WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

eighteen | tobias, you dick

Cole didn't want to admit to himself that the mindrenderer was growing on him, but the way he looked at him. He had shivers.

He had to reassure that even if he were growing on him, he would be growing like mould. Like an infection. Even if he were innately good, that didn't make him any less Chrysosian, any less the enemy. Everything he was fighting against.

Cole was starting to miss himself from the days before, when he could hate the other boy and be pleased for it. At least he had that level of assurance, back when everything was clear and clean-cut, black and white, good and bad. Back when everything made sense.

Now all he was, was confused. Because summers, he was starting to like Alistair. It was a disgusting revelation.

They made camp at the bottom of the mountain and ate their food there. Instead of cooking, they unpacked their dried meats and fruits, fresh from their village visit. Emer chatted easily as they sat around the crackling fire. At least one of them was thinking clearly. She despised Alistair.

"Cole?" She waved a bruise-knuckled hand in front of his face. "Are you even listening to me?"

Cole startled, looking up from where he was staring into the fire, intensely focused on nothing at all. He shook his head. "Sorry, I'm a little tired," he said airily. "What were you saying?"

She sighed and ripped into a piece of dried meat with her teeth. "When we know where we are we should head back to the village where we went to kill him," her eyes went to Alistair, obliviously chewing down on some fruit. "The Chrysosians should be gone, and then we can trace our steps back to Galanthus."

He nodded and dragged his fingers along the velvet-soft skin below his eyes, where shadows were beginning to form. His hand went absently to the snow drop flowers tucked into his pocket, half-dead and completely dry. Galanthus. He wondered how they were coping without them. They would've assumed they were dead by now. The thought left his mouth dry.

Alistair cleared his throat. "If we do happen upon this Clan," his gaze went from Emer to Cole, slow and steady. "I want to know what will happen to me."

"You won't be harmed."

"Decapitation, I say."

They both answered simultaneously.

Cole sent Emer a glare, and she lifted both hands, palms out in defence. "Hey! Just saying the first thing to come to mind. I wasn't being serious." A pause. "Unless you'd be down."

"No," he said, facing Alistair. "Like we agreed, you'll be safe. We'll give you everything you need to survive out here."

Emer rolled her eyes and chewed down on her food. "And what about if we're met with the Chrysosians instead? What happens to us? I'm sure they won't be as keen as you are to protect their enemies."

"I have no authority in the army," Alistair said from across the fire, firelight flickering across his fine-boned face. Shadows slipped underneath the high arch of his cheekbones. "But if we do bump into them, I can promise to try and get you to safety."

Emer raised a brow. "You mean we're offering you all of this and you're giving us, what? A measly promise?"

She was getting better at her Chrysosian, Cole noticed. Emer picked up on things quickly. Sometimes too quickly.

"Emer," Cole cut in quickly, "he's told me how their army works. There isn't anything else he can do."

Alistair looked up at him gratefully, pale lashes fanned out across his cheeks as he sighed. "I wish I could offer something more. The Chrysosian military is ruthless, even to its own soldiers, nevermind a mindrenderer. They send me where they want me and I don't do anything much else."

"Summers," Emer swore. "You're pathetic."

He looked up in shock. Anger flashed across his face, barely visible if you weren't looking. Cole had been looking. Sometimes he found himself looking too much.

"Excuse me?" He was motionless from where he sat perched against an upturned log, his eyes hard.

"You're supposed to be this big, bad mindrenderer, the kind of monster parents warn their kids about to keep them from straying too far," she continued, "and here you are, letting some army brats order you around and tell you what to do. If I were you, I would've fucked with their heads until they believed I was the one in charge. What's stopping you?"

Cole watched as Alistair's stare lowered into the fire, and he sat there, deep in thought with his chin sat against his fist. He should've been angry, Cole would've been – but Alistair wasn't that type of person. He was cool, and dark, and endearing. He wouldn't waste his energy on being angry.

"Don't listen to Emer," Cole offered. "She's just bitter."

"And I have a lot to be bitter about." She grumbled, taking another chunk of her food. Her lips curled up as she bit down, eating angrily as if she hadn't eaten in days. Desperate, animalistic.

Alistair nodded slowly. "No, she's right."

"I am?"

"My general, he's who's in charge of me," he started. "He was born into it, from some rich military family up north. He's always assumed everyone will just fall down at his feet, the entitled prat. Although he'd kill me if he heard me saying this – quite literally." He inspected the lines in his hands, those jagged, mindrenderer lines. "They treat me like shit, and yet I'm their most valuable asset. It makes no sense."

"Anyone who decides to go off and steal lives, homes and minds isn't going to make sense." Emer said quietly. "That's just how it works."

And that was the most intellectual thing Cole had ever heard Emer say.

They were all silent as they watched the fire spit and dance. Cole felt his eyes drawn to the other boy from where he sat across from him, where his golden hair was cast in the firelight, his eyes directed into the flame. His hands were folded over each other, elbows propped against his knees. Everything about him was elegant – ethereal.

Cole blinked away quickly and swallowed. When Emer tucked in for the night and claimed a spot near the fire, it left just the two of them there. Cole ate quietly and listened to the crack of the flame. Alistair was completely still. He didn't know how he managed it.

"Your general," Cole began, "doesn't sound very nice."

"No, nice isn't the right word to describe Tobias. Quite the opposite." Alistair laughed humourlessly, lips cracked into a crude smile.

Tobias.

That name.

He knew it from somewhere, or he'd heard it, at the very least. The name rolled over and over in his mind, like he was testing its edges for familiarity. He furrowed his brows in concentration.

A voice, clear as day:

This one, Tobias?

Cole felt everything in him go cold. The memory of the mindrenderer's voice, her leathery fingers brushing against his skin, that grey-eyed gaze. The man who declared him advena. Tobias.

He felt sick. Worse than sick, he felt angry. Overwhelmingly angry, like the heat forming in his stomach, molten and popping, would consume him. His scars ached.

Alistair peered at him from across the fire. "Are you okay?"

"No, I—" He broke off, breathing in shakily. "I need to get some air."

Cole stood urgently and turned to head off into the dark forest. He could hear Alistair echo his name, but he didn't turn to answer, only hauling himself through the snow so that he could just get away from it all. His breathing was growing shallower and shallower.

Tobias.

The name repeated itself in his head.

Tobias.

Tobias.