Free UNBREATHABLE by Hafsah Laziaf Page A

and creep closer to Slate.
    One of the others, a pale-haired man with ice-blue eyes offers me a kind smile and crosses the room to shake my hand. “Evan. It’s nice to meet you, Lissa.” Chancellor Evan. So this is Julian’s uncle.
    The youngest of the group is a dark-skinned, scrawny man, who looks to be in his twenties. He’s the newest of the Chancellors. Abel, I think. I remember Chancellor Kole announcing it at a hanging a few months before Gage died.
    It’s funny how easily I can think of Gage’s hanging now. But wasn’t it his fault? He knew of Earth through the Jute, but he still wanted to see it himself. And in the end, his greed cost him his life.
    “She is different,” Slate speaks up. “Stronger, more beautiful, but still my daughter.”
    I flush when the four of them stare at me. And of course, Dena chooses that exact moment to saunter in.
    “What’s everyone staring at?” She asks loudly. She has a bowl of food in her hand and doesn’t even glance at me before dropping into one of the chairs with a snort. “I bet Julian is finally getting some time to himself.”
    “It’s only fair for us to meet the girl we’re protecting, yes?” Abel says, ignoring her. His voice is scratchy and sharp. He winks and I’m grateful for his interruption.
    “I agree,” the brown-haired one says, reaching for my hand. His face is carefully neutral and I wish it wasn’t. But I catch the slight disgust in the way he eyes the bare skin on my face where a mask should be. He doesn’t know I haven’t worn a mask since I started living here. “Chancellor Willem.”
    “It’s nice to meet all of you,” I say slowly, taking a small step back. Soldiers trickle in, laughing as they set the table. I feel vaguely smug that the Chancellors have to eat the same bland porridge I do, along with the rest of our dying race.
    “We’re not protecting her for nothing,” Chancellor Kole says. I look away from his stare. “She’ll return the favor. Eventually.”
    I sit beside Slate and reach for one of the bowls. I eat as quickly as I can, despite the one thing evident in the Chancellors’ stares. Expectancy.
    That’s when I realize Slate is wrong. We do stand a chance against the Jute.
    We just need to take it.
     

 
    A hand. On my shoulder.
    My eyes fly open. My bed creaks as I dig my nails into soft flesh and twist the arm of—
    “It's me,” Julian rasps.
    I let go and shoot up, the sheets a swirl around my legs. “I'm so sorry.”
    “Shh, it's fine.” He rubs his arm, and in the soft moonlight, I see his eyes dart to my closed door. His stance is wrong, too nervous.
    “What is it?”
    “Shh,” he says again, eyes wide. He rushes over to the door and presses his ear against it.
    “They're here,” he says in a worried whisper. My eyes widen. “The Jute. They're due tomorrow to pick up a body, but someone spotted them. They never come at night. Something’s up.”
    I slide off the bed, but Julian shakes his head. “You have to stay here. I wanted you awake, just in case.”
    And he’s gone.
    The moment he leaves, I pull out my daggers and sheaths. I'm about to change out of my nightgown when the door opens.
    Slate slips inside. Soft moonlight shines off his mask. Worry gnaws at my mind.
    “Where's Julian? Is he okay?” I ask.
    “He can take care of himself. We have to go. Now.” He throws a package my way. I catch it. “I didn't see a point in giving you another set of daggers, so I got you something that will make you look like the warrior that you are.”
    I shake the dark material from the package onto the bed.
    A black body suit slips out, it’s stretchy and form fitting. There's a tunic too, it glints when I hold it up. Thin shiny scales, each one about the size of a small tooth line it, shimmering in the flickering light.
    When Slate turns away, I slip into the body suit and hold my breath as I pull on the tunic, watching as the hem drops right at mid-length of my thighs. I slip into my