Part 1~~Libra

Iris~~

I'm going to die tomorrow.

More than anything, that's what I wish I could say, and no one should ever wish to say that unless they're dying today instead. The elevator I'm in makes a sharp whine as it continues to take me down to the lobby of my apartment for the last time. Has my lie been caught yet? If so, I'll tell the truth, but there will be no taking it back once I think it.

I'm dying today.

That's the truth. The cold, solid truth. Something happens when a person is hours from death. They become reflective. Everything becomes a memory or a symbol even if it shouldn't. The handrail I grip is the handle of all the guns I've held. The buttons for twelve floors remind me of the Order.

The reflection of me in the elevator walls rubbing my Mark is a clock. A clock that's stopped.

The elevator sets into place, and I'm out before the doors are open all the way. The sun set hours ago, and if I'm fated to get to my favorite place in Baltimore before I die, I don't want to waste any time. I'm almost grateful as I walk through the lobby that I don't see any of the other residents I've come to know. I don't think I'd be able to handle their pity.

This apartment was the best I could afford while still being smart with my money. The handout the Society gave me after they took away my home didn't last long anyway. The wallpaper here is faded, the floors scuffed, and the furniture older than my nineteen years, but it's clean, and that's what mattered when I signed the lease. I wouldn't say it's home. Home was something I had over a year ago. And besides, I never thought I'd have time to find another one.

From behind his desk, my landlord, Lane, looks over his newspaper. Jonas Blackwood stares at me from the front page printed in color. He became Preeminence almost a month ago to the day, taking his father's place as head of the Order in the Society and as the king of Elleany. That's what they've always called themselves—the Society. I don't hate them because they're rich, elegant, or essentially in charge of me. I hate them because they're cruel. I hate them because they tattoo our Expiration Dates on our arms at birth.

"Iris," Lane greets me.

I catch myself again rubbing at my left arm and stop. "Hey."

"I just wanted to tell you to have a nice life." There's no harshness in his words, only kindness, but I can't help flinching.

"You too." I push open the door and step outside, rain spilling over me. At least it's not lightning. I'd hate to die that way.

I look left and then right. Both directions can lead me to the park I want to go to, but each is a different path. One of these paths leads to my destiny, my fate, my death because my destiny is death. How does one go about choosing this? For over a year, I haven't stopped training, hoping that my path would lead me to destroy the Society and make them pay for all they've taken from me. But here I am. August 10, 2014, the date I've stared at all my life, and I have nothing to show for it.

I suppose when stuck between two directions, the right one is always the best choice; it's in the name after all. It's funny how a decision with such an immense consequence only takes a turn of the heel to enact.

All right, Death, catch me if you can.

I splash through puddle after puddle, actually enjoying the coldness from the water seeping through my shoes and socks. Yes, it's a miserable feeling, but it's a feeling that means I'm still alive, and so it is glorious.

I pass by a cemetery connected to an old church constructed before the Society came into power in 1795. I always wondered what it must have been like when they took over. Sure, the Society's answer is in history books, but only the winners write history. Those on the losing side rarely get heard. I can't imagine anyone accepting Expiration Dates easily. Having them all your life doesn't make swallowing the lump in your throat that comes when you read your Date any easier.

Most of the headstones are crumbling. Many of the bronze plaques have turned green. How long until I lie in one of these places? The question is pointless. I'll never know.

I come up to the intersection I need to cross. Despite it being dark, the fluorescent light from the convenience shop at the corner casts a glow over the area. I press the button for the crosswalk. On the other side of the street where I need to be is a family of three: a mom, a dad, and a little girl. Maybe it's selfish, but I can't stop the jealousy that surfaces. My parents died when I was born—my mom after giving birth to me, and my dad a day later with a rope. No one wanted to adopt and start loving a child who was going to die at nineteen, not when they could have a child who they knew would outlive them. I understand their mindset even if I don't agree with it—why experience something amazing if you know it will end with pain?

The water splashes around the girl's rainboots, landing on her parents' legs, but even so, they don't let go of her hands. They don't let go of her.

I press the button again, wishing the damn thing would work already, and scratch my Mark. From my right, a group of people cross the street. Anytime now and it will be my turn.

If I didn't have this Expiration Date, would I have ever been that girl? Was I suited for that life? One with a mom who made me cookies on rainy days and not protein bars?

On their side of the street, a silver figure appears on the cross-walk sign signaling me to cross. The family stops in front of the sign, waiting their turn to cross the other street. While I, along with my jealousy, would like to avoid them, I'm too eager to get to the park before fate catches up with me. I step out in the road, headed toward the future I never had. I guess Death likes to rub things in.

A horn blares, and I jerk to a stop, my head snapping up. Light, that's all I can really see. It's true then—people do go toward the light when they die.

I close my eyes. My heart hasn't even had time to start pounding.

No one escapes their death.

I was never an exception.

A hand wraps around my arm as tires screech. My eyes fly open as I fall toward the sidewalk. I bend my knees, hitting the concrete and rolling. For a moment, I can only catch my breath, my palms pressing into the sidewalk, each of the little rough bumps in the cement digging into my hands. The smell of burning rubber fills my nose while cold rain drops splatter across the back of my neck. Each sensation holds a little bit of pain. Pain that can only be for those who are still alive. That wasn't my death then. It's still coming.

A red strand of hair falls from my head to the sidewalk.

I face the convenience store. A few wide-eyed people have gathered around me, but they don't take a step forward to help, instead choosing to murmur to each other.

I start to stand when more anonymous hands grasp me, gripping my shoulders this time and pulling me up the rest of the way. I turn to see who it is that saved me, only to have my heart stop and plummet to my stomach.

He's taller than I thought he'd be, and he has a white bandage wrapped around his Expiration Date. That's not that unusual though. Some people prefer not having their death stare at them all the time. His blond hair comes past his eyebrows, longer since the last photo was published of him. The thick pink cut with stiches running from below his ear to underneath his chin is new. Somehow, I manage to look him in his eyes, the amber of them the only thing that's truly familiar.

I know what every member of the new Order looks like but one, the Zeta.

This man who I know isn't much older than me is Erik Blackwood, the future Tresais of Elleany. He'll be third in command of the entire country.

"Are you going to say something?" he asks. Does he know that I know? He has to know he's recognizable.

Behind him is the crosswalk. Where I stood, a red sports car is stopped. The man inside stares at me with an open mouth. He would have hit me. Except . . . he wouldn't have, because he was never supposed to. I was always destined to be saved then. Saved to die right after. I swallow, focusing back on Erik. Death is still coming for me.

He tilts his head to the side. "Can you speak?"

"Thank you." Do I acknowledge who he is? Am I supposed to curtsy? No, I don't have to curtsy before the Society on my last day—they don't deserve it—but he did save me so maybe I should. "I'm Iris." Someone should know my name before I'm gone.

"Good for you." He says it like my name is a participation ribbon I received and not a winning trophy. One person has his phone out. The other two seem to be in a stupor at who saved me. He has to know I know he's from the Society, but he doesn't focus on the people gathered around us. They don't seem to bother him. Instead he glances down, probably reading my Expiration Date. When he looks back up, the emptiness that I'm met with in his eyes makes my stomach churn. "I should go." He turns.

"Wait."

I've wanted to make the Society pay, but when today came, I thought that was an impossible wish I had to let go. But here is the next Tresais, and he could be the very thing I need to at least make some difference. The Society doesn't go around stopping people from being hit by cars, and if Erik Blackwood did that, that means something.

He crosses his arms. "Yes?"

"I'm dying today as you saw." I look around at the overcast sky and the street lights that have only recently turned on. "And as you can see it's dinner time. Let me get you dinner as a way to thank you for helping me just now."

"I don't need to take money from a girl who's about to die."

I flinch. Revenge isn't supposed to be easy. I mimic his arms. "A dying wish. I insist." Refusing someone's dying wish is one of the worst things you can do in this country. How much does the Society care to follow a tradition they caused?

"Fine." He untucks one of his hands to motion forward. "Lead the way."

Thank you. I can only mouth the words. I intended to say them out loud, but they caught in my throat. I walk past him and press the button for the crosswalk adjacent to the one from before. I'm not crossing this street until every car is stopped. "I never caught your name."

"Erik."

I let out a sigh I hope he can't see. I still don't know if we're acknowledging the last name thing or not.