The Future Chosen [was Anti-Dynasty/Extraordinary]

Broken Chapter 4

If there was someone Andres considered a mentor, it would be his Lolo J.

J for Jose, not that it meant anything because there were many, many Joses in Isla, in history. Lolo J was his paternal grandfather's brother, so their connection was not a direct one. Andres's earliest memories of Lolo J involved a dark library, a yellow lamp, and Lolo J reading to him. Not stories for kids, of course not, Lolo J's library was huge but he didn't have anything for kids.

Lolo J read legal articles. Case documents. Court decisions.

Not the material one should recommend for a six-year-old, but Andres felt comforted by that voice, and cadence of his tone, the words that meant something.

He wasn't supposed to be in Lolo J's library those times either, so sneaking out had worked into Andres's repertoire, with that as his first intended target. He learned to prepare for the in and the out—sneak in undetected, cover story for when caught.

Lala was a better friend than he'd ever realized; she assigned him credentials to freely roam Callemara, and was able to arrange so his "shift" coincided with Lourdes's waking hours.

"You'd have to work," Lala had told him, "so this can actually happen. You'll have to take her on her morning walk, change her sheets, fill up the status report, check her meds."

"Anything," he'd said.

The worst part, he knew, wasn't going to be the work. It was this.

Morning, technically day one of his temporary escape, and she was awake. And seeing him again for the first time, not counting when she was in and out of consciousness. If he went in there to find her crying, in pain from her injury, it would break him. His heart nearly stopped when he saw her go down, saw the flash of dark blood on her green dress that day. Her people did their jobs and made sure she was secure and taken away before the civilians, including him, realized what had happened. But that instant their eyes met, and that shared moment of horror and realizing that this was it, it would break him if he saw it again.

He hoped that she was still asleep. Or that this was one of those staged crises, that she really hadn't been shot, and was being sent away for some twisted play on voter sympathy.

It was sick to hope for that. Anything but the fact of someone actually wanting her dead.

There would be no cameras in the private room, Lala assured him, but the anteroom camera was aimed at the door, and they would be aware if the door were closed for too long and who was inside. Andres didn't waste a moment. He set the hospital breakfast tray down on a random surface and then pressed in close, pushing back the bed, as close as he could get without crushing her. And after three years and the thought of never, she was in his arms again.

It was worth it. All of this.

"You're insane!" She was crying and laughing, making tears and choking on them. "You are the craziest. This will end us both, I swear to god."

He placed a careful kiss on her mouth. He could still do that; he had not in fact collapsed or melted. Andres was whole; he had survived that first moment intact, and he could hold her. "You're welcome, you ungrateful Loony."

"For what? I'm still locked up in Rich People Island."

"Yes, but we're here together," he said. "And you're supposed to eat your breakfast, right now."