I return to the barren cliffside, but not at the angle I’d prefer. I lie flat on my back, sweat trickling down my nose. Mav has my collar wrapped around his fist. He drags me across the dusty organ rock and plops me at the start of a simple suspension bridge. My neck hangs over the edge. I gulp at the sight of ten-foot-tall waves smashing into the backs of razor-sharp boulders. If it weren’t for the wooden posts holding the ropes of the decaying bridge in place, the task would be over already. And I’d be dead.

“I’m going to make a far better leader.” Mav’s face has that look of determination to it, all of his little freckles lined up to ensure his success. He doesn’t notice the streaks of bleach-blond hair that fall carelessly over his eyes and droop over his pointed ears. “The world would crumble under your legacy.”

The veins in my neck tighten, my fingers drawing into fists. “Don’t you understand what’s at stake here, Mav? We can’t continue to treat the world like this. Mother understands that. Why do you think she created—”

“Would you stop with all that crap already?” He spits at my feet as he tightens his grip on my collar. “It’s time you understand something. Mother is on borrowed time. There’s no way she survives what’s coming.”

From the cliff directly across from us, Father’s penetrating voice interrupts. “My boys, please take your places at the edge of the bridge. The first task is upon us.” The orange rock he’s standing on appears to be unbalanced and seconds away from dragging him into the waves. I would pray for that to happen, but everyone knows our father steals prayers before they ever reach the stars.

Mav has yet to release his grip on my shoulder. “Would you get off of me?” I kick him in the shin. “You don’t have to be such a jerk all the time?”

“You know, I should just kill you now.”

I finally pry his claw-like fingers off of my clothing. “Why don’t you? It would be a lot quicker than whatever cheat you have planned.”

“No!” he grunts, turning his attention toward Father. “I want to see the look in your eyes at the end of the tasks. When I steal the presidency away from you.”

Before I can respond, Father interrupts and begins a long-winded speech. It’s the same story he has preached to Mav and me since birth. He tells the history of the Union, the world-entity our ancestors created after the world imploded. Caused by humanity’s inability to control its fear, he lists the wars, plagues, natural disasters that destroyed most of the earth. The result was a technologically advanced kingdom called the Union, marked by the earth’s thirty-one remaining countries, to glue life back together. That glue has been defined by two founding proceedings. The Genus system. And the Chase. 

While the Genus system is designed to provoke the best in humanity, the Chase is a competition used to transition and award the various leadership positions each year. From what I’ve gathered on the world’s past, it’s similar to the Olympics, trials aimed at testing a contestant’s limits both physically and mentally. Only most people don’t make it out of The Chase alive. 

The Chase is composed of four treacherous trials. A team composed of four players, one from each Genus—Elite, Superior, Tolerable, Untouchable—will be selected to represent every country, including the island that is the Union. Overall several weeks, the thirty-two teams will compete in a bracket-style tournament at various locations across the globe, the championship being where the remaining two teams separate their players in the pursuit to find the lone victor worthy of true leadership.

The year Mav or I can enter the Chase is the year the Presidency is up for grabs. Because we’re twins, only one of us can be selected as the Elite player for the Union. Which is exactly why we’re standing here in the middle of the ocean. The mock tasks beginning here today will decide which one of us will embark on the tournament and even more importantly . . . take Father’s crown.

It doesn’t matter that one hundred other players will also be competing. 

A Beck has never lost a Chase.

“The task ahead of you is actually quite simple,” Father says. “Cross the bridge, boys. Begin when the flare explodes.”

With the jungle brushing against my back, I take my stance and attempt to find a level of focus that somewhat resembles my brother’s. The three-hundred-foot-long bridge sways from side to side in front of us. Each block of nuclear-scented wood is worn and cracked. My Elite Genus says I’m to be undaunted, absent of fear. But unlike ninety-nine percent of the world, I’ve never been very good at following Father’s laws. I allow myself to taste the fear trickling down my throat and feel the pain pounding on the backside of my heart. They are juxtaposed: one fire, the other ice.

“Don’t worry.” Mav jabs his elbow into my rib cage as he bends down into his own stance. “I’ll save you a place on my cabinet.”

“Will you quit that?” I wish I could stop my heart from beating up near my throat. I have to do this. I have to win. “Why don’t you just let our skills do the talking?”

Mav doesn’t respond. That’s because the flare has exploded. My delayed reaction already has me chasing Mav’s heels, chasing destiny, though I’m one step behind.

The sea breeze pins my hair back as I dash across the bridge, my legs pumping like pistons to fuel my pursuit. My breathing is heavy and loud. If it weren’t for the gaping holes Mav’s weight creates in the bridge, I would already be in front of my brother, even with my delayed reaction. With his stockier build, he has never been that good at running.

I reach even with Mav just past the halfway point, but it’s only because his leg is stuck between two blocks of wood and the other dangling in midair like a loose thread. One wrong move, one wrong crack in the wood, and Mav’s pursuit will have reached its conclusion.

“Stop moving so much!” I shout. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“No!” His eyes are bloodshot, matching the rising sun. “I will not let you trick me into moving aside. I will not let you trick me into your vict—.”

The lone block of wood that has been supporting his weight snaps in half before he can finish. Mav’s hands barely find the bridge’s support ropes, keeping him from falling into the dark waters below like a raindrop. If he were actually a raindrop, the outcome would be the same: he would splatter.

Sweat hangs from my nose as I try to decide between victory and my brother’s life. My heart pounds. I can feel it beating in my ears. On any normal day, this decision wouldn’t be so hard. I would pick family. No hesitation.

This is far from a normal day.

If I make the decision to save Mav, he’ll push me aside and win the task. And with only three tasks total, losing even one of them isn’t an option. Especially since I promised Mother that I would do anything to make sure Mav doesn’t follow in Father’s shadow. 

But the question I keep going back to is . . . Can I really do it? Can I really live with myself if I let my brother fall to his death?

Sure, if I’m okay with my soul vanishing and Mav’s ghost haunting me until the day I join him.

A strong wind blows his body until he’s almost horizontal, as if suspended in midair. “What the hell, Burton? Don’t just sit there.” I don’t have more than a few seconds before my choice is made for me. Death is toying with the both of us.

“Please, Burton, don’t let me die.” A tear—yes, an actual tear—slips onto his cheek.

I swear I’m watching the regret slide along his olive-colored skin, replaying the events of our childhood. I suddenly taste chocolate and smell smoke from a bonfire.

“We’re family. We’re brothers.”

I don’t hesitate as his hands falter. I grab his arm. It takes everything inside of me, and even a gust of energy from a higher being, to pull him back onto the bridge. We manage to fall backward onto the wooden beams without slipping through the gaps. I can feel his sorrow as he breathes heavily against my shoulder.

“Thank you,” Mav says as he hides the fear that has swollen his cheeks. My first thought is that a bee must have stung him while running because I can’t remember the last time he cried. Even when he accidentally shot himself with a gun when he was ten. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a jerk. I . . . I’ve been so angry . . . ever since—”

“So have I.”

Mav holds out his arm. “Bros?”

I join my arm with his and allow him to hug me. Now this is a feeling I haven’t felt from Mav in a number of years. It’s as if he’s finally ready to return our relationship to what it should be as twins. “Bros.”

The feeling proves to be a costly mistake. What happens next mirrors what I predicted.

Mav digs a knife into my side as he lets go of me. I can already smell the fresh blood seeping through the cut in my side. From the agony shooting through my body, my vision begins to fade. I can no longer see my own hands, let alone the cliffside in front of me.

That doesn’t mean I can’t hear it.

Mav’s triumph echoes for miles. I can hear the happiness in his voice, signaling the end of the task.

I can’t believe it. Mav won.

A wave of anger sends me to my feet. I leap over the gap Mav created in the bridge and limp my way to the cliffside. I don’t stop until I’m standing directly under Father’s narrow chin, staring up at the thin platinum crown that never leaves his head. Four unrivaled jewels encompass the bottom ring of the crown. They match the qualities that have defined the four Genuses since the beginning of the new age—emerald for the Elite, jade for the Superior, sapphire for the Tolerable, and ruby for the Untouchable.

Father remains motionless, hands behind his elegant charcoal suit, chest out, and lips sealed beneath his untamed facial hair. Almost as if nothing has taken place. He doesn’t even bother pinning back his long brown hair, so it blows over the crown’s distinctively long sides and into his angular eyes. 

“Mav cheated!” I scream before revealing the deep gash above my hip. It continues to leak like a crack in a pipe.

“I didn’t do that!” Mav shoves me, bursting my side with pain. Before I can fight back, he has me in a headlock. “You fell, idiot.”

“Enough!” Father shouts, pulling the two of us apart as usual. “I’m sorry, Easton.” But Mav crossed the finish line first. You have to be prepared for anything. In the Chase, you will face far worse pain than that of a knife.”

“But, sir, he cheated!” My fingernails bite into my palms as I stare into Father’s dark, piercing eyes. Most days, they make me feel like I’m falling into a bottomless pit of burning coal. The only way out has been to dig my fingernails deep into my palms, to inflict pain. The result, a trail of scars giving way to the reality of living as a Beck. “You can’t kill someone with a weapon in the Chase. You and I both know how important rules are.”

Father slides a pair of red gloves before signaling for the pilot to land on a wide section of flat rock that rises ten feet above the ocean. “C’mon, Easton…you’re better than this. Since when has hindering your opponent been cheating? After all these years of training, you should know that by now. The chances of you dying from that cut are far slimmer than someone other than a Beck becoming president.”

Mother exits the air transport and hikes the winding path of dirt that leads to the top of the cliffside. The wind blows her long blonde hair out behind her like a superhero cape. Her sheath dress, which is form-fitting and sits just above the tall black boots that rise to her kneecaps, matches the hue of the sun. I’m shocked to find that her skin is absent of any imperfection.

I look away to the Mother standing beside me in the prison cell. “Don’t tell me I have to watch Father give you that scar for a second time. I don’t think I can—”

“You must watch the memory in its entirety,” she interrupts. “It’s the only way you will ever understand why I’m asking you to perform the execution.”

As my father catches Mother up to speed on the task’s outcome, Mav wraps his arm around my shoulder and connects our heads. For a moment, and only a moment, I think he’s going to apologize for his actions, maybe even tell Father that we need to redo the task. That’s what my heart longs for at least. But with the shooting pain in my hip, I know better now than to allow my heart to overpower my intelligence for the second time in a matter of minutes. “Don’t think saving me has changed anything. I’ll never forgive you for the way you treated me growing up. You will soon find that out the hard way, now that I am one step away from upholding our family’s legacy.”

“Do you think I wanted the Chase to become between us? I begged Mother to allow the two of us to train together. But she insisted—”

“Insisted what?”

I’m forced to lean on Mav as my vision becomes fuzzy. The second he lets go will be the same second I tumble down the jagged cliffside and into the ocean. “I—I’m not supposed to say. I promised Mother I wouldn’t.”

“Tell me,” he says, hovering his free hand above my side, “or you will find out what real pain feels like.”

I fail to respond. The holster latched to my father’s belt has stolen my attention. I hear the gun whispering my name from all directions, each time more aggressive than the last. Easton. Easton. Easton. I do my best to remain detached and unaffected. But then I hear the voice again as Father’s knife twirls from one red fingertip to the other. Easton. Easton. Easton.

I don’t need an explanation to know what the voice is calling me to do. It’s begging me to carry out the expectation Mother essentially carved into the backside of my brain for the better half of a decade. But I just can’t. I can’t do it. 

I can’t hurt Mav. Even if he wants nothing more than to destroy me.

Pretending the presidency and the chance to shape the future of this world are the two most important things on this planet have already lost me my one and only brother. There’s no telling who or what’s next. Even if I do manage to win the next two trials and secure my place in The Chase. 

I have to stop. I have to let go of this far fetched dream to become president. Or should I say Mother’s dream? Because all it’s doing is taking away the people I care for most, not to mention my sanity.

The signs have been there for a while now. Even as an eight-year-old, I saw my friends turn on me for putting my training and future above them. Mav has shown me how wrong I was to do that. I can barely look him in the eye, let alone release an apology, and the sun’s blinding intensity has nothing to do with it. I feel terrible for all the pain I have caused during my quest for the throne.

Easton, it’s about time you take responsibility for the things you’ve done and the things you’re trying to do.

The taste of uncertainty, mixed with a significant amount of sweat, burns in the back of my throat. I drop to my knees. Surprisingly, Mav steadies my shoulders and prevents the discomfort in my hip from sending me straight into a nosedive down the jagged rocks. Although, as I swallow hard, I question whether doing so would be a lot easier, and less mortifying, than admitting that I am giving up the throne. 

“I am done with the trials. I don’t want to be president.” 

Father immediately stops twirling his knife and stands motionless. “Tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I heard?”

“I’m sorry. I know what’s expected of me as your son. But I—” My forehead bursts with pain. I can taste the blood rushing to my head. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m sick of always competing.” I place my hand on top of my brother’s. “Mav can represent the Union in the Chase. And as long as I’m being honest, I never wanted the presidency in the first place. I only did it because Mother said I was meant to be a Beacon.”

“Beacon?” Father furrows his brow as ocean water mists over him. “What are you talking about?”

Mother quietly claps her hands together and mimes for me to remain silent. For the first time in my entire life, fear wafts through her eyes. Her skin has turned ghostly pale, and sweat glistens like pearls as it trickles down her small nose.

“Did I say Beacon?” I frantically peer around the area, like that’s supposed to help me get out of this. The chopper is still running. The jungle stretches for miles behind me. The ocean knows almost no end. One way or another, I could escape. The only thing telling me otherwise is my wound.  “I didn’t mean to say that. I barely even know what that is.”

Father steps forward with the knife gripped tightly in his fist like another limb. “My family ended the Beacon era, saving us from a life that knows no limits, and commanded the word to never be spoken again.” He slowly inches the blade toward my neck. “Tell me, Easton, tell me why you have chosen to not only bring shame to the Beck family by cowardly withdrawing from the Chase but also speak disrespect to the ancestors who laid down their lives for yours?”

Sounds that were near feel far away, like I’m slowly exiting the body that stands paralyzed by uncertainty on the orange rock. I’m sorry, Mother, I say under my breath. I can’t keep your secrets anymore. I just can’t. They have permanently shortened my breathing to the point where I can barely walk up a flight of stairs without gasping and churned my stomach so violently that I don’t remember what it’s like to walk around without a stomach ache. So I close my eyes and tell my Father the truth. I tell him that Mother wasn’t just helping me train to compete in the Chase and win the presidency. She was training me to be a Beacon, to put an end to the Beck reign, and to restore the fundamental freedoms the Union has taken from the world’s entire population. And I do mean the entire population. Certainly the Untouchable Genus has endeared the most suffering, but the higher ranks don’t come without their law-abiding duties. All I have ever wanted to do was teach children music, yet instructors are only taken from the Superior Genus. Which is exactly the predicament that led me to believe that the only way I could ever be my true self was to listen to Mother and commit treason.

A minute passes without anything happening. I thought for sure my father would strike me down and toss me into the afterlife, or lack thereof. But when I open my eyes, I find Father’s red hand is no longer near my neck.

“Take it,” Father says, avoiding eye contact.

I almost choke on the confusion running through my body.

“Take the knife.”

Knowing I don’t really have a choice, I eventually give in to his odd—and I mean odd—request. “You . . .” I stumble as I return to my feet, one hand on the knife and the other pressed firmly over the wound in my side, “you’re not going to kill me?”

Father chuckles. “Why would I do that?”

“Because of everything I just told you!”

Mav chimes in. “Seriously, Father? You can’t let him get away with this. He’s guilty” Anger swells his throat as he vents about all the reasons I deserve to die. “I’ll do it if you—”

Father raises one of his hands while he places the other in his pant’s pocket. “Silence.” The tone in his voice is firm and powerful. Ironically enough, the waves suddenly calm out on the horizon and the wind dissipates. He takes a deep breath before proceeding. “Easton is guilty of nothing. Not yet anyway. His actions, although disloyal, are the result of years of deception and deceit, and he will be given a chance to prove it. No one will be dying . . . not today.”

I should be calm, but I’m not. His articulation hints at the unsaid, the real reason a knife resets in my palm. “Then what do you expect me to do with this knife?”

“Keep it,” he insists. “You’re going to need it if you expect me to convince me of your remediation.” 

Before I can ask what he means, Father turns around and swiftly swipes at Mother. She falls to her knees, holding her hand over her neck. I nearly vomit at the sight of dark crimson blood cascading through her fingertips and staining the strands of hair that sit atop of her dress. She falls onto her side, crying out in pain.

Standing inside the prison cell, I watch my fifteen-year-old self do nothing to help her. Nothing to save her. Nothing but silently scream.

I’m about ready to turn away when the Mother beside me forces me to watch the remaining bit of the memory. And it’s a good thing she does. I was in too much of a shock to comprehend the warning the first time around.

“How dare you do this to me Echo!” Father yells, rubbing the knife against a rock. “After everything I risked for you already, I can’t believe you would train our firstborn son, the son you said that would make me proud, to defy everything my family has worked so hard to build.” He withdraws a healer his suit jacket and bends down next to her. “How did you expect all of this to unfold? Even if Easton won the Chase, the body of law requires the heir-apparent to preserve the system. The Union would take immediate action to remove anyone who threatened to upend its existence.” He brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes and kisses her forehead. “As much as you hate it, I think you’ll find that people prefer safety over freedom.”

Mother is so deep in agony that she will be unreachable until he seals her wounds and injects her with morphine. It’s quite clear that’s precisely what my father wants. If he wanted an explanation, he wouldn’t let her sit there, chest heaving, arms shaking, visibly growing closer to death with every passing second.

My Father motions for Mav to join him at my mother’s side. “Echo, the world will pay for your treason. If you think this system is broken, then you have no idea what’s coming for you and anyone else who doesn’t fit the Beck mold.” He gently sets aside her arms and begins healing the cut on her neck. “It’s time for the Resurgence. And Mav will be the one to execute it. Won’t you, son?”

“Yes, Father,” he says with a wide grin. “I will do whatever you ask of me.”