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Wren

Wren pushed the chair close to Mason's bed in the infirmary, refusing to leave his side, sharing the space with his family. Her parents and friends had come too, bringing food and a change of clothes, but she refused to eat, refused to move, hoping Mason could sense her presence, not the guilt that overwhelmed her.

"How's he doing," Zander asked when he and Brenna came for a visit. Zander had a bandage covering some of the tattoos on one arm but was otherwise unscathed. Brenna, whose hair, like Wren's, had been shaved for the assignment, styled it in rows of small braids. More regal than ever.

"He's alive but not improving. He hasn't come out of the coma since we brought him here."

"His body needs time," Brenna said.

"Sure," Wren's head dropped over Mason's lifeless body, hands like a winter night, skin ashen. He looked like a corpse.

Zander touched her shoulder. "Buck up. He'll make it. Mason is a warrior. The intel you two brought back has caused a huge stir. There was important stuff on the drive."

"Great." Wren could have cared less.

"You two might have changed the course of the rebellion. Maybe history itself." Brenna's voice turned musical in her excitement.

"There's a meeting in a few minutes," Zander said. "You should come."

"I'll stay here." Wren willed Mason to wake up.

After they left, she lowered her head between her arms on the side of the bed, thoughts returning to how she should have prevented this. She didn't hear her father enter the infirmary.

"Wren," her father scolded, "You need to sleep." While not a tall man, he was imposing.

"I need to be here for Mason."

"No. You need to rest before we need to go over what happened one more time."

"I told you everything. I don't want to relive it again."

"It's important. Mason's family is here for him. You're overtired and stressed. I don't ask much of you, but I'm asking this."

Mason's dad placed a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her up and out of the seat. She wasn't going to get a say in this decision. Wren eyed both men. Her friend's injuries were all her fault. She should have been quicker. Her job was to fight the Phantom while Mason extracted information. She had failed but hoped the recovered information would be vital to the Grounders' cause.

Wren stepped toward the exit, but her dad's hand on her arms halted her. "The only reason Mason is alive is because of you."

She wanted to disagree but nodded instead. How could she tell her father the truth?

"I've had a lot of doubts about sending you into the field. I love you and worry about you, but I can recognize the fact that you're ready to be there."

Wren was overwhelmed. "Thanks, but I'm not sure it's true."

"It's true. I'm sure you couldn't have done anything else. I'm so proud of you." He hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear, "It's because of you we have the data to take down New State if we need to."

Wren pushed away, feeling undeserving of all the praise. She blinked back tears, ashamed to show any weakness. She didn't cry and couldn't let her father witness this. Wren's shoes pounded against the stone floor as she ran from the room. Without thought to where she'd go, Wren ran through the dusky tunnels blindly to one of the exits in search of empty spaces and fresh air.

All the exits had electronic security systems, but she memorized the codes. Being the leader's daughter had its perks. Live guards stood sentry at most doors, but Wren long ago found a rarely used, hardly remembered exit.

Most people, terrified of hell's Phantoms and New State, avoided going outside even at night. Adults reinforced this fear by telling stories to children about the Grounders who attempted to plant gardens and how cyborgs found and killed them. Grounders preferred to remain protected in the cave system and away from danger.

Not Wren. Once she reached outside, she gulped the fresh air and raised her head to the stars, saying a prayer. It was all so unfair. Questions like bees swarmed her mind. Why did the world have to be this way, and why had she chosen to fight it? What if she had taken her father's advice? Couldn't she be happy as a scholar, staying buried and safe? The tears fell. Wiping them away, she released a single pent-up sob. No way. She was a fighter.