"I don't want you to go to the bridge."
I checked the bullets in my gun and smiled without looking at him. I knew he was worried about me, but it was pointless. There hadn't been a single problem for months, and there wouldn't be one tonight either.
I lifted my head and looked at his face. "When will you trust him… trust us?" I asked as I slid the gun into my belt.
"I trust you," he said, taking a step closer to me. "But you know… if one of the supporters were my own son, I still wouldn't trust him."
"Yes, yes." I waved my hand dismissively. We had talked about this a thousand times, and every time it somehow ended with a speech about independence.
"Don't go to the bridge, Berkin," he said, his gentle older-brother tone shifting into that of a commanding leader.
"Nothing will happen," I said calmly. "I'll go and blow the place up."
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