The Artist

Chapter 9

6/18

Collier is strange.

He's seemed to have a grin on his face ever since I met him. When we departed from Genesis the next night, forced to spend the night in the twelve-passenger-van she rented, Collier gave her a side-hug, while I gave her an apology to which she dismissed, to my disbelief. But even after being stabbed in the back—quite literally—twice, he's seemed to have a skip in his step.

Now that I can see him in broad daylight, I can see his tan skin dramatically contrasting his curly blond hair. He doesn't seem to have any scars: Possibly an imprint of his ability. His frame is slightly more muscular than Drake's, but they appear to be the same height. I can't help but constantly scrutinize him, wondering how a man in dark times could ever be so optimistic.

He must've caught my stare, because when he turns to face me, he grins, joining my side. I eye him before turning to face forward. He tips his head toward Drake in the corner of my vision.

"He's not as bad as you think he is," he whispers, leaning down so that I can hear. "You're challenging him, so he doesn't like it."

I grit my teeth while the Blur shoots back an "I heard that." Challenging him. Challenging what? What on earth am I challenging? All I'm trying to do is survive, and Drake has the gall to screw everything up by sucking me into his circle of drama. I clench my fists and stuff them in the pocket of my coat, hoping to prevent myself from punching someone.

I give Collier a sideways glance as he hums to himself. "Why are you so cheery?"

Three pairs of crunching fills the silence between the three of us. The snow is thin and powdery, and the air has begun to get warmer. Drake is ahead, alone. Collier shrugs in response, choosing to whistle. He pauses the song to answer verbally.

"New recruits are always exciting to receive, no matter what situation it takes to get them. In simpler terms, I'm excited that you're joining us."

I furrow my brows. "So you're loyal to the Deviant League through and through?"

This time he scratches the back of his head, lips twisted to the side. "I wouldn't say that, necessarily, but I am loyal to them to some degree."

I push forward, all too aware of Drake's ears listening. "Did they force you to join?" In all honesty, I'm not trying to pick any fights. This time I am curious what this man has experienced. I find myself asking, "How old are you?"

Collier chuckles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. The slightest of an accent enters his voice. One I hadn't noticed before. "Yes and no. They made me join, but at the time, I wanted to do something about the unfairness of it all. I also turned nineteen a week or two ago." He furrows his own brows. "I'm not sure what day it is."

"Happy birthday," I mutter, more to myself. How young was he when he was recruited? I can only imagine.

I barely register his thanks when I sink into my own mind. We're heading south now, with the sun to our left and the wind to our backs. I shudder, despite the warming temperatures. Where could we be now?

Collier jogs ahead to catch up with Drake. I watch the strange man with increasing marvel. He shakes some snow out of his hair before starting a quiet discussion with the Blur, who listens without turning towards him.

I trace the trees with my numb fingers, itching to find warmth of any kind. My gloves are stuffed into my boots for safekeeping, despite their uselessness. My mind spins at the amount of trees surrounding us. The expanse of boreal forest seems to stretch beyond the horizon, and I instantly become aware of how long this trip is going to take.