Chapter 8: Slap in the Marble Hall

I went to D.C., but didn’t see the President. Instead, I ran into Mr. York, the chief of staff.

He looked like the kind of guy who’d repossess your truck and not lose sleep over it—gray suit sharp as a blade, and eyes colder than January in Minnesota.

After hearing my request, his face filled with disdain.

York sneered, crossing his arms. “They’re just regular folks.”

“If you don’t like them, just get rid of them.”

“That cloak of light was painstakingly made by Rachel.”

When he mentioned Rachel, York’s eyes softened with tenderness.

“Rachel is the guardian of light. She can give her light to whoever she wants.”

“Those regular folks should know their place.”

“Besides, Rachel is so deep and affectionate—how could they not be moved?”

“Enough, enough,” I interrupted his impassioned speech, my words tumbling out hot and fast, hands clenched at my sides.

“The guardian of light is Rachel, in charge of dividing day and night. She only manages the light; she can’t keep it all for herself. Light belongs to everyone in the world. And those so-called regular folks can’t even survive now, all because of Rachel. And you still expect them to be grateful for Rachel’s affection? Don’t you think that’s asking too much?”

York’s face darkened, jaw set. We argued until his face turned red. In the end, he couldn’t outtalk me. Instead, I got a solid slap from him.

The sting bloomed across my cheek, but the shame burned hotter. The slap echoed in the marble hall, and for a second, everything went silent but for my own pounding heart.