had caused. He could easily report what had happened, ensuring they made an example of her. Most CityWatch guards would not have shown her any mercy.
She felt him near her while she composed herself. Wiping the tears away from her face, she took deep breaths to salvage any dignity she still had. In a world where restraint and order were required, Remko had seen her lose it more often than not.
Carrington finally turned to face him and saw that he had his back to her in an effort to give her privacy. Again she was surprised by his sensitivity.
“I’m sorry for my actions,” she said.
Remko turned. “No need.” His words were as sincere as his eyes.
“I understand if you have to report this.”
Remko studied her intently, as if searching for an answer to a hidden question. His stare made her heart race and when he finally broke it, she was thankful.
“Ag . . . Ag . . .” He stopped and flexed his jaw. She watched him process his disappointment with his own struggle and then let it go almost as quickly. “Again, no need.”
Footsteps gave Larkin away as she rounded the corner. “I got what we needed. We should take a different route to the factory.”
Remko nodded and led the two girls away from the city and back to where they belonged.
11
Remko surveyed the land that stretched before him at his outpost. It had been dark for hours, which meant the morning light was close. He always felt a bit bitter when the sun showed its head over the horizon. Manning the overnight post was one of his most cherished responsibilities.
He often wondered what lay beyond the wall, beyond the farthest point he could see. Early on after the Time of Ruin, teams had searched outside the city for survivors. They had traveled to different parts of the surrounding cities, finding very little still living. It was hard not to believe that the people sleeping soundly, the people he stood here to protect, were the only living souls who remained, but the world was a very large place. The mysteries of what could be beyond their ability to reach itched inside Remko’s mind from time to time.
He inhaled the still air around him. The cover of dark offered him the solitude, the space, and the privacy to think and to mull over daily happenings. On most nights it gave him a chance to clear out his head before heading into a new day, but tonight was different.
He’d become quite adept at compartmentalizing every moment and the emotions attached to each one, placingthem in neat little mental cubbies so he was free of distraction. It was one of the skills that helped him garner such success in his work with the CityWatch. But he found himself incapable of finding a box that fit her —the soft shape of her face, her golden cascading hair, those sweet green eyes filled with tears. Seeing Carrington in pain angered him. And that confused him.
Seeing girls cry was an unpleasant but common part of his work. He considered himself impervious to their misery, but with her, he had discovered a chink in that armor. The first time he’d seen Carrington outside the Stacks limits heaving herself sick, he’d assumed his worry stemmed from a simple concern for her health. He should have known after the rage that filled him when he found the men harassing her that what he felt went deeper than casual concern. He felt responsible for her safety, her happiness, her reputation.
Remko stood and paced inside the small outpost box. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and reminded himself that protecting her from physical harm was all that was required of him; actually, it was all that was tolerated. Anything else was not his place.
“Pacing. That can’t be good,” a voice said.
Remko spun to see Helms leaning against the inside of the outpost wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Remko wasn’t surprised to see him; Helms often ended up in the box while Remko was on duty.
“You shou . . . shou . . . should be sleeping,” Remko
She felt him near her while she composed herself. Wiping the tears away from her face, she took deep breaths to salvage any dignity she still had. In a world where restraint and order were required, Remko had seen her lose it more often than not.
Carrington finally turned to face him and saw that he had his back to her in an effort to give her privacy. Again she was surprised by his sensitivity.
“I’m sorry for my actions,” she said.
Remko turned. “No need.” His words were as sincere as his eyes.
“I understand if you have to report this.”
Remko studied her intently, as if searching for an answer to a hidden question. His stare made her heart race and when he finally broke it, she was thankful.
“Ag . . . Ag . . .” He stopped and flexed his jaw. She watched him process his disappointment with his own struggle and then let it go almost as quickly. “Again, no need.”
Footsteps gave Larkin away as she rounded the corner. “I got what we needed. We should take a different route to the factory.”
Remko nodded and led the two girls away from the city and back to where they belonged.
11
Remko surveyed the land that stretched before him at his outpost. It had been dark for hours, which meant the morning light was close. He always felt a bit bitter when the sun showed its head over the horizon. Manning the overnight post was one of his most cherished responsibilities.
He often wondered what lay beyond the wall, beyond the farthest point he could see. Early on after the Time of Ruin, teams had searched outside the city for survivors. They had traveled to different parts of the surrounding cities, finding very little still living. It was hard not to believe that the people sleeping soundly, the people he stood here to protect, were the only living souls who remained, but the world was a very large place. The mysteries of what could be beyond their ability to reach itched inside Remko’s mind from time to time.
He inhaled the still air around him. The cover of dark offered him the solitude, the space, and the privacy to think and to mull over daily happenings. On most nights it gave him a chance to clear out his head before heading into a new day, but tonight was different.
He’d become quite adept at compartmentalizing every moment and the emotions attached to each one, placingthem in neat little mental cubbies so he was free of distraction. It was one of the skills that helped him garner such success in his work with the CityWatch. But he found himself incapable of finding a box that fit her —the soft shape of her face, her golden cascading hair, those sweet green eyes filled with tears. Seeing Carrington in pain angered him. And that confused him.
Seeing girls cry was an unpleasant but common part of his work. He considered himself impervious to their misery, but with her, he had discovered a chink in that armor. The first time he’d seen Carrington outside the Stacks limits heaving herself sick, he’d assumed his worry stemmed from a simple concern for her health. He should have known after the rage that filled him when he found the men harassing her that what he felt went deeper than casual concern. He felt responsible for her safety, her happiness, her reputation.
Remko stood and paced inside the small outpost box. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and reminded himself that protecting her from physical harm was all that was required of him; actually, it was all that was tolerated. Anything else was not his place.
“Pacing. That can’t be good,” a voice said.
Remko spun to see Helms leaning against the inside of the outpost wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Remko wasn’t surprised to see him; Helms often ended up in the box while Remko was on duty.
“You shou . . . shou . . . should be sleeping,” Remko
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