“Hey!”

He’s holding the sheets in one hand and a plate in another. He smirks at her and drops the plate next to her on the bed. The waffle flops on the plate and one edge hits her leg. “It’s time to eat and get up, Lynell. Stop moping.”

“Moping?” Lynell swings her legs over the edge of the bed and grabs the waffle in her fist. “You think I’m moping?” She stands up and throws the waffle at Price. He holds his hands up but doesn’t block fast enough, and the waffle hits him in the middle of the face. “I’m not moping, you arrogant shit. I’m just not playing your little game. I won’t be the food you play with before your feast.” Her face heats up as she yells, but Price just blinks at her, his hands loose at his side. “Screw you, Zachary Price. I’m taking a shower.” She turns and heads to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her before turning on the water.

When she’s finished, Price knocks on the door. “Leaving in an hour, Lynell. Be ready.”

Lynell returns to the bedroom where Price is perched at the edge of her bed. She lies back down and rests her hands over her rumbling stomach, taking deep, steadying breaths.

“Do you agree?” Lynell asks after deciding the silence is more uncomfortable than it’s worth. “That the Registration is a way of life and we should respect it?” She sits up, looking at Price with an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t answer but shifts from foot to foot, avoiding her eyes. “I do,” she continues. “It’s not always perfect but it does more good than bad, I think. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m brainwashed? That’s what the rebels say. I don’t know. But let me tell you, being on this end, despite the crap pile of a life I’m living, gives you a different perspective. Suddenly, the Registration doesn’t seem as fair.” She lies back down and closes her eyes, thinking about Daniel’s look of betrayal and anger when she came home all those years ago. “It seems like I should have respected life more. Made amends.”

Price doesn’t respond. Lynell can hear the tick of the watch he must have put back on that morning. The thin black fancy one he keeps glancing at every time it flashes a different color, most often red.

“It’s time to go,” he says with a sigh.

Price carries their bags, and she follows him. She feels every breath she takes and every hair on her body. While Price checks them out, Lynell watches a woman struggling to stuff clothes in a bag while her young child waves a set of keys in the air. The child throws the keys across the lobby.

“Carla!” the woman shouts. Lynell can hear the exhaustion in her voice. Before she can stand to retrieve the keys, Lynell steps forward.

“I got it,” she says, heading to the bench on the side of the lobby where the keys slid beneath. Lynell has to kneel and lean down to reach the keys and when she returns, the woman is grinning, and the child is reaching up for the keys. “How old is she?” Lynell asks.