𝙎𝙃𝘼𝘿𝙊𝙒 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙈𝙀

𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

Maven

I hadn't noticed how much the workers were around us. I've been noticing them a lot lately, I'm not sure why. They pass by the field carrying boxes when we train sometimes and always move around the tables in the cafeteria. They're in the ammunition buildings and the cartography ones too. And every once in a while, a familiar warm face is among them. He always smiles at me when he spots me. And I usually wave back.

"Hi, Maven!"

"Hello, Thomas."

I don't know why I'm doing this. I don't know why I'm talking to a Red and letting him address me like his equal and not his ruler. But I do. And I don't mind. We cross paths several times a week. At first I tried to ignore it, but my eyes couldn't help but be drawn to him. There's a certain brightness around him that makes my gloomy days a little less gloomy.

I am still alert around certain sounds or commotions, feeling overwhelmed as if I were back at the front. I get the feeling that if Father has been filled in on my performance there, he will not be pleased. But I haven't heard from him, just from Mother and she has no comfort to offer. Her letters tell me to keep trying and to be better. Do not fail. It makes me feel worse, though I know it's better than to have her whispering directly to me.

I've been following Cal around on his duties and participating in some meetings. I'm usually not that unhappy to be there and strategise (it's better than actually fighting) just not when my brother is in the room too. His strength is not in his intellect, but somehow he still gets attention for it. So sometimes, I run away. I excuse myself and leave the Generals and Cal behind with some excuse about feeling unwell and needing a visit to the infirmary. No one looks twice at me as I leave.

I don't have anywhere particular I go to when I'm free. I just wander around, ignoring the looks I get from both Reds and Silvers, and trying to clear my head. It's always so full of thoughts and won't give me rest. Sometimes I wish I could just turn it off and stop overthinking every little thing people say. I wish I could stop analysing their words and replaying my response in my head several times before actually speaking it out loud. This mask I wear becomes heavy on certain days and I'd want nothing more than to tear it off. There are times in which it comes off naturally, but others in which I have a hard time recognising the fake parts from the real ones. It doesn't happen often though.

I walk in circles for a while before moving on to another section of the camp. One I haven't seen many times. It's a lot less crowded here and I indulge in the calmness. It's hard to find peace and quiet in a place built for war. A building rises to my right and I decide to go around it for the clearing that lays beyond, but as I round the corner I bump into someone.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry!" they say and clean up my attire hurriedly. "I didn't see you coming—"

Our eyes meet. His honey ponds look into mine with familiarity.

"Maven," Thomas gasps and lets out a relieved chuckle. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just walking around," I say, already feeling a little better. "I hope I didn't scare you."

"No, not at all! I was surprised that's all," he says and moves to my side, beaming at me. "If you're free, would you like to keep me company as I check the inventory?"

"O-oh, uh, sure!" It's so unlike me to stutter.

We walk together to the building entrance and I let him lead the way as he takes notes on a piece of paper. There are tall metal aisles to our sides carrying all kinds of weapons, but we don't go through all of them. Thomas moves only to the ones farthest on the left that holds the new arrivals, as he explains to me.

"This is where we get the ammunition for the soldiers like you," he tells me. "You are a soldier, right? I've seen you train with the others and you were with them when they came from the front."

His ignorance on my identity still amuses me and I still don't know why I don't correct him or tell him who I am. But I don't say anything. I like him better because he doesn't know.

"Yes, I'm with them. We're in the same legion."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" What would he have to be sorry for?

"I'm sorry you have to go through that. It isn't fair. And you don't look older than me, I don't know why they would make you fight."

"We can't always choose over that, can we?"

"That doesn't make it right."

I have nothing to say to that. He doesn't cease to amaze me. How could he have all these ideas? It's not that he's wrong, quite the opposite, he's completely right and I know it. I've always known it. I just never did or said anything about it because there was nothing I could do. And even if there was, it wasn't worth the political repercussions it would have.

"Well, inventory's done," he announces, clapping his hands once. "Let's get out of here. This whole place is making me bitter."

"Tell me about it," I mutter.

"I can imagine it's worse for you."

"Ah, yeah... I wouldn't want to go through that again. Just thinking of the front makes me uneasy." I fake a shudder, earning a giggle from him. A giggle. I don't know how to feel about that, but suddenly my face feels hot.

"Would talking about it make you feel better?" he asks.

I realise then that I haven't done it. Not even Cal or Mother, not really. Ever since I came from the front I haven't told anyone how it felt when I was there. I don't tell anyone how I feel about anything, to be honest. I just keep it to myself. Mostly because I don't trust another person with that information, but also because I don't have anyone to talk to.

"Yeah," I say. "That would help, actually."

So I tell him. I tell him everything. And all the while he doesn't look away or listens half-heartedly. He looks at me fully. We spend hours walking around camp as I tell him about the nightmarish things that I saw. About how terrified I was and still am. About how I'm scared of failing and letting down my family. About how I couldn't hear my own screams. About how I wasn't able to recognise my own blood. I paint the full image of war for him.

And Thomas doesn't leave me.