Micah didn’t want to talk about her. Even after all this time, the sting of what had happened was a fresh wound carved into his soul. His mother. Fern Veyhl.
He’d been told he looked like her, more so even than Booker, who shared their dark features and fair skin. Every time Micah looked in the mirror, he could see that resemblance. He remembered that she had been beautiful. But time seemed to have faded the sharpness and clarity of her features, though it had done nothing to dull the memory of what had been done to her. Of what he had seen that night. The night of the Great Fracturing.
“I’m tired,” Micah finally said. He could see the frustration still in his brother’s demeanor, so he was relieved when Booker nodded.
“The Games are still going…”
“Delta Stone again?”
That seemed to perk Booker’s interest. “She’s a surprise, that one. Glad I didn’t bet any pieces against her.”
“Her streak will end. They always do.”
“They always do,” Booker agreed. “But I’m wagering this one still has a few weeks left in her. She’s got spunk. I like it. Plus, she seems to keep Zimmer on his toes. That old geezer looks like a bumbling buffoon every time she wins a match.”
Micah hesitated. “And Tovar?”
It had been several long months since President Axel Tovar had shown his face to the public. His mouthpiece, Vice-President Darius Zimmer, always attended the public spectacles and spoke on his behalf. The president who had once been praised as a “savior” and “man of the people” was now an enigma and a recluse, acting from behind the scenes.
“Still no sign of him. But make no mistake, the bastard’s still pulling the strings. Every move the government makes is funded and supported by that man alone.” He paused, his face growing dark. “He sent an emissary of the Church on his behalf.”
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