“Yeah, put her . . . Wait a second,” I can hear him talking to someone in the background, but the words are muffled since he isn’t speaking into the phone. “I’ll call back tonight. I need to sort this out first.” Before Zeke can ask what he means, Regan is gone.
“He’s going to kill me when he finds out I just lied to him.”
“You’re over exaggerating, that means he’d kill himself,” I tell him.
Zeke growls. “You know what I mean, Zirah,” Zeke snaps. I turn my attention back to the window, and within minutes his phone rings again. “Damn it. I am about to toss it out the window.” I catch a glimpse of Lyon’s name on the screen, and my heart clenches. I miss him already. Zeke answers the call, turning away slightly, and I can’t help but eavesdrop.
Their conversation is filled with mentions of supply runs, exchanges, and crops—it’s like they’re speaking a different language. My mind begins to whirl with questions. What do they exchange between kingdoms? And why hasn’t Regan ever mentioned it?
Their words echo in my head, and I realize just how little I know about the complex dynamics between these kingdoms. Their phone call is brief, and I sleep the rest of the way to Regan’s kingdom, only waking when Zeke has the driver stop to get food.
While I eat my fries, Zeke lets the wolves out, and they immediately rush off to pee and play in the parking lot. When we finish eating, they return, and we continue driving, yet it isn’t much further before the cityscape of Regan’s kingdom comes into view. I brace myself for whatever lies ahead.
The city stands tall and formidable, shrouded in mystery and intrigue. The concrete walls stand so high, they block out the sun as we approach the huge gates. Guards stand posted along the walls and along the road leading in. As we drive through the main gates, my stomach sinks. I am about to discover the secrets that have been kept from me, and something tells me they’re not going to be pleasant.
Chapter Twenty-One
The gates of Regan’s kingdom open before us like the jaws of a mechanical beast, revealing a cityscape that looks more like a meticulously designed movie set than an actual city.
As we drive through, a futuristic fortress emerges ahead. The buildings, all towering, angular structures of steel and glass, glint in the afternoon sun, their austere silhouettes painting a grim backdrop against the cloudless sky.
Not a soul is visible on the pristine streets, not a whisper of life resonates in the air as we drive through the first half of the city. It’s an eerie stillness, the kind that makes your skin crawl and mind churn.
People, seemingly sucked out of their mundane routines, scurry into the safety of their homes and shops as the limo glides along. Their faces betray their fear, like deer caught in the headlights, each movement painstaking and cautious.
I notice litter is absent, no graffiti, no decoration of any sort. Instead of lively merchets, the streets have vigilant armed guards stationed at nearly every corner, their stern gazes scanning the city. Even the children here are quiet, their innocent laughter swallowed by the city’s overwhelming tension.
As I absorb the unsettling surroundings, a soft humming draws my attention to the sky. Drones, a dozen of them, zipping around in coordinated formations. The first thing that hits me about the city isn’t the eerie silence or the palpable fear that hangs over the place like a storm cloud, it’s the eyes. The haunted, lifeless eyes of the city’s residents are unsettling.
“This place . . . It’s a damn prison,” I mutter, scanning the fearful faces peering out from the modern buildings.
“Yeah, a futuristic one at that,” Zeke answers from beside me. I sense a note of guilt in his voice.
“Why all the security?” I question, gesturing at the drones hovering ominously above us. “What are those things for?” I ask Zeke, my eyes tracking the drones. I’ve seen them before when hunting with grandma, I remember she manipulated the air to divert it away from the caves where we lived.
“Cameras to monitor the city,” he says, his voice tinged with unease, his usual vibrancy replaced by an unnerving quietness as I take in the kingdom. I blink, taken aback by the dystopian extent of security. “They . . . They keep the peace,” Zeke adds.
“Peace?” I scoff, letting out a bitter laugh. “This isn’t peace, Zeke, it’s terror.”
Approaching the city center, I lower the window, a part of me hoping that the soft rustle of the breeze or the distant chatter of the city will replace the oppressive silence. Instead, the quiet intensifies, as if the city itself holds its breath. It’s too quiet, too sterile, too controlled.
As we drive deeper, I notice people running away from the city center. Zeke sits up, and in the distance, I can hear shouting, crying, and begging. I glance at Zeke, who moves closer to peer out the window.
A sudden commotion breaks out, drawing my attention to a frightened woman pleading with a market stallholder. A child, presumably her son, clings to her skirt, tears streaming down his face.
The stallholder, a red-faced and fuming man, motions wildly toward the woman and young boy. The woman pleads with the stallholder, her words drowned by her son’s terrified wails. Her flustered attempts to calm the situation are met with armed guards storming toward her.
“Guard, she is refusing to pay for what her son broke!” the man yells, waving the armed guards forward. Catching sight of a shattered pot at her feet, I gasp. All this racket for a broken pot?
Without a word, Zeke opens the door and leaps out, his aura of authority evident even from this distance. The entire place falls silent as he steps out of the car, straightening his suit before he leans back in and snatches his wallet from the seat. “Stay in the car,” he tells me, shutting the door.
Zeke springs into action, snapping at the stall owner and arguing with the guards. He’s commanding, authoritative, but the fear in the air makes me uncomfortable.
“Selfish bastard!” he barks at the stallholder, tossing a wad of cash at him. The guards loosen their hold on the woman, but they don’t release her.
I step out of the car, and the city’s gaze fixates on me. Drones zoom in, their lenses trained on me, their humming intensifying like a swarm of angry bees. This is a city under surveillance, people living in the shadows of fear, every move monitored, every action accounted for. It doesn’t sit right with me. My own magic flares in response, a primal instinct to protect and defend. My hands tremble, and my skin tingles with stored energy.
“No more,” I demand. All eyes are on me, and the city’s quiet fear turns into shocked whispers.
