Free The Violet Hour by Whitney A. Miller

on, along with a hoodie covered in sewn-on patches of punk bands I loved. Adam had made it for me back when things were normal. Maybe it would make him remember who I really was.
    “I saw the General after we came back last night,” I said.
    A steely glint of determination flashed in Dora’s eyes. It said that I was not going home if she had anything to say about it.
    “I don’t want to know what happened.” She waved her hand in the air. “I just want you to pack up and get your butt down to the lobby. You’re not going anywhere but China.”
    “But—”
    She put her hand up to my mouth. “But nothing. I cannot do this trip—this life— without you. I refuse. So until you’re not, you’re here. Now let’s go.”
    There wasn’t really any arguing with that. I stuffed the last of my things into an oversized handbag. Dora put my Jackie O glasses on my face.
    “There—VisionCrest royalty, ready to rock.”
    It was impossible to be morose around Dora. I held my breath as we exited the elevator into the lobby, half- expecting Watchers to descend on me as we entered the crowd of Ministry kids. My classmates were buzzing like hornets ready to flee the hive, looking more motley than usual since our VisionCrest uniforms (gray slacks, oxford shirts, ties, and official sweaters for the boys; navy-and-green tartan skirts, oxford shirts, and cardigans for the girls) were optional on travel days. There were Watchers milling around looking bored, but none of them took any more note of my presence than usual.
    True to form, Queen Mercy was right at the center of the action, ordering her consorts around. The way she acted, you would think she was the Patriarch’s daughter, not me. She gestured toward the matching set of Louis Vuitton luggage at her side as the scrawny son of a lower-rank Sacristan scrambled to collect it under his arms.
    Through the crowd, Adam appeared. His hair was messy and he was wearing an Operation Ivy T-shirt under a fitted gray blazer. My heart clenched. His eyes met mine for a split second. Then he looked away and walked straight to Mercy, leaning over and whispering something in her ear. A smile graced her face that would have made even Mother Theresa weep with jealousy. Then he leaned down and kissed her. He looked up at me, making sure I saw. It was a clear message— stay away .
    Dora saw it too. “Darling, the world is your oyster. You’re going to pry it open and steal its pearl, and no silly boy is going to stop you,” she said. It was the Dora version of a pep talk.
    I watched Adam and Mercy for a moment longer, unable to tear my eyes away from the train wreck. Mercy tucked her arm inside Adam’s and snuggled up against him. He smoothed his hand over the back of her hair. I struggled not to let my knees buckle beneath me.
    Dora pulled me along behind her, dragging me toward the waiting buses.
    Sayonara , Tokyo. You sucked.

    The flight to Beijing consisted of me scrunching between Dora and Stubin, the unlikely lovebirds, and trying to disappear. There was no sign of the General’s Learjet in the hangar when we boarded our private plane. He must have already headed to China.
    Dora insisted on the window so she could keep an eye on the engines “for air safety,” and Stubin insisted on the aisle because of his “claustrophobia disorder.” No amount of protesting could convince either of them that putting me in a teen-crush sandwich met the standard of cruel and unusual punishment.
    I was in no mood to argue, so I succumbed and melted into the thirteen square inches that separated me from a complete mental breakdown. I suspected that Dora was distracting me from what was happening five rows in front of us. Namely, Mercy and Adam sitting with their heads tipped together. As if I wasn’t tracking their every move from the corner of my eye.
    I considered what it would be like to spill the details of the past day to Dora, in a world where Stubin wasn’t butting in every five seconds.