He’s silent as he walks to his room to pack. One suitcase, his parents tell him. It takes a while to narrow down his life to one suitcase, but finally he does. Clothes mostly. His treasures, things like his trophies and awards, stay. A science project that he and Wes worked on for two weeks . . . stays. An old, battered guitar . . . stays. At some point during the task, he breaks down and begins to cry, not stopping until everything’s packed and he can slide into bed. He sleeps so little; it feels as if he doesn’t sleep at all.

Blaine’s parents were wrong. It isn’t Dave Karofsky that comes to their door the next morning. It’s a tall, older man by the name of James. James calls himself a collector, a name that makes Blaine inwardly wince. What is it with these people and their horrible titles?

“Blaine Anderson, I presume?” he says as he sticks his hand out for Blaine to shake. Blaine takes it; the manners that his parents have instilled in him prevent him from doing anything else.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says.

James’ gaze travels the length of Blaine’s body, lingering and appraising. Blaine steps away from him as soon as his hand is released, needing the distance.

“It’s going to be good having you in our country, Blaine. You’re doing a good thing. For us as well as your family.”

Blaine doesn’t know what to say to that, it’s not like any of this was his choice. He stutters out a small thank you.

James turns from him to his parents and asks to speak with them in private. They go into the kitchen, speaking in hushed tones that Blaine can barely make out. He gives up trying and sits next to Samantha, holding her hand, more for his comfort than hers.

“Mom says you’re going away,” she says, her voice small and eyes large.

“Yeah, mom was right.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she says, a pout on her lips.

“I don’t want to go either, but I have to.”

“Will you come back soon?”

Blaine’s throat closes, making the next words hard to get out. “I hope so. I’ll try.”

It’s a lie, of course. He’ll never come back. No one ever does. But she doesn’t have to know that yet.

When James and his parents finally come back, James looks to Blaine. “Are you ready?”

Blaine pales as his hands begin to shake. It’s too soon, too much and there’s nothing he can to stop it.

“Already?” he asks.

James nods. “It’s a long ride to the airport and a long flight back home. To your new home.”

Blaine hugs Samantha to him, maybe harder than he should. She cries against him and he tries not to do the same. After a few minutes, he pulls away and stands, gathering his lone suitcase.

When his parents try to embrace him, he pulls away from them. The anger that he couldn’t feel last night is here now. He knows that he sounds bitter. Betrayed. Hurt.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Blaine . . .”

“Why couldn’t you just have kept me? I mean, did you ever love me at all?”

“Blaine, we’re doing this for you,” his father says. “The government has promised us that you’re going to have a good life. That you won’t ever want for anything again.”

“So that’s what you’re going to tell yourselves to sleep at night,” Blaine says, spitting the words out.

His mother reaches for him. “Blaine, please. We love you.”

He almost relents, feeling himself drawn to the comfort that their embrace would bring. But he’s still too angry and the wounds are too fresh. After all, he’s barely had a day to try and comprehend that his life will no longer be the same. He shakes his head and back away.

“Just promise me you won’t do the same thing to Samantha. Just promise me.”

“Blaine . . .”

Blaine moves to stand next to James. He can’t even look at them anymore. He needs to be away from here. “I’m ready, sir. I’m ready now.”

His parents look devastated as he and James walk out the door, but there’s nothing he can do to help them. He’s not theirs anymore and they’re no longer his.

Outside, there is a car waiting for them. The driver steps out and opens the doors for them. Both Blaine and James slip into the back seat.

They’ve only just pulled away from the house when James says, “Give me your left hand.”

“Why?” Blaine asks.

James makes an impatient gesture. “Don’t question me, just give me your hand.”

Blaine does, offering it hesitatingly. He watches as James produces a silver bracelet and places it around his wrist, locking it on tight. Blaine draws his hand back, caressing the metal.

“What’s it for?”

“It does many things. For one, it denotes your status.”

“My status?”

James nods. “As a breeder.”

Blaine grimaces at the ugliness of the word.

“This is the easiest way to know who’s a citizen and who isn’t. Once you give birth to your first child, your bracelet will be exchanged for a gold one and you will be afforded limited rights.”

“Don’t I have any rights now?”

“You’re the property of the state and of your mate, Dave Karofsky. Do you think you have any rights?”

Blaine exhales shakily, the enormity of what is happening almost overwhelming. “This isn’t fair.”

For a brief moment, James looks almost sympathetic. “No one ever claimed that it was.”

Blaine looks away, feeling his eyes prickling with the start of tears. He blinks furiously to keep them at bay.

“The device is also a tracker. If at any time you try and run away, we can and will find you.”

“Why would I want to run away from such a great arrangement?” Blaine says bitterly.

Surprisingly, James laughs at the sarcasm. “Lastly, it can deliver a very strong electronic charge at the border of our country. It won’t kill you, but it is guaranteed to render you unconscious.”

“At the border?”

“In case you were to make it that far. In your escape attempt,” James clarifies.

“You really don’t want people leaving, do you?”

“We paid a lot for you, Blaine. We intend to keep you.”

Blaine looks down at the device, tests it by trying to pull it off. It doesn’t budge.

“It’s on manual now. I can activate the electrical charge by a remote device.” James pauses, waits until Blaine looks back up. “If need be.”

“People have tried to escape before,” Blaine says. It’s not a question, not really. He himself is about two seconds from trying to bolt from the moving vehicle.

“It’s been known to happen.”

Blaine looks back down at his wrist, his fingertips touching the cool metal. It’s warming quickly, almost as if it’s becoming a part of him.

He whispers, “I don’t want this.”

He doesn’t expect James to answer, but is strangely grateful when he feel the pat on his knee and hears James say, “I know, Blaine. I know.”

Maybe it’s the most comfort that James is capable of giving. It’s far less than Blaine needs. But he recognizes that it’s all he’s going to get so he scoots in just a little closer to James, wrapping his own arms around his body as he watches the countryside fly by.