Page 45 of The Last Love Story

“Hello?” I call. My voice echoes sadly, the only reply I’m going to get, as I stumble over something on the ground. Books. Just a few, and nearly destroyed, their pages ripped out, vomiting forth between cracked covers.

With shaking hands, I wrap my fingers around what’s left.

Beloved.

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

1984.

I let out a small sound—almost a cry, I guess, as I gather the books up gently and unzip my bag. I know I can’t have books in my bag.I know.

But I can’t leave them here. Not when they might be the last books I get a chance to read.

I’m finished zipping up my bag when a noise sounds above me. I step back instinctively from the shaft of dusty light that unfurls with a metal-on-metal shriek. A dark shape cuts through the light, the black fatigues of a Hammer descending from street level on a rope.

I freeze as the slight figure dips smoothly down to the tracks, my heart thudding as I wait for thousands more to swarm me, to unholster their nightsticks, to figure out what I am.

Instead, this one removes their helmet, loosing a French braid down their back. “Ripley Hart,” she says. “He wasn’t wrong. You really are just agiantpain in the ass.”

I blink at her, not daring to breathe. “Who are you?”

“Becka. Banks.”

I swing my bag onto my shoulder, praying it doesn’t look as heavy as it feels.

“Banks,” I repeat, confused. I’ve heard the name before—in the server room. With Hux. “I thought you were in Europe. Hux was... he was broken when you left.”

“And if he could see me now.” She grins. “Thankfully, Pretty Boy is safely back in Post Angeles. And I’m still on American soil.” Her smile falters as I race to keep up with the lies. Why would she lie? Hux is here. Does she not know?

“I didn’t pass the screening,” she adds. Suddenly shefinds her nails very interesting. “Or I guess, I passed a littletoowell.”

I stop, the horror of what she’s saying sinking in.The screening.With the declining birth rate, President Graves instituted mandatory fertility screening for all eighteen-year-olds before sending them off to die. Because there is a third option, between fighting and data mining. It’s just one that I hadn’t even considered.

Becka clears her throat, like the unspoken words lodged in her chest.

“Anyway. The guards called for backup. And imagine my shock when I roll up, ready to find a necklace, and realize that the president’sdaughter-in-lawis missing. Then, I saw the dumbass Lyceum marking on this building. And I knew where the Lyceum dumbass probably went.”

I can’t move.How does she know?My mind races.

She works for the administration. Lie.

“I just needed some time alone,” I explain, and Becka lets out a harsh laugh. It echoes even farther than myhellohad.

“Right. We don’t have time for this, because those guards up there are going to realize that Ettie was never even wearing a necklace to start with, and then you’re going to have to answer some very uncomfortable questions. So let’s cut to the chase. I’m a Mach. Just like Hux.”

I bristle but fight to keep my expression calm. “Why would you tell me that?”

Becka sighs, irritated. “Because I’m trying to get you to trust me. And I don’t have time to slowly build this slow-bloominggirl powerfriendship. So I’m throwing the truth out there. I’m a Mach. And I know you’re with Lyceum. Or were. Because clearly you bet on the wrong horse.” She motions to the empty bookshelves. “And with your little boyfriend? You’re in the big leagues now. The Machs sent me to recruit you. We can protect you, protect your parents, and get President Graves out of office. Whatever it takes.”

All they have to do is wait nine months. Nine months, and he’ll be gone. They don’t need tokillhim. “I am not a terrorist,” I say.

Becka rolls her eyes. “This is a war, Hart. You either fight the administration or you sit out—and you end up fightingforthem. Maybe you haven’t realized that. They’ll take your life; they’ll take your body. That ring on your finger is just a shiny collar. They own you.”

She’s close now, and I can see the fear in her eyes. It breaks my heart, and my voice cracks. “The administration is using you, and that’s evil. But the Machs are using you too. They’re killing people, Becka. Innocent people. Kids. I won’t be a part of either of those. There has to be another way. A third option. I won’t let anyone use me.”

Becka’s face contorts, mouth dropping open with confusion, and then shock. And then, slowly, her lips stretch,unmasked glee spreading across her face. She wipes a hand over her mouth as if to hide the smile, but it’s too late.

“You don’t know,” she breathes. “Shit. You don’t.”