It was nearly half-past-twenty-two when Adrian decided that Willard was fit to reenter the household. Mother wore her usual neutrality when the two returned, but both could sense the anger beneath. Though, all of it had dissipated when she finished the dinner Willard made for them. Mia did not arrive, but that was as planned. She would wait for him by Krummlae’s shack tomorrow afternoon, at exactly thirty-past-one, right before the Rites of Passage. She’d contact the others when he’s come, and thermo-regulators that would scramble all biometric detectors would be fired within the crowd. The smoke would be fitted with hallucination-inducing drugs that’d make the people go wild, and, combined with the fireoworks, they would sneak out using the chaos.

From an objective standpoint, he did not like the plan. There were too many uncontrolled variables. Variables that he now hoped would facilitate her capture. The Shades had given him instructions to cuff himself to her exactly when the regulator-grenades were launched. What happens next would then be completely up to chance. Willard liked their plan even less. But at least it was simple. Grab, pull, cuff. Grab, pull, cuff. Explanations for later.

He could not sleep that night. Tossing and turning did not help, and listening to mother’s shallow breathing and Adrian’s faint snores next to him made it worse. He stared up at the ceiling, then slowly shifted his gaze to the walls and the door. Eight steps. Everything he had ever owned. Everyone he had ever loved. If he reached out both arms to either side he could wrap them around the two things he treasured most in his life. If he reached out his arms a bit more he could also reach Mia’s...although she was not here this night.

Mia.

He’d save her. And then he’d save Adrian and mother. He would make a new life for them. They’ll move out of Sorissu. Go to someplace nice. He’d get enough to send Adrian off to college, and then spend the rest of his time with Mia and mother. He’d reeducate himself and get a pilot’s license. He always wanted to fly planes. Not those bulky commercial hovercrafts, but those antique gliders he had seen in museums. He wanted to feel the warm summer breeze blow across his face, the winds whipping past his hands, the smell of fresh flowers and old paper in the air. Every morning, he would step down from the cliffside balcony of their house overlooking the calm Messina Ocean. He would rise first and make breakfast for all of them. During Adrian’s holidays he would take him surfing the giant waves of Mor’s beaches, and eat fresh krill straight from the net. Ah yes. Only the most expensive. He would get to know the locals well and, by some miracle, he would save a drowning girl. They would eventually fall madly in love with each other, and marry, and have three...no... two....no. Three. Three kids. By that time Mia would’ve found a partner, and every year, he would take everyone to a cozy log cabin he’d build deep within Bagiraek’s coves to spend their winters. And eventually, when the time came, he would caress the face of his beloved one last time, surrounded by those he loved and those who loved him.

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Willard grinned.

It was no use. You’d die before you see Adrian graduate.

TimeScale beeped fourteen-past-five. Willard, careful so as to not disturb the other two, crept out of his blankets and silently pulled his clothes on. Before he could slide the door open, he stepped on something round and nearly slipped. It was father’s cup. A vein bulged on his forehead. He decided to pocket it and made up his mind to dispose of it later. Today was a new beginning. He didn’t want anything of the past haunting him anymore.

He felt around in his pant pockets. There was a small switchblade, his wallet, the cuff, a packet of cigarettes and...something small and round. He fished it out, and found the ring Krummlae had given him. His brows furrowed. Didn’t he see the scavs stuff it into their bag? Did Mia pull it out? He shrugged. It didn’t matter. He slipped it back into his pocket.

Before he left, he took one last look behind him. There was mother and Adrian on one side, seemingly sound asleep. The small, stubby drawers on the opposite end, and the wardrobe with the crooked feet. He didn’t hear the usual ‘plink plink plink’ of ice smashing into their awning window. That was good. For the first time in a decade, the Makobi festival was going to be held under clear skies. As Willard was about to leave, he saw mother’s wheelchair sitting beside the door.

Willard gulped. He went over to the mechanical contraption, knelt beside it, put his hand under the seat and felt around until his fingers came over the central hold-down bolt between the wheels. He unhooked it and pulled it out, pocketing it in his jacket. Nothing seemed amiss about the wheelchair, but now its wheels won’t turn no matter how hard one pushed.

Just in case. He thought. Silently, he slid the door open, and crept downstairs.