, intruder. Icarus hops spryly from one to another, as the woman nods.

“Before I explain what I’d like you to do, you should know that I wasn’t lying about our plentiful supplies. We do alright for ourselves.” She smiles politely at a line of food vendors standing behind carts and trucks that are generating the most wonderful smells—smoking meats and buttery sweetness, even Adrian’s precious coffee.
“I don’t doubt it,” I say, eyeing a stand that sells something called a kebab.

The longing deepens until it becomes as real as a jewel in my hand, one that I can rotate to examine every facet: relief, comfort, joy, belonging, desire.

I can sense that I’ve had crushes, even a few that were mutual. When I probe deeper, though, the sensations are shallow, surface level. Nothing as significant as what I feel when I think about Adrian. This depth, this mutual resonance, is new.

My heart stops at the sight of her, her body limned in orange by the glowing torches that light the square.

But hearing Liv admit her feelings sparks something visceral in me. Whatever’s inside her that’s reaching out to me, I need to meet it. I need her to know she’s not alone.

But a millimeter before our lips meet, the truth barrels into me, reminding me of the charade I’ve forced her into:
She doesn’t know who I am.

When we cross an overgrown expanse that I identify as the shopping center’s former parking lot, I start to worry that maybe Harcourt is the one who’s lying. Maybe they’ve already found me out, and this mess about machines is a ruse to take me out into the woods and eliminate me.

“That's lunch!" Noah bellows before hopping off the pylon. “We’ll be back in twenty, for our grand finale. Now would be a good time to consider your final requests! Our maestro is headed out soon.”

I nod to Noah, and he tucks his violin under his chin, then shuts his eyes.
I begin my opus. I use the pictures, yes. But I also summon every drop of visceral emotion I can muster from the depths of my being. The warmth I feel for Noah, Candace, and the other villagers. Wonder at the woods and the brilliance of Icarus’s mind. And so much care for Adrian—his tenderness, his stubbornness.

I check the sky, searching for the satellite like it can offer any help, but it’s gone. In place of the slow-moving white light is a frantic flashing of red and blue, careening through the sky. A Forceman copter. Nas must have signaled it when he spotted Liv.

The luxury of one class is counterbalanced by the indigence of another.