Page 62 of The Last Love Story

I stop, my mind reeling. Hux wasn’t ordered to come to the White House? Why was he there, then?

This time when Hux surges toward the members of Lyceum, my hand presses against his hard chest. His heartbeat thunders under my palm, but I don’t dare look up and meet his eyes.

“We shouldn’t fight,” Uriah says evenly.

“Oh,” Hux says with a humorless laugh, “what were you going to do, quote the Dewey Decimal system at me until I fell asleep?” And then the fake grin falls from his face and his green eyes sear into Uriah’s even stare.

“Ripley is done.”

“She’snot,” Uriah pushes back.

That’s it. Something inside of me snaps, and it’s a long time coming.

I am done, but not in the way that either of them think.

“ENOUGH,”I scream, pushing Hux back as my hands come to fists at my sides. The cry is so loud that it hurts my throat, but it does the trick. For once, the tunnel—all of Lyceum, all of the Machs—go silent. And look at me.

“Sheis her own person,” I cry, the rage I’ve been holding on to for days finally spilling over as I whip to glare at Uriah.

“You lied to me. All of Lyceum. I thought I found my people—myfamily.”I hate how my voice catches, and I stop to make sure I can continue without crying. Nef looks down, ashamed, and Uriah has the decency to look embarrassed as well.

I lower my voice, speaking only to Uriah and Lena: “You didn’t ask. You didn’t trust me. You used my writing—my heart—against me. But you don’t own me. I’m not Lyceum’s to claim.”

With that, I whip my head to the other side, pinning a smug-looking Hux with the same ferocious glare. “Andyou.You want to stop a tyrant? Funny, because you seem so ready to become one. You don’t tell me when I’m done. I decide that. No one else.”

I take a step forward, using the moment to catch my breath, surprised that still the silence stretches. People are listening to me. To my words.

“You need me. I can make a difference. And I will. Because I know what the vote is for, and I’m going to stop it.”

Hundreds of eyes stare at me as I gingerly hoist myself back onto the scaffolding. I make sure my voice is steady, loud enough that not a single word will be missed: “In a week, the Senate will be voting on extending President Graves’s term. They’re going to make him dictator. For life.”

Below me, Hux jolts back. Uriah swears under his breath. I look to both of them.

“And someone came into my room and took the books I had there,” I add. “Someone in the White House probably knows that I’m with Lyceum. That same person could be the one who rigged the bomb. It’s entirely possible that Callum wasn’t the target—I was.”

Hux’s jaw twitches as he looks to Lena. When he finds my gaze, his green eyes are on fire. “We have to kill President Graves.”

“What?” I hiss, scrambling off my makeshift stage and rushing over to him. “No. No, Huxley.”

“There’s no other way,” he answers, voice raised, and the Machs murmur in agreement.

I step closer to him. “You’re the one who said killing him would only make him a martyr,” I counter. “Give me a chance. We have a week. I can stop this. I know I can get him to help.”

Hux’s eyes narrow, and somehow they’re more murderous than when he was suggesting an actual assassination, so I turn back to the crowd, standing among them. “Callum Graves is a good person,” I call. “A friend. And he doesn’t want this, either. If Callum comes out publicly against the vote, I know we can stop it.”

Hux’s hand comes to my elbow, a grip so light I can feel his fingers shaking with anger. “And if you’re wrong,” he bites out, lips by my ear, “when you can’t convince him, when President Graves outmaneuvers you, uses you in his videos and sound bites, you’ll have ended democracy in America. You’ll be more than a propaganda princess—you’ll be America’s first actual princess. The nation, the world as we know it, will end. And there’ll be nothing we can do to stop it.”

“You don’t get to kill people because you don’t believe they can change!” I yell. My scream echoes off the tunnel walls, emotion soaking every syllable.

Hux narrows his eyes. Everyone’s watching, but it might as well be just us.

“Andyoudon’t get to wager the future of the planet on a boy just because you think he’s a character in your patheticlove stories,” Hux taunts. “You’re a good kisser, Ripley. But notthatgood.”

My hand whips out before I can think about it, backhanding across his cheek. The slap burns my knuckles as his head twists, absorbing the blow with a wince.

A collective gasp sounds from the entire tunnel, followed by a sickening, deafening silence.

I’ve slapped Huxley Finn hundreds of times—in jest, in practice, in annoyance. We’ve sparred and traded words and blows and I’ve never even come close to hurting him. But this time, I forgot. I forgot about the ring.