A R L O

Finn's room was not decorated with many of his belongings, but that was only because growing up in the foster care system, he'd learned to live off the necessities. Nevertheless, I hadn't been able to leave it for some time now.

It was the only physical thing I had of him. This place was where he lived, the window was the same one he stared through. I sat on his bed, knowing it was where he laid his head to sleep every night. Here, it was almost like he was with me again.

His scent—gunpowder and fresh ash—hung in the room. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting him to be standing there. It was driving me further to insanity.

But the bed was cold. His dresser had a fine layer of dust on top. The plant on his desk was beginning to wilt a bit. The only sign of life within the room was me, and I'd never exactly been the picture of health.

I stared at the single picture he had of himself on his dresser. He was younger then, maybe by a year or two, but his bright smile was unmistakable. A pair of grinning dark-haired women stood at his side, both dwarfed by his height. I knew they were his last foster mothers in a long line of them. He had always been tight-lipped about his time in the foster system, but I knew they were the closest to him after the much less welcoming previous homes.

I knew him well enough to be sure why he kept this picture in particular. It was during his high school graduation, the most normal thing in his life. And his foster mothers were beside him, proud of his accomplishment in a way I doubted the other families were. It was also the last obstacle standing in his way to becoming a soldier under Hunt.

There was a moment where I debated throwing the picture onto the ground just to hear something break. I had half a mind to destroy this entire room so I wouldn't have to be faced with the reminders of him ever again.

The longer I stayed in here, the more I missed him. But if I left, I would feel like he was completely gone. I wanted both and neither at the same time. And I couldn't take it anymore.

Before I could even think, I grabbed a glass jar of pens on his desk and hurled it at the wall, hating knowing his hands had once touched it where I did now. The shatter of it was satisfying, but I was disappointed to see it hadn't even left a lasting mark. Pens rolled all over the floor.

I hated everything. I hated how we would never laugh together again, how he wouldn't be here to save me from my own recklessness, how I wouldn't get to say some stupid shitty thing and see him roll his eyes but secretly like it.

Most of all, I hated the burning anger coursing through my veins. It wasn't what he wanted for me, I knew it. But the fury was better than the agony of facing his death.

I turned back to the desk, looking for something else to senselessly destroy, but my eyes fell on a brown leather book I had failed to notice before. It wasn't with the rest of his books stacked neatly in the shelves in his desk and I wondered why.

Upon opening it up, I saw that it was a journal. Something inside me shattered further at the realization that I would get to hear his thoughts even when he was gone.

I flipped to the first page filled with writing and began to read.

This is the first day of being in the compound. For now, I am here by myself. Mr. Hunt gave me this journal after I he realized how much anger and emotional baggage I've gathered from all the homes that wouldn't take me in for more than a few months at best.

Home after home, I've never fit in. My power tears me apart inside more than anyone knows. It's enough to dull the pain of neglect and abuse from some of the homes.

Maybe this is my time to finally fit in somewhere. Maybe this is my final chance at a real family, one not related by blood but by choice.

Because of it, I've decided to turn over a new leaf. I won't show my anger or pain anymore. No one will see the broken, raging person I am inside. Instead of tearing people apart, I want to build them up. No one deserves to feel the way I did.

And I can work on helping myself. I finally have a reason to, anyway. I'm not going to be by myself anymore.

My anger began to dissipate. It was replaced by a lump in my throat.

It was strange to think of a time in which Finn had been as erratic and angry as the rest of us. And this...this was proof that he was better than we were. He pulled himself together not only for himself, but for us. And he didn't even know us yet. What kind of crazy idiot did that sort of thing for a bunch of strangers?

I flipped over a few more pages until another entry caught my eye. It was from right after we'd captured Benny and our team had begun to crumble completely.

Everything seems to be falling apart within our team. Arlo is sick, and keeping it a secret. After Benton caused her to have a mental breakdown, Gigi became furious not only with Delphinium, but also the rest of us for siding against her. Kane and Delphinium aren't on speaking terms because of their different stances on the situation with Benton. Everyone is choosing sides in their fight too, but I won't. I see both their viewpoints and neither of them has a past issue that's more valid than the other.

As usual, Jake is keeping secrets, but I have a feeling they're more dangerous than ever. There's tension between us all and I hate it. Mr. Hunt might be our boss, but I know the ONNT doesn't have much control over us anymore. If things turn physical, they will find that we're much more dangerous than they can handle.

Nevertheless, I think things will turn out alright. There might be a fight, but we're all bonded together by the power only we share. No one but us will ever understand. We might be isolated from the rest of the normal world, but at least we're isolated together.

Whatever the outcome is, I will continue to fight for them. They might be blinded by their own individual ghosts but it's what they deserve after the hell they've been through. I know they've all had to fight alone for their whole lives, but I won't let that happen anymore.

They gave me something to fight for, so I will fight for it until the day I die by their sides.

I wasn't even aware of the tears rolling down my face until they began to soak through my shirt. I wiped my nose on the back of my hand, but it was no use. Seeing the fact that he'd predicted that his own death would be while protecting us was too much for me to handle.

Even from the start, he'd known he would eventually end up dying for us. Because he was just that sort of person.

Perhaps he was never even meant to be here. After all, he was much better than I deserved. Deep down, I knew his light was too bright for the earth. It could never secure its dark claws on him. He was destined to live in the heavens, nothing less. His short presence here had been a gift.

I went to close the journal, planning to save the countless other entries to read when I wasn't an emotional mess. It was a completely new feeling to me, after all. But then my eye caught on an entry with my name written at the top.

Arlo,

I'm not exactly sure why I'm writing this. It's more likely that you'll never see this and that it just ends up being an outlet to get my feelings out.

That being said, I know I haven't said anything of my feelings for you yet. After you told me you were sick, I thought I should just get it over with, but I know you too well. I know you're not used to people feeling things for you. And you like to pretend you are all you have, whether it's an aftereffect of your upbringing or just because you're unbelievably dramatic.

So I figured I would let you approach me if you wanted so I wouldn't scare you off. And it is not because I'm nervous, so don't even think that for a second. Of course, I'm not even positive that you're into boys, but I suppose I can hope.

I don't even know when it started, really. Maybe when you gave me one of those ridiculous, insane smiles after you terrified the Romanian President into submission. Or when you trusted only me with your secret. I knew for sure when I realized you were starting to let me see your true self when you'd previously pushed everyone else away.

The point is, I don't know exactly when it happened. But one day, I looked at you and realized that maybe my type is gray-eyed trainwrecks.

I want to be person you have forever. Not only because of my feelings. Definitely not because you're a problem I'm trying to fix. But because you've ever had anyone before. And you might think you're high and mighty by yourself, but no one lives through what you lived through and comes out completely okay. Even though you won't admit it to yourself, you're struggling deep down. Maybe that's why I've waited so long to show you how I felt—because I didn't know if you'd return the favor.

Whether you like to believe it or not, there's still good in you. And no matter where this war takes us, I know I won't regret any of it. I hope you won't either.

Love always, Finn

( P.S. When you hear all of this, don't you dare say you don't deserve me. We've both been through hell and come out better. We deserve each other. )

I closed my eyes and hugged the journal to my chest as if it was somehow connected to him. As if he would feel it if I squeezed hard enough.

And in that moment, I knew he was with me. After what I'd seen, I didn't personally care much for gods or afterlives. But Finn was with me in spirit. I didn't know how or why. Maybe it was the letter addressed to me, in which he seemed to guess at how this would end. But somehow, I felt a little less empty, the loss a little less painful.

For the days since his death and the plannings of his burial under the peaceful trees within the property, I'd been haunted by the memory of him. My power allowed me a near-photographic memory when it came to my senses. I remembered every physical thing about him and it made the grief that much more painful.

But now I realized how those sensory memories would keep me connected with him. I would never forget the feeling of his touch, his lips on mine. I would never forget the way he smelled. I would never forget the faint freckles across his nose, the shine of his styled hair, or how the sun pooled in his eyes. Those memories would never let him die. To me, he would always be real.

There were voices down the hallway. Jaxon and Riley were bickering again. If I wasn't so preoccupied, I would have been upset that they left me out of it.

Their voices and footsteps came closer and closer and when Riley shushed Jaxon, I knew they were coming to check I hadn't starved myself half to death in here.

There was a knock. I gave them permission to come in. "Hey," Jaxon said. "You haven't come out of here for days. How are you—" They both paused when they saw all the glass I'd broken on the floor.

"Oh..." was all Riley said, eyes glued to the shining shards. It was clear she thought the situation was worse than expected. She thought I'd hurt myself on them.

But I stood to face them. "To answer your question, I'm good. Never been better."

Jaxon turned his head in skepticism, knowing how fake it sounded. "Arlo, you don't have to..."

"I'm good," I repeated, savoring the words' taste in my mouth. "I'm not okay, but I'm good. Ask me why."

The two of them shared a look before Riley put her hand on her hip, asking, "Why are you okay?"

No regrets, Finn said. There's still good left in you.

"Now that Finn is not physically here, I'm turning to my second love: destruction." I found myself giving the first real smile since the war.

"I'm going to find every scientist affiliated with the laboratory and make them wish they'd never dabbled in human experimentation. And then I'm going to reveal to the world what they did to me. Only then will I burn the whole fucking place to the ground."

I cocked my head. "Tell me you guys are in."