Chapter 7

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Farrah

After being talked to for about an hour, Jexton and Ander finally walk back into the room, and I feel quite relieved. I look up with bright eyes, but Jexton's facial expression tells me to feel otherwise. Something bad is happening, and I don't know what. 

"Farrah Carlton, you are under arrest for the possession of a legal antidote and the murders of our citizens and soldiers." says the soldier that had been talking to me. Jexton looks down and stares at the floor and at his feet, and I can't help the tears of betrayal. 

The men start to grab me and yank my arms behind my back while I continuously try to fight back, but nothing works. Eventually, I just give up and let them take me. I stare at Jexton as they drag me out of the courtroom, but he doesn't bother to look up at all. 

"Jexton!" I scream, but nothing stops the men. Ander doesn't even say a word, nor does he smile that sly smile of his. The two were abnormally calm and quiet. 

"You are going to be placed, not only for what you are, but for what you have done." Ander says calmly.

"Let go of me!" I yell at the soldiers, but it only makes them hold on tighter. My wrists begin to hurt due to the pressure of the handcuffs, and I can feel my forearms bruising from the soldiers clutching them so hard. 

The further we walk and the closer we get to the outside gates, the more it comes clear to me where I am being taken. 

The Concentration Camp.

I cry and internally scream, but nothing can change the fact that I am mortem. The Consilium does not have room in the world for people like me—the Germans. 

They are getting back at us—the Jewish people. Even those of us that never meant any of them any harm, they want all of us dead. They want us dead for taking, capturing, and killing their ancestors. 

The revenge is on, and it breaks my heart because I had done nothing wrong. I wish I could say a word or two more to Ander, and at this moment, I don't even want to see Jexton's face.

As soon as the soldiers yank me through the fences, they drag me to a building inside of them, and we come face to face with yet another strange man. He is dressed in a nice suit with a yellow tie, and his hair is combed neatly to the side. He has an untrimmed mustashe, and his sideburns are quiet long. 

The man uncrosses his fingers when he sees the soldiers with me in their hands, and he smiles at us, though I stare at him angrily. 

"Hela, Farrah!" the man greets me warmly, but I just glare at him. His accent is strong, and his use of Yiddish makes me slightly uncomfortable. "Your uniform is in the back, I'll have my wife grab it for you." he then yells for a woman by the name of Lydia, and she joins us in the room moments later with a grey suit and a Nazi symbol on the sleeve. The sight makes me cringe.

"There's a changing room back there," Lydia says with wide eyes as she hold the uniform out to me. "I expect to see you back in three minutes."

The soldier that had brought me in shoves me forward, and the man behind the desk makes a shooing gestures with both of his hands. So badly I want to turn around and lunge at them, but I know that that will only get me killed. I am fed up with all of these people treating me like I'm nothing—just some kind of animal or piece of property. 

I try to stop the tears spilling from my eyes as I walk into the changing room. There is a very tall mirror surrounded by lights, and a series of hangers around the walls. There is a bench to the left of the mirror, and the carpet is stained with a dark substance. I don't want to know what it is. 

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