Our driver makes another quick turn. “I’m going to pull into a garage in about thirty seconds. Once I do, get ready to jump out. You’ll be entering a nondescript blue car, which I’ll pull up next to. Got it?”

“Yes,” I say. The men next to me grunt. They’re even quieter than me.

The SUV fishtails as our driver takes a turn at breakneck speeds. The chopper makes a beeline for our car.

“You must’ve been some kisser,” our driver mutters under his breath.

The wheels of our car squeal as our driver makes the tight turn into the parking garage to our left. As soon as we enter, the car accelerates to the other end of the structure, where a beat-up blue car idles.

Our driver slams on the brakes once we’re almost upon it, and the WUN soldiers and I pile out of the vehicle.

“Thank you,” I say over my shoulder, my voice hoarse. I push down the emotions. I need to hold out just a little longer.

Our driver nods. “Stay safe.”

The helicopter doesn’t notice the dingy blue car that leaves the garage. Instead its attention is focused on the black SUV we were in a minute ago.

I swallow down my worry for our previous driver as I watch his car careen down in the opposite direction, drawing attention away from us. As soon as the king’s men realize I’m not in the car, his life will be in danger.

The rest of our drive is quiet, and the trip stretches on and on. I have no idea where we’re going or what we’ll find when we finally stop. To be honest, I don’t really care at this point.

We move out of the city and pass through several more. As I stare out at the foreign landscape, a hand lands on my shoulder and then one of the soldiers pulls me into his arms and squeezes me tight. Only then do I realize I’m crying. I press my face into his chest, and heave great sobs.

So many people died today—some at the hands of the king’s men, some at the hands of me and mine. So much death. The emotions are welling up; I can hear the keening sound work its way up my throat.

The soldier rubs my back. He’s older—closer to my father’s age than my own—which only makes the ache inside me hurt more acutely. His actions are so much worse than the usual tough guy act soldiers love to play, because at least aloofness separates us from the pain. This is the exact opposite. I can’t avoid, can’t suppress, can’t hide from it anymore.