Thank you for 300 reviews! I had a lot of trouble posting the last chapter (43) and a couple alerts went out with a faulty link, so if you missed that one make sure you go back and read it of course!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to all my readers!

(As a sidenote, I know this year has kind of sucked for all of us and I certainly experience creativity stifled when we have to absorb so much other information and deal with the fallout. Personally, I thought nothing could be worse than 2019 for me, and at it's conclusion I was excited about the future and thought this was going to be a great year for me. I made several resolutions last year just like I found myself writing about. While by no means I have experienced anything, Wesley goes though (yay for giving characters unnecessary angst!) a theme I keep coming back for is the idea of being okay and having hope of that, of being happy in the little things and wanting to "get better". I am in no way a doctor, therapist, or anything close to that, and most of my writing about these subjects comes from my understanding through other media or google, but just know I realized I've put a little of my own experiences in too, and I thoroughly believe that I can be okay. As I'm sure we all did, this year didn't turn out like I thought it would—on the last year of 2019 I got hired for my dream job this summer, which ended up being canceled, I stayed at my current job which was just one catastrophe after another (and stealing all my writing time), I didn't date anyone, I didn't see hardly any of my friends, I didn't go anywhere. I didn't complete or keep all my resolutions, but I truly don't think I would be the person I am today without this horrible year. Know that I appreciate anyone who reads/reviews this and if anyone is lonely and wants to chat, I would love to! Love you all! )

-shades

…

"Does this feel historical to you, or is it just me?" Wesley asked Georgia as they stood on the outskirts of the party, watching.

Next to him, Georgia smiled wryly and took a sip of her champagne. "In what way?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I guess if we put Jason Trevelyne on the Council and actually celebrate it…" Wesley trailed off, watching the party from the outskirts. "It means the war is over."

"I'll toast to that," she held up her champagne to his shrimp cocktail, making Wesley laugh.

"Happy new Secretary of Northern Affairs day," he said jokingly.

It was a smaller affair tonight, not a largely celebrated event. The only reason it was getting the press coverage it was was because the Selected had been given the chance to plan yet another event. That and the somewhat controversial choice of the addition of a former rebel soldier to the Council as the Secretary of Northern Affairs, despite his desertion from the rebel army in the end and cooperation with the crown.

Wesley had been to events in almost every area of the palace, but he had yet to attend one on the front lawn, on the front steps of the palace, and he loved it. The press did too, he could see them gathered at the gates, but that was as far as they got. Iris had shown him around when he arrived, and of course, it was her idea to showcase the gorgeous architecture of his home. She had done the decorating this time, and they were immaculate, all organized geometrically minimalist, soft in the dark but illuminated in the golden lights strung around. The lights reflected on the fountain in the center of the driveway, enhanced by the warm light from the windows of the palace. Servers were circulating with trays of champagne, miniature desserts, and enough finger foods to be a more than adequate dinner—including Wesley's said shrimp cocktail. There had already been a number of speeches, including Andrew doing an official address to the country to announce the news with a swearing-in ceremony.

Most of it was lost on Jason, who was nervous as usual, marginally less so than he had been at New Year's but still too wound up to enjoy the party. He and Georgia avoided each other like the plague, which was a bit awkward considering the small guest list. It was the usual fixtures for these kinds of receptions—the royal family, the Selected, the Council, and those connected to those in some way, like Adele, Gracie, and Nat. All combined, it felt more like a party they would hold at Trentworth, though this was far more important.

"I know you don't like him," Wesley commented, "But you know, the principle of it."

Georgia looked over at him, and he thought he could detect certain ease in her features, usually carved from stone and immovable. "We have history," she said, the word loaded. "I don't like him, but this is more important. I think putting him on the Council was the best choice."

"Better than Conrad Berlin, that's for sure," Wesley said.

"Anyone would be better than a Berlin," Georgia replied. She turned her attention back on the party, and Wesley took the opportunity to study her. In the glow of the lights that lit up the terrace and the steps, she looked softer than normal. The dark red gown she was wearing was a good color on her, making the honey blonde of her hair stand out. They were the same height tonight, so she must not be wearing very high heels. Still, there was a sadness to her, a defeat. She had sought him again tonight, something she had done with some frequency since the Public Trials. She had confessed the hardships of her role in the ceremony, and he had seen firsthand the effects of it that had left her unraveled and upset. Since she Something had changed between them after he had helped her say her last farewell to Cody Trevelyne, an understanding or a friendship or something else entirely. He found he liked it. Georgia had always intimidated him, but it was different now.

He cleared his throat. "So, do you?"

She glanced his way. "Do I what?"

Wesley scuffed his shoe along the ground. "Do you think it's over?"

Georgia's gold-painted nails drummed slowly across her champagne glass. "Yeah," she said softly. "Yeah, I do."

She sounded sad when she said it, and he could read plainly on her face that she was thinking of Cody, of how he sent himself to prison instead of taking his freedom handed right to him. Georgia seemed to know he guessed her thoughts, and she shifted uncomfortably. "For those of us who chose to believe that, anyway."

He had said he was sorry for the events that had occurred many times to ease his own conscious, but one more time couldn't hurt. "I'm really sorry for what happened, Georgia," he told her.

"It was his own fault," she said, matter of fact. They watched across the terrace as Jason spoke to Nicole, looking terribly out of place and uncomfortable. "He should have been here," she said half to herself. "He could have if he wasn't such an idiot. Jason needed him."

Wesley never had got a straight answer, but he suspected there had been more to Georgia and Cody he didn't know about. He felt a pang, one that surprised him, to hear her talk about him. He wasn't sure if he liked that emotion.

"Me and my brothers share one brain cell too, most days," he joked, trying to lighten the heavy subject matter.

Georgia looked back at him, almost as if she had forgotten he was there. Her nails matched her eye shadow, he noticed.

He found a welcome distraction.

"Oh, hey Nick," Wesley said, spying his bodyguard walking by. "Wait, are you here with Elvira, or are you here for me?"

Nick gave Wesley the dead-eyed stare he reserved for when he was trying to make sure Wesley knew he was pissing him off. He pointed to the sunglasses tucked into the buttons of his shirt. "How many times do I have to tell you? When I have the sunglasses on, I'm on the clock. When they're off, I'm Elvira's date and you don't have to talk to me."

"What about the earpiece?"

"I don't take it off," Nick said.

"Even in the shower?"

Georgia snorted quietly next to him.

"Don't you have like ten dates yourself to this? Why are you talking to me?"

"It's eight, thank you for keeping up when you literally guard me. Are you still mad about," Wesley glanced at Georgia and lowered his voice. "-the Veyra incident?" Wesley asked cautiously.

"Yes."

"Well, you probably should be," Wesley said. Last week he had the bright idea to impress Veyra by taking one of Andrew's stupid fancy cars out (without permission) and driving it (he wasn't a very good driver and the car had a lot of power) down to the coast (without his guard). Nick was still mad, apparently. It hadn't been that bad. The cop that pulled him over hadn't given him a ticket, Veyra loved it, and Andrew still didn't know about it, so Wesley considered it a success. His bodyguard was of a differing opinion.

"Oh, I am."

"Come on Nick, I would never actually let you get fired."

"I'm going to find my girlfriend," Nick ended the conversation, leaving Wesley with Georgia.

"Should I even ask?" Georgia mused.

"Probably better you don't." He cleared his throat. "Wanna try some dessert?"

A lazy smile started to break across her face. "You've been eating dessert all night."

"And?"

They found some delicate chocolate-orange flavored petit fours he hadn't tried that were beyond amazing, and he had stuffed two in his mouth when Georgia broke her silence again.

"Do you think," she began, glancing around them, "There's a chance he could ever be released?"

She didn't have to specify that she was talking about Cody. Wesley knew.

"Not sure," he mumbled around cake. "I mean, it was kind of all symbolic anyway, but he refused it anyway."

She broke a corner without eating it. "So… it's not impossible."

"I guess not. Why?"

She shrugged. "I'm worried his parents will write to me or something and ask me what can be done. I knew them, from back in Sitka."

"Oh…well if they do we can go talk to Andrew or something. He can tell us more."

"You would do that for me?" She raised one eyebrow.

Her sudden scrutiny made Wesley embarrassed. He grabbed another petit four so he wouldn't have to answer. "Well, yeah, you're one of my Selected, aren't you?"

She might have smiled. "That I am."

Wesley would have liked to keep talking to her, but his mom interrupted them, happening on them with an overly cheery smile, as usual, a tad overdressed despite the already formal dress code.

"Lady Georgia," she flashed a smile. "May I borrow Wesley for a word in private?"

Georgia offered her a curtsy, something most of the other members of his family had waived long ago, except the dowager queen, of course. "Absolutely," she said tightly, almost through clenched teeth. "I was just leaving."

Francesca waited until she was an appropriate distance away before dropping her bright smile for a look of concern.

"Is everything alright, Wes?" she asked.

Wesley sighed, allowing her worry to be the focus of the conversation. His mother tended to be very aggressive on some things at some times, which Wesley found very irritating.

"Everything is fine, Mom," he said.

"You're not having any more episodes, are you? You've been going to that therapist?"

"As I said, everything is fine," Wesley said. His mom had witnessed the panic attack he'd suffered several months back and had been treating him as something that needed to be glued back together immediately ever since. "Dr. Holland has really been helping me." That and actually wanting to be okay, believing he could be, and trying his darndest to get there. He kept that part to himself.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right Wesley?" his mom said. "You used to tell me everything when you were younger."

Wesley smiled, remembering how hard he found it to be the youngest, to be treated like a baby by his father and older siblings. He had been a lot closer to his mother then. She had broken his trust the time when she had lied to him about Lissa at the beginning of Ethan's Selection, right after the first rebel attack at the masquerade, the first time he had been wounded. He supposed it had ebbed away like his trust in his father as the country sank lower and lower until finally there was nothing left but the rag-tag band of them who had picked up the broken pieces and started over. By then his father was dead and his mother would never be the same. Wesley had left then, experiencing his private hell another world away from growing up in the palace. He supposed he was still trying to figure out what he was now.

"About the Selection, about your ladies, about your dates, anything." She looked into his eyes, her expression serious. "I loved meeting Lady Alyex and Lady Iris the other night at our family dinners, but I don't know how you feel about them."

"You and me both," Wesley joked, favoring his mom with a giant grin. That got a smile of her own out of her, and she relaxed somewhat. "I'll let you know when I figure out."

He chatted with her a bit more before making an excuse that he had to pee. Wesley loved his mom, he really did, but sometimes she was…a lot. The palace seemed weirdly quiet for once, with everyone outside out front. Usually, when he slipped out of parties and receptions it was him going outside to smoke, so it was strange to go inside. He focused on the black and white marble floors on his way to one of the first-floor bathrooms, the itch of nicotine scratching at the back of his mind. He had decided the best way to quit smoking was to never get any cigarettes, but that was starting to drive him rather crazy.

He splashed water on his face, knowing from experience that it would pass. It would help more if he rejoined the party and focused on something else, but that too seemed impossible right now. Drained, he wandered around the empty Main Hall, giving in to some nicotine gum.

He was stuck in his head, he almost didn't notice Lissa corralling Evie and Sophie out of another bathroom. His nieces gave him their usual exuberant and over the top greeting before vanishing almost as quickly as they appeared.

"Hi, Uncle Wesley!" Evie shouted. "We're going to get cake!"

"Bye Uncle Wesley!" Sophie responded.

"Girls, no shouting—" Lissa started to reprimand them, but they were already dashing away.

She looked different, from the last time they talked when they tried yet again to change their ending. Her hair was different, not as short or as blonde as it had been when she had first come back to the palace, but not as long and caramel-colored as it had during her Selected days. It went down to just barely touching her shoulders, and was darker, especially at the top, the ends lighter, and she had some new wispy bangs things going on. She wore a pale pink tea-length dress, less fancy than the other guests and looking a bit out of place.

He had always liked her in pink.

The two of them were left alone all of a sudden like they were the only two people in the palace.

"Heeeey," he said, trying and failing to sound casual. "You changed your hair."

Lissa smiled a polite kind of smile, her hands immediately reaching up to fuss with said hair. "I did," she agreed.

Wesley didn't tell her that the darker, more golden shade of blonde made him think of her when he first met her, or how he liked the way it framed her face. All he could come up with was, "It's nice."

She nodded her head, the movement stiff. "Thank you."

"Um," Wesley rearranged his own hair in awkwardness. "Iris told me what you said about me."

Lissa's eyes darted up at the statement. "Really?" she said quickly.

"Yeah…that I was special and an idiot?"

Lissa looked down, a piece of hair falling over her eyes. "I might have said that," she said. "Sorry, she just kind of sprung it on me—"

Despite his embarrassment, Wesley laughed. "It's fine Lis, I—" He realized he had used her nickname habitually and stammered out the rest. "Actually, I've been meaning to find you. I wanted to thank you for making me look good in front of my Selected."

"Oh," Lissa did that thing where she crossed one ankle over the other, swaying in her tall heels. "Anytime."

"Your holidays were good?" he asked her. "It was like two months ago but..." He hadn't talked to her since before Christmas.

"They were great," she said. "I flew home for a few days to see my family."

"That's awesome," Wesley tried to pretend he didn't know her brother's names and how old they were now, though he did, of course, he did. She knew it too, he could tell.

There was a beat of silence when neither of them spoke or made a move to leave.

"Your Convicting ceremony was beautiful," Lissa commented. "Evie and Sophie loved it, they were absolute angels through the whole thing they were so impressed."

"Only because they have you as their governess," Wesley blurted. "They always talk about you when I see them."

"Do they really?" She was touched, he could tell. "I love being their governess."

She smiled when she talked about his nieces, Wesley noticed. The realization made him a little too late to reply, making Lissa start to fidget with her necklace—a different one, not the one he had given her and then Eleanor, of course.

The moment stretched between them, and Wesley looked away. It was difficult for him sometimes, to reconcile the woman standing before him with the girl he had known in another lifetime. She had been so insecure, constantly reminded of her low caste by the other girls, constantly embarrassed about her former profession as a burlesque dancer that helped her family scrape by. Their relationship had burned strong and bright in those days, before burning itself out. Looking back, they had both been insecure in their fragile relationship, a first for both of them and fraught with secrets and lies and the ever-present fear of getting caught. It had been so exciting, the hope of it all, something that no one knew about but them. Back when they were still changing for the better, still sixteen, that thrill had been enough.

There was all that weight still between them, six years later, of what had been and what could have been. Something impossible.

"Time takes care of everything doesn't it?" Lissa said quietly, and he wondered if she was thinking the same things.

Wesley nodded. "Everything worked out as it should have," he said. "Don't you agree?"

"I should go," Lissa started to move away. Stupidly, he thought of a time, when Lady Mackenzie had interrupted them talking during Ethan's Selection, flirting shamelessly with Wesley, and scoffing at Lissa. He remembered saying something in anger to Mackenzie, and then Lissa stood up for herself, cheeks flushing in embarrassment and shame. It was a far cry from when they had started and he felt so damn proud of her at that moment, thinking of how far she had come.

"Lissa Dove," he called after her. She stopped, looking back. Wesley looked her straight in the eyes, pushing aside the awkwardness. "You always knew that you wanted something like this," he said, motioning at the palace around them, thinking of how much she loved her job. "And look at you. Here you are. You made it happen for yourself."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face.

Wesley couldn't stop grinning like an idiot the more he thought about it. The warm glow in his chest was back. "You're amazing. I just wanted you to know. I don't want to make it weird or…I just wanted you to know."

A tiny smile fought its way onto her face, and with a deft movement, she brushed her hand under her cheek, like she was just pushing her hair back.

Wesley found himself back outside at the party, no longer craving a cigarette. Eleanor waved at him from where she was talking with Veyra and Ophelia, and he waved back. He should go over there, he really should.

He really should get some more of those petit fours, he decided.

He ate half a tray, wondering when would be appropriate to sneak away and not get absolutely wrecked later by his mom, his Selected, or any of his coordinators. His conclusion was not anytime soon. He spotted Vera by herself, sitting on the palace steps, but they were still fighting over the conversation over Fallon, and now didn't feel like the time to go talk to her. He had been supposed to go to another "meet-the-family" dinner with her a few days ago but had asked Alyex to go with him instead. It had been a lot more fun, and of course, no pressure since the friendzone. Wesley had almost peed himself laughing over Alyex fielding the princess/wife/girlfriend questions his mom asked her when the two of them knew full well they were purely the best of buds.

He found Ben, Colin, and Ethan instead of Vera. As usual, the guys had congregated to do shots, their habit.

"Happy new Secretary of Northern Affairs Day!" Wesley greeted them tossing back a cake instead of a shot. New Year's resolutions and all. The assembled members of the Council welcomed him in with cheers and claps on the back. It seemed like they always got stupid drunk at these things.

"Just think, it could have been Conrad Berlin we were celebrating," Ethan said, more or less clearly.

"That would not have been good," Ben agreed. "We would probably get randomly assassinated and replaced by Berlin men in a matter of hours."

They had a good laugh before Colin got serious. "It could still happen," he said. "Atlin is going to be a mess for the next thirty years. The Berlins are awful up there."

"Hey, I believe it," Wesley agreed. He spied Fallon glance up from where Eleanor was talking to her, hearing her last name. He made a dumb face at the girls, screwing up one eye and shooting them some suave finger guns, to the delight of both of them.

The tentative arrest/hold on her parents and uncle didn't seem to bother Fallon at all, though he had found her glued to the news the other night. It had been about the ensuing riots and unrest in the Atlin over the treatment of the Berlin family and the prominent rebel leaders and heroes since they didn't seem to think people like Jason, Fallon, or Georgia counted very highly. She had been anxious and upset and he practically had to drag her away from the TV. The other Berlin's trials were scheduled for the upcoming week, and they were still not cooperating from where they were under house arrest. Wesley hadn't asked Fallon to come with him, thinking to spare her, but she had insisted on it. She had come out of her shell now that romance was off the table and they understood one another far better than before. She was even helping him with his wardrobe and clothes, and from that, she had started working with the palace designers with clothing for the rest of the Elite. Like Alyex, she was great in his corner, especially when it came to helping him with the Selection.

"Well, Fallon's not awful," he amended. He turned back to the guys and found them all exchanging ribald glances no doubt at his expense. "Uh, this is probably a good time to say I think she and I work better as friends."

"If Dad were here, he would definitely tell you that you had to marry her for political alliances," Ethan commented. "I'd like to think we do things a little less archaic now."

"I am really glad you said that," Wesley let a deep breath go, feeling flustered from earlier and now highly embarrassed to be talking about a. his Selection b. his feelings and c. their father. "I'm keeping her around for now, until we figure things out."

"It doesn't hurt to have friends," Ethan nodded, and Wesley realized he was equally embarrassed to be talking about this. He quickly got the guys back on track and allowed himself one (1) shot of tequila with them.

Conveniently, they all left him to find their respective wives not long after. Wesley retired to a table, staring at his dead phone like he had something important to do on it. He kept getting distracted though, watching Lissa with Evie and Sophie as the girls said goodnight to the guests, and Lissa took them back inside.

Wesley didn't even realize he had been watching them go until Gracie sat down next to him, studying his face with pursed lips. She crossed her arms.

"What?"

"What?" Gracie repeated. "Is that what you're going to say for yourself?"

"…Yes?"

Gracie rolled her eyes. "You can't keep doing this, Wesley."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You have to stop." The weight of her stare was enough for Wesley to know she was talking about Lissa. Who else would it be, anyway?

"She's one of my best friends and she deserves so much more than to wait and wait for you when it's not going to happen. She's happy. She's really happy. She's got over Joseph and she has a date tonight and you are so not going to mess this up by complimenting her haircut and telling her she's amazing. I won't stand by and watch you break her heart again and again."

"I wasn't—" Wesley was taller than Gracie by almost a foot, but when her ever-present smile left her face and she put her hands on her hips and glared at him, she could be truly terrifying. He sighed deeply, biting back the words that it was mutual, she broke his heart too. He knew Gracie just wanted the best for Lissa and probably the best for him too. Ethan's former Selected turned his coordinators always did their best to help him. Heck, Nicole had said almost the same thing to him on the yacht at New Years'.

"She told you?"

"Even if she hadn't, we still need to have this conversation."

"You're right," he said to Gracie. She looked at him quizzically, as if she didn't believe him.

"You know, you've got no one to blame but yourself," Gracie added, but her tone was softer now. "You had plenty of chances and you ruined them every time."

Wesley nodded, looking for any way to escape this conversation. "I know."

"Do you though? I don't think anyone has ever told you how much you hurt her."

"Look, I don't want to talk about this—"

"Someone's got to tell you before you hurt all of them," Gracie gestured vaguely to the party. "You cut it off with her and then you go back to her when you think you need her and then you try to become friends and it gets too much and you leave. It's a vicious cycle."

Wesley remembered Gracie catching them on the roof of the palace, so close to kissing, and then his stupid ass did kiss her later in the hallway. And then they severed contact and now he was being friendly again…Gracie was right. He felt suddenly so miserable it made him nauseous. He spotted Lissa across the party, standing there rather pathetically in her governess dress next to Eleanor in her evening gown.

"Sometimes I think if I hadn't agreed to the Selection before I knew she was back, everything would have been different," he blurted, the words coming out painfully, just like the truth staring him in the face. "But I did. And it's not."

He looked down at Gracie, and she looked sadly back at him.

"It's not," she agreed. "And for that, I am truly sorry."

Wesley started to reply, but they were both startled by the abrupt arrival of Nick, hurrying through the guests. Wesley started to make a joke, but the tenseness of his bodyguard's face stopped him, that, and his usually concealed gun, no longer concealed.

"You have to come with me, Your Highness," he said brusquely.

"What's going on?" he heard Gracie ask, panic rising in her voice.

Over her shoulder, he could see a similar situation, two guards already hustling Andrew inside. Other guards, some he recognized as their personal guards, some regular, were materializing into the party, but obviously not for the party. He saw Damian spare a quick glance for Gracie before heading straight to Colin and Adele.

"Nick?" his voice cracked up as he spoke.

Nick held one hand to his earpiece, the one Wesley had just made fun of earlier.

"What happened?"

Gracie jumped up, gathering up the skirt of her dress. "Wesley, I have to find Damian, he's with Colin—" she began, not staying to further explain. She disappeared into a group of the Elite, none of whom had a guard, he realized. He should have assigned them all one. His legs started to shake, the charge to his blood making him break out in cold sweat.

"You have to come with me right now," was Nick's only answer, resorting to bodily hauling the prince out of his chair. Elvira was there then, dressed for the party and barking orders into her phone, wearing earrings instead of an earpiece.

"Get him out of here," she directed to Nick, not as a girlfriend but as a general. "He may be a target." She turned away. "Someone make sure Lady Fallon is secured immediately."

The party slammed to a halt as now everyone realized something was happening, but no one seemed to know what. Wesley met Georgia's eyes as Nick practically dragged him across the terrace.

"We need to evacuate everyone to the saferooms," he heard Elvira order behind them. "The monarchs are our first priority. There's been a breach of security locally, and we have reason to believe the palace may be threatened."

Wesley tripped on the stairs to the doors, thinking how stupid, how dangerous, how foolish it was to be out in front of the palace where anything could happen, where those paparazzi at the gates could be anyone. Panic descended on him so fast, he couldn't get his feet under him. He heard the squawk of Nick's earpiece, Elvira was still addressing the party behind them, and it could be the rebels or the faction or the Berlins and he couldn't move.

He should have thought about the Selected or his family, but all he could think of right then was Lissa.

Nick nearly pulled Wesley's arm out of its socket getting him to his feet and pushed him inside the front doors. He could see Andrew's guards disappear into one of the access points to the safe rooms, closely followed by their mother. The Main Hall still felt weirdly empty, and the heightening tension intensified things.

"What about—" Wesley started to turn around, but Nick stopped him with a firm hand on his arm.

"My job is to get you and only you to safety right now," Nick cut him off, putting both hands on his shoulders to steer him to the access point. The stairs felt endless and endless, and they could hear sounds behind them. There was no doubt it was the others, but Wesley knew his brain was capable of twisting reality into far worse. He pushed away his usual nightmare thoughts of Drake, of his father, of everything, only focusing on the stairs beneath his feet. The stairs and Lissa in her pink dress. Not the dress she had worn earlier, but the one she had worn to that masquerade ball on their shared birthday celebration. It could have all been a dream now.

The stairs turned to the tunnels which led to the saferoom. Wesley found his brothers and mother there already, along with the children who must have been brought from upstairs. A moment later, Christine and Nicole joined them, going straight to the kids.

"Prince Wesley's secured," Nick barked into his earpiece as soon as the door was closed. "The royal family is all down here. We are getting them to their own rooms shortly."

There was only a moment to register each other's presence before Wesley was taken to another room, away from the rest of the heirs. He wasn't very high on the list anymore, but he still couldn't be with his brothers.

"What's going on," Wesley demanded, his lungs still tight in his chest as he fought against blinding panic. He was safer now, he told himself. His brain still felt sluggish and slow.

"We're getting the Selected down here as soon as they arrive," Nick told him.

"No, why are we down here. What happened?"

"Security breach. No one seems to know," Nick didn't look at him as he angrily shucked his tuxedo jacket, already sweating through his dress shirt. "They think we're safe here but-" he ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know. The military base outside the city, the Public Trials were held, where the prisoners are?"

"Yeah?"

"It went offline. We got the alert and tried to contact them. And six minutes later it was gone. There's nothing left."

"What do you mean there's nothing left?"

"I mean it's gone. There was a bomb or something. The whole thing blew up. The whole complex is incinerated."

Wesley closed his eyes. This couldn't be happening again. Flashbacks of being trapped downtown slammed against his memories, of Vera, of Elvira getting shot, of Nick taking command.

He swallowed. "Is it the faction? The Public Trials were supposed—"

"It's not the faction. Intelligence hasn't picked up anything for weeks from them."

"Then…rebels?" Wesley felt sick.

Nick met his gaze and nodded slowly. "Not just the rebels. It's the Berlins."

…