I found myself alone at the lunch table in the large dining hall that everyone sat in. Meals here were served at eight a.m., one p.m. and eight p.m.. On the dot. If you missed it, bad luck. Today's meal was porridge and soy milk and it looked foul.

I hated porridge days.

We can't cultivate live animals for things like eggs or milk. They didn't bother to keep a stash of those in the bunker when the bombs fell. But they did construct a very elaborate agriculture field. It is filled with row upon row of artificial grow lights and vertical farms. They're able to grow everything there. From tomatoes, to potatoes, to wheat.

I guess seeds weren't an issue for them. But whoever cooked this awful shit needed to rummage through the library a bit more and pick out a decent recipe.

I haven't spoken to Hamilton since my mother died and Tom in a week since he ambushed me at the library with all that Resistance nonsense. I suppose he's busied himself with his work to make sure he doesn't bother me. There was a rumor of an outbreak of the flu again and if it wasn't contained, all of the colony would go down in one foul swoop.

Which is a shame because now I'm stuck stirring the sludge in my bowl, feeling sad and sorry for myself.

My mother is dead and it was all Ham's fault. He probably was the reason my mom died so willingly without a fight. Was she protecting him? Surely not. She barely knew the kid. And besides, I think I'd know if my own mother was in the resistance. But then again I thought I knew that my ex-boyfriend wasn't in the Resistance either.

I'm still staring down at my bowl when a shadow appears over me. It waits for a second, hoping I'll look up.

"Hey Beth," Hamilton eventually says.

I glare up at him. "Go away."

"I will once you hear me out."

"I don't care about you and your pathetic life." It is harsh but he deserves it. Holding me back so I couldn't save my mom was about the biggest betrayal anyone in the Colony could have done. And then ambushing me in the library? With Tom?

Despicable.

"I, ummm, wanted to say that I'm sorry. And-and I know words can't fix this and it's my fault and all-"

"Hurry up and say it already," I snapped, cutting him off.

"Right." He brushes his dark hair out of his blue eyes. There were small beads of sweat forming on his brow. "I know you don't want to hear my apology, but I wrote you a letter that might offer you some closure. But I, ummm, I need you to destroy it after you read it."

"Why?" I snarl. "Will it get you killed too?"

He doesn't say anything.

I raise an eyebrow, leaning across the table towards him. "It will, won't it? What could a lowlife like you have possibly done that would incriminate you? Have you actually joined the Resistance?"

He gulps, looking around to make sure no one heard me say that out loud. "Beth," he finally says when he thinks the coast is clear. "I could die if the contents of this letter get loose."

"Why should I care if you die? You already killed my mom."

He grimaces. I know he's hurting because of the whole situation. But I'm in pain too and I have to take it out on someone.

Hamilton had no right to stop me saving my mom and no right to use Tom to ambush me.

He nods sadly at my dig.

"You had no right to go and involve Tom like that," I hiss.

"I know."

"You should be dead instead of my Mom!"

"I know."

"You ruined my life! I wish I never met you!"

His face contorts with pain. He casts his eyes down onto the bowl he's holding.

"I know."

Why is he taking the dig with such grace? It angers me that he doesn't have anything left to say for himself but to say, 'I know.'

"Why do you keep saying that!" I shout, slamming my fists on the table.

Several people turn to look in our direction, wide-eyed. A guard near us is eyeing us off suspiciously.

Hamilton is sweating worse now. Clearly he is uncomfortable. He never was any good with attention being drawn to him.

He waits for a moment until the guard loses interest in us and looks in the other direction.

Slowly, he reaches into his pocket and slides a small piece of paper across the table.

"Read it when you can," he says before I get a chance to shove it back in his hand.

Hanging his head low, I watch him walk miserably away into the crowd of people that are finished eating and heading back to work.