CHAPTER 1: The Debt My Mother Sold Me For

*EIGHT MONTHS LATER*

POV: Imani

The water still hadn’t boiled, which was making the hairs on my neck stand up. I counted anyway, following the rule, sixty seconds of a rolling boil for the tablets to work properly. Malik had gotten sick once for trying to rush things, and he learned his lesson as he should. I stood there, staring at the pot, a bent lid in my hand, watching the bubbles struggle to surface, when I heard my mother pause in the doorway.

She didn’t come in. That was unlike her. Amara would usually nudge me with her hip, sneak a sip from the cup before it was ready, and tease me about staring at the pot like it might wear a hole through it. But now, she just stood there in the doorway, silent. The quiet stretched out between us, all the time I kept my focus on the water, refusing to look at her because something in me already knew I wouldn’t in any way like what was about to happen.

“Imani,” she said softly, breaking my thoughts of counting the seconds as it stretched.

“Almost done,” I replied, wanting to keep my focus on the task at hand. “Can you tell Malik to find the chipped cup? He’s hiding it again.”

“Baby…”

I dropped the tablets into the bubbling water. Two first, then another two, and right away I could taste the iodine in the air. It hit my tongue with a metallic taste, so familiar it almost felt like it lived inside my throat now. The dull ache in my stomach returned, sharp enough to make me press my lips together tightly, but I kept stirring. I had learned to ignore it over the years, to keep working through it until it became something I could live with, and I wasn’t about to let it distract me right now.

“Look at me,” Amara said, her voice gentle but firm.

I put the lid down and turned to face her. She was wearing that green cardigan, the one that has a hole in the elbow she’d been saying she’d fix for two winters now. Her locs were pulled back neatly, but I noticed the way her hands clasped together, shaking slightly. My eyes dropped to them, then lifted to her face, and the uneasiness in my chest seemed to tighten more.

“How long?” I asked, bracing myself.

“Imani…”

“How long, Mama?”

“An hour,” she said, her voice catching. “They sent word last night. I wanted to give you one more normal night. I swear, that’s all I wanted…”

“An hour?” I repeated, my voice sounding strange even to me.

“They said it couldn’t wait any longer.”

“They?” I laughed, a harsh sound that made my throat hurt. “Who’s ‘they’? You’ve never told me their names. After eight whole years, all I got was ‘the Sinclairs’ like it was nothing but the weather, and you let me…” I stopped, the words sitting between us, and the smell of iodine turned my stomach again.

“Say it again,” I demanded.

“Say what?” Amara froze

“The name.”

“Sinclair,” she answered hesitantly. “Zane Sinclair. It’s his territory. They control the whole eastern ridge, and they’re the only ones with the walls that…”

“I know what they hold, Mommy,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Truthfully, I didn’t. That name felt very distant, like it was something I had heard before but never had a reason to hold onto, yet it made my chest tighten the moment she said it, and my fingers curled against the edge of the counter. I couldn’t explain the reaction, and really, I didn’t want to.

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything,” I said, trying to convince myself.

“Imani, please listen to me…”

“No, you listen,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though everything inside my body was shaking so bad I felt like I could slump. “What am I supposed to do with an hour? I have a pot of water, a sixteen-year-old brother, and a mother who’s selling me. I’m not being dramatic. You just did it early, like it was some sort of payment plan.”

“That isn’t what…” she started, but I was quick to cut her off.

“You told me it was over. When the outbreak hit, you said the old deal died along with everything else. And I fucking believed you! I spent three years of my freaking life believing you! I stitched people up on kitchen tables believing you! I even slept in a drainage pipe believing you…”

“I know,” she interjected gently.

“No mama, you don’t know shit. You were never there for me. You were always here with him while I…” I stopped, the words catching in my throat.

That hit hard. I could see it in the way her eyes got darker like they were going to be filled with tears any moment. Her chin quivered, and she didn’t try to defend herself, which only fueled my anger the more. My own chest tightened so bad when I saw her face, but I shoved the feeling down before it could soften the part of me that had felt neglected and like a bait all this time.

“Say something,” I demanded.

“I didn’t have another option,” she murmured.

I stared at her, the moment stretching painfully long as I waited for something else, anything that would make this easier for me to at least understand.

“You didn’t look very hard,” I replied, my words coming out sharper than I intended.

She flinched as if I’d struck her. A dark part of me feeling so much satisfaction in that moment, and I hated myself almost immediately for feeling it. I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want to stand here looking at my mother and feel this much anger toward her, yet I couldn’t just find a way to make it disappear.

“He’s sick,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Two winters ago, when the fever spread, the Sinclairs had the medicine we needed. They said they’d send it. Imani, they sent it, and that’s why he’s alive.”

“You took medicine on my credit.”

“I took it on his life,” she replied, her tone unwavering.

Just then, I heard footsteps coming down the hall, like bare feet rushing. Then Malik appeared in the doorway, his hair jutting out in funny angles, holding our chipped cup like it was a peace offering. He smiled for half a second, but the expression disappeared when he saw us, his eyes moving between me and Mama.

“I found it,” he announced, then his voice went a tad bit lower. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

“You’re lying,” he insisted. “Your ears turn red when you lie.”

“They do not little bro.”

“Well, they are red right now.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. My ears felt hot, and Malik’s expression changed when he noticed.

He came closer, carefully setting the cup down on the counter. He was already growing taller, bigger than the last month, all limbs and a voice wavering between boyhood and adolescence. He turned to our mother, and the expression in his face was enough to make the anger in my chest falter.

“Mama.”

“They’re taking her,” Amara said softly, looking directly at him. “Baby, they’re taking her to…”

“No,” Malik interrupted fiercely.

“Malik…”

“They can’t. She’s not…” He said, his gaze locking onto mine, and I recognized the vulnerable look, the innocence of a child caught that was off-guard. “You have to tell them no. You always say no. You said no to that guy at the depot, to…”

“Lee,” I whispered, using my nickname for him. “Hey, look at me.”

He looked, his wide eyes reflecting uncertainty, and it did nothing but hurt my chest so badly that I had to swallow before I could speak.

“It’s just for a short while,” I said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “I go, I take care of something, and then I’ll come back. Okay? You know I always come back.”

“Do you?” he asked quietly. “Actually?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but found no answer.

The escort arrived just before the water could finish cooling down. There were two of them, both dressed in gray coats that had the Sinclair crest stitched on the shoulder. Their rifles hung casually, almost like it was forgotten, by their sides. One of them had a noticeable scar cutting through his eyebrow. Neither of them bothered to glance at me; their focus was solely on the clock that was ticking away on the wall, and I could hear every passing second while I stood there with my hands tightly clenched at my sides.

“Ellis?” the scarred one called out.

“That’s me,” I replied.

“Ten minutes,” he stated flatly.

“Am I in a hurry for a reason, or is that just how it’s scheduled with you guys?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light despite the tension that was in the air.

“Ten minutes, ma’am.” He responded, not giving me much of a smile.

I turned and headed to the back room, careful not to touch the photograph of my father sitting on the shelf. I also avoided the blanket that Malik and I had shared for six long winters. Instead, I reached for my medical bag hanging on the hook and started going through its contents, keeping my eyes on the supplies because I didn’t trust myself to look anywhere else.

I counted out what I needed. The gauze, six packs of sutures, the reliable scissors, what was left of the antibiotic tablets. I cut the bottle in half, leaving Malik his own share. I then grabbed a tourniquet, some tape, and a small brown bottle of iodine. It didn’t take as long as I expected because my hands knew exactly where everything was, and I let them take over without questioning why they felt more certain than I did.

Nine minutes had gone by. I zipped up the bag and held it tightly against my chest. A sudden wave of realization hitting me. I had packed everything that would be needed for a battle but hadn’t set aside anything for myself. My fingers tightened around the strap as the thought settled in. So, this is it then, I’m preparing for war.

When I returned to the front room, Amara was already standing in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. I walked past her without saying a word or making any contact. She called my name softly, but I just kept moving, my jaw set tight as I fought the urge to turn around.

Malik stood by the doorframe. He hadn’t said a single word of goodbye. No waving, nothing at all. His hand gripped the wood so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, as if he believed the house might vanish if he released it.

“Lee,” I said gently.

“Don’t.”

“Come on.”

“Don’t say it’s okay.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I said, bending my head slightly to look at the floor before looking back at him.

He nodded slowly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. His hand stayed fixed on the doorframe. I stepped out into the gray morning, the smell of someone’s breakfast fire filling the air around me. I didn’t look back. If I did, I knew I would stay back, and if I stayed, Malik would end up paying the price himself which I would never let happen. That was the truth. That’s how it had always been.

The transport that was waiting for me was an old truck with its windows painted over and a sturdy bench bolted down inside. They shut the door behind me the moment I got in, plunging me into full darkness as the truck rumbled to life. And for the first time in over an hour, no one was watching me.

I settled in with the medical bag lying on my lap. My hands were shaking terribly, though I hadn’t realized when it had started. I pressed them against my knees, trying to steady them, but it didn’t help, and I felt something warm slide down my face. I just let it happen, not having the strength in me to fight it; besides there was no one around to care, and I didn’t have the strength to wipe it away.

The name Sinclair kept echoing in my mind. Zane Sinclair. I repeated it silently, letting the name sit there while my chest continued tightening. Something about the way my mother had spoken it, something in the air, triggered a memory that I couldn’t properly remember.

After what felt like forever, the truck’s pace slowed down, accompanied by the sound of metal creaking up ahead, heavy gates perhaps, and I heard the driver’s voice call out into the darkness. My fingers tightened around the medical bag, feeling my heartbeat start to rise.

The truck came to a halt. A beam of light seeping in from under the door, and I heard the sound of boots. Someone was saying my name to someone else, as if I were just something being delivered.

And then, low and close by, a voice I would recognize anywhere and even if I was dying said, “Open it.”

I felt my shoulders drop.