فصل هجدهم

Eighteen: Mare

There are no stars this close to New Town. The sky around the slum is permanently choked with a haze of pollution. It smells foul and poisonous, even on the outskirts, where the noxious fog is thinnest. I draw up the kerchief around my neck, breathing through the fabric instead.

The other soldiers around me do the same, pulling faces at the toxic air. But not Cameron. She’s used to it.

Relief washes over me every time I look at Cameron, her lean, dark form moving nimbly through the pitch-black forest. She’s so tall, easy to pick out among the dozens moving with us. Kilorn keeps close to her side, his silhouette familiar. As I watch the pair of them, my relief quickly melts to shame.

Cameron escaped the Piedmont base, fleeing into the swamps with her brother and a few dozen more survivors. Many died where she did not. Red soldiers of the Dagger Legion, children we swore to keep safe. Newbloods of Montfort. Newbloods of the Notch. Silvers. Reds. So many dead it makes my head spin.

And I’m sending her right back into danger.

“Thanks for doing this, Cam,” I murmur, my voice almost inaudible. As if a simple thank-you means anything.

With a grin, she glances over her shoulder at me. Her teeth gleam in the weak light of our lanterns. In spite of the dire circumstances, I’ve never seen her smile like she does tonight.

“As if you could get this done without me,” she whispers back, almost teasing. “But don’t thank me, Barrow. I’ve been dreaming about a day like this since I was a little girl. New Town is not going to know what bleeding hit it.” “No, it will not,” I mutter to myself, thinking of the morning ahead of us.

Fear and nerves carve me up, as they did on the flight from the Rift. We’re about to storm the tech slum she was born in, a place hemmed in by walls and guards and decades of oppression.

And we’re not the only assault on the move. Miles to the east, the rest of our coalition is heading toward Harbor Bay The Rift soldiers will attack from the sea, with the Laris fleet ready on the wing. Tiberias and Farley are in the tunnels by now, ready to lead the main bulk of the army up into the city. I try to picture the three-pronged assault in my mind. It’s nothing like any battle I’ve survived before. Neither is this, separated from the fire prince, from Farley. From so many dear to me. At least I have faithful Kilorn still resolute at my side. There is some symmetry here, I guess. We return to who we were before. Creeping in alleys, clad in dirty clothes. Our faces obscured and unfamiliar. Shadows. Rats.

Rats with sharper teeth and longer claws.

“These trees are rotting,” Cameron says aloud, drawing a hand down the black bark of a barrier tree. One of thousands in this cursed forest. Created by greenwardens, the trees were meant to trap and filter out pollution from the slum. They ring all the tech towns, marching up to their walls. “Whoever grew these doesn’t care to maintain them. Whatever they’re supposed to do, they aren’t really doing it anymore.

“They think they’re just poisoning us,” she continues, her voice seething. “They’re poisoning themselves too.” We move under the cover of Haven shadows and the muffling ability of Farrah, one of my old newblood recruits from the Notch. Instead of disguising our fifty troops individually, they mask us as a group, throwing their abilities over us like a blanket. We’re invisible and inaudible to anyone outside their circle of influence, able to pass in plain sight. We can see and hear one another, but no one a few yards away can see or hear us.

Premier Davidson steps softly behind me, flanked by his own guards. The vast majority of the Montfort army will assault Harbor Bay, but a few key newbloods are here with him. They don’t have their usual uniforms. Even Ella, Tyton, and Rafe have their hair covered, wrapped in scarves or a hat. They all blend in with the rest of us, dressed in discards—rags, hastily patched jackets and threadbare pants. All tech-issue clothing, courtesy of the Whistles network smugglers in Harbor Bay. I wonder if a thief passed them on. A girl with no other choice than to steal. No other way to survive.

The air thickens as we approach, and more than a few of us cough, gagging on the taste of smoke and fumes. The sickly sweet scent of gasoline settles over us, as if the dirt beneath our feet is saturated with it. Overhead, the greasy red leaves of the barrier trees tremble in a slight wind. Even in darkness, they look like blood.

“Mare.” Kilorn nudges my arm. “Wall’s coming up,” he says in warning.

I can only nod in thanks, squinting through the trees. Indeed the squat, thick walls of New Town loom ahead. Not as impressive as the diamondglass of a royal palace, or as intimidating as the high stone walls of a Silver city. But still an obstacle to overcome.

Leadership suits Cameron, though she’ll never admit it. She squares her shoulders as we approach, drawing herself up to her towering height. I wonder if she’s even turned sixteen yet. No teenager should be as calm, collected, and fearless as she is.

“Watch your feet,” she hisses over my head, letting the message pass through our ranks. With a click she switches on her dim, red flashlight. The rest of us follow suit, except for the Haven shadows. They only deepen their focus, masking the hellish glow. “The tunnels come up behind the tree line. Drag your toes. Look for thick undergrowth.” We do as she says, though Kilorn covers far more ground than I do. He kicks his long legs through the dead and rotting leaves, feeling for the telltale hardness of a trapdoor. “Don’t suppose you remember exactly where it is, do you?” he grumbles at Cameron.

She looks up from a crouch on the ground, her hands in the leaves. “I’ve never been in the tunnels before,” she huffs. “Not old enough to make the smuggle runs. Besides, that’s not my family’s way,” she adds, her eyes narrowing. “Keep your bleeding head down, that’s what we held to. And see where it got us?” “Digging through the dirt for a hole,” Kilorn answers. I hear the smirk in his voice.

“Leading an army,” I offer instead. “That’s where you got yourself, Cameron.” Her expression changes, tightening. But her lips pull into something close to a smile. A sad one. I understand it. She said before, in Corvium, that she was done with the killing. Done with the lethal burden of her ability to silence and suffocate. Her goal now is to protect. Defend. Though she has more cause than most to feel rage, to seek vengeance, she has the infinite strength to turn away.

I don’t.

The tunnels glow with our red light, bathing us all in crimson. Even the Silvers sworn to Cal or the Rift. The Haven shadows, the Iral silks. A dozen of them, scattered into our number. All of them, for a moment, red as the dawn.

I keep an eye on them as we walk, passing beneath the walls of New Town. They have orders from their lords and kings. I don’t trust them, not by a long shot, but I trust their allegiances. Silvers are loyal to blood. They do as blood commands.

And we are not helpless either.

Ella and Rafe bring up the rear of our number. Both seem energized by our mission, itching for another fight after our defeat in Piedmont. Tyton walks closer to the middle of our party, letting me take the lead, so that the electricons are evenly dispersed. His eyes seem to glow in the low light.

Cameron taps her hand at her hip. Counting steps. Her keen eyes watch the walls with blistering focus. She slides a finger over the place where the packed dirt fades to concrete. It shifts something in her, shadowing her features.

“I know what it feels like,” I whisper to her. “To come back as something else.” Her eyes snap to mine, one brow raised. “What are you talking about?”

“I only went home once after I found out what I was,” I explain. It was only a few hours. But more than enough time to change my life again. Remembering that visit to my old village is difficult, if not painful. Shade wasn’t dead yet, but I thought he was. And I joined the Scarlet Guard to avenge him. All while Tiberias waited outside, leaning against his rebuilt cycle. Still a prince. Always a prince. I try to shake off the memory like a bad dream. “It won’t be easy, to look at familiar things and see something you don’t recognize.” Cameron only tightens her jaw. “This isn’t my home, Barrow. No prison is ever a home,” she murmurs. “And that’s all these slums are.” “So why not leave?” I want to smack Kilorn for his lack of grace, as well as for the rudeness of the question. He catches my glare and sputters. “I mean, you have these tunnels . . .” I’m surprised by her answering grin. “You wouldn’t understand, Kilorn,” she says, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. “You think you grew up hard, but this is harder. You thought you were tethered to that river village, trapped by what? A little money? A job? Some guards looking at you sideways?” He flushes deeper as she rattles off each word in time. “Well, we had this.” Her hand strays to her collar, pulling it aside to show her tattooed neck in full. Her occupation, her place, her prison stamped in permanent ink. NT-ARSM-188907.

“Every one of us is a number up there,” Cameron continues, jabbing a finger at the ceiling. “You disappear, the next number in line disappears too. And not well. Whole families have to run. And where do they go? Where can they go?” Her voice trails off, the echo dying in the red shadows.

“I hope that’s in the past now,” she mumbles, if only to herself.

“I promise it is,” Davidson replies from a polite distance. His angled eyes crinkle when he tries to offer a bitter smile. If nothing else, the premier is a firm reminder of what can be. How high someone like us can climb.

Cameron and I exchange glances. We want to believe him.

We have to believe him.

I tie my kerchief tighter into place, blinking harsh tears out of my eyes. The air itself seems to burn, and my skin smarts. It’s both dry and damp at the same time, unnatural and just plain wrong.

It isn’t dawn yet, but the smoky sky is lighter than it was before as the sun begins its approach from the east. A high-pitched, electric whistle blows at the end of the alley, then echoes out over the slum, from one factory to another, signaling the massive migration that is the shift change.

“The dawn walk,” Cameron mutters.

The sight makes my breath catch. Hundreds of Red workers flood the streets of New Town. Men and women and children, dark-skinned and pale-faced, old and young, all trudging together through the poisoned air. Like some grim parade. Most look at their feet, exhausted by their work, broken by this place.

It feeds the rage always burning in my heart.

Cameron slips into their midst, with Kilorn and me on her heels. Behind us, the rest of our band melts into the countless dirty faces, blending in with ease. I look back, finding Davidson, who follows at a safe distance. In the growing light, his face tightens, betraying the slight lines of age and care worn into his skin. He fists one hand into his jacket, close to his heart, and gives me a curt nod.

Our steady parade of workers empties onto another street, wider than the rest, lined with stoic block apartments organized like regimented soldiers. Another factory shift hurries toward us from the opposite direction, intent on taking our place.

Gently, Cameron nudges me to the side, moving me in line with the rest of the Red tech workers. They step quickly, in time with one another, creating space for the new shift to pass. As they do, Cameron shoves her fist into her own jacket as Davidson did.

So do I.

Marking ourselves.

The escorts are not Scarlet Guard. Or they weren’t, before all this started. Their allegiances are to one another, to their slum. To small resistances, the only kind possible in here.

Ours is a tall, black-skinned man, willowy like Cameron, his hair braided and pulled back into a tight, neat bun streaked with shades of gray. Cameron’s foot taps as he approaches, her body almost radiating energy. He reaches us and clasps her arm, “Daddy,” I hear her breathe as he pulls her into an embrace. “Where’s Mama?” He covers her hand with his own. “She’s coming off shift. I told her to keep her head down and her eyes open. First bolt of lightning, she’s running.” Cameron exhales slowly. She dips her head, nodding to herself. The dark around us continues to lift, fading to lighter shades of blue as dawn approaches. “Good.” “I hope you didn’t bring Morrey here,” her father adds, his tone light but scolding. And so familiar. It reminds me of my own parents, chiding me for a broken plate.

Cameron’s head snaps back to find her father staring, eyes a dark and deep black. “Of course not.” Even though I don’t want to interrupt their reunion, I have to. “The power station?” I prod, looking up at the elder Cole.

He glances down at me. He has a kind face, no mean feat in a place like this. “NT has six, one for each sector. But if we cut off the central hub, that will do the job.” Mention of the plan snaps something in Cameron. She straightens, focuses. “This way,” she says sharply, beckoning to us.

The shift change is much more crowded than even the worst days in the Stilts market. Silver officers in black uniforms keep watch. Not on the ground, on the filthy streets, but from the overarching walkways and windows of foreboding guard posts. Officers and posts I know well enough. I watch them as I pass, noting their disinterest. It’s not the same disinterest Silvers show us at court, their way of making us feel like less than we already are. But a boredom. A disuse. Silvers aren’t assigned to slum towns because they’re warriors of important bloodlines. This isn’t a post anyone would envy.

The guards of New Town are far weaker than any enemy I’m used to. And they have no idea we’re already here.

Cameron’s father looks her over, thoughtful as we walk. I shiver when his gaze passes over me, then back to his daughter. “So it’s true, then. You’re something . . . different.” I wonder what he’s heard. What the Scarlet Guard told their contacts in New Town. Maven’s propaganda and poisoned broadcasts made clear the existence of newbloods. Does he know what his daughter can do?

She holds his stare, his equal. “I am,” she says without flinching.

“You walk with the lightning girl.”

“I do,” she replies.

“And this is . . . ?” he adds, eyeing Kilorn.

With a loopy grin, Kilorn touches his brow and angles himself into a shallow bow. “I’m the muscle.” Mr. Cole almost laughs as he takes in Kilorn’s tall but lean form. “Sure, kid.” The buildings around us grow higher, stacked precariously. There are cracks in the walls and windows, and every block needs a fresh coat of paint—or just the good wash of a rainstorm. The workers around us start to peel off, heading into different apartment structures with waves and calls. Nothing seems amiss.

“We’re grateful for your help, Mr. Cole,” I say under my breath, keeping my focus ahead. A few Silver guards stand on an arch some yards away, and I lower my face as we pass.

“Thank the elders, not me,” Mr. Cole answers. He doesn’t bother hiding from the guards. He’s nothing to them. “They’ve been ready for this for a long time.” My throat tightens in shame. “Because someone should have done something a long time ago.” Someone like you, Tiberias. You knew these places existed, and for who. For what.

Cameron grits her teeth. “At least we’re doing something now.” At her side, she clenches a fist. With her ability, she could kill the two guards above us if she wanted. Drop them right off the arch.

But we pass by without incident, stepping into the shadow of the slouching, gray slum apartment building at the end of the residential street. It looks like the toy blocks of a giant child, piled high against the hazy blue. One section is taller than the rest, dotted with grimy, dim windows.

It’s where we need to be.

Mr. Cole glances at me, then at the structure. “Up you go, lightning girl,” he says, his voice soft. “Get high, get loud. That’s the plan, isn’t it?” “Yes, sir,” I mumble. Already I call to the lightning, feeling it respond deep in my bones.

When we reach the base of the building, we’re almost alone on the street, joined only by shift stragglers. Cameron turns to her father, eyes wide. “How much time do we have?” He turns over his wrist and glances at his watch. Then Mr. Cole frowns, the lines cutting deep. “None,” he says. “You have to go.” She blinks rapidly, her jaw working. “Okay.”

“Sir, I believe this is yours,” Kilorn says, reaching into his jacket. He pulls free a small pistol, and extra rounds of ammunition, neat in their case.

Mr. Cole looks at the gun like a snake that might bite. He hesitates, until Cameron takes it from Kilorn and presses it to his chest. She widens her eyes, pleading.

“Point and click, Daddy. Don’t hesitate,” she says with furious need. “Silvers won’t.” Slowly, gingerly, he tucks the gun away into the satchel at his side. As he turns, I catch sight of the tattoo on his neck.

“Fine,” he breathes, dazed. I think all this is starting to catch up with him. Then he clears his throat. “The new-shift techs at the hub are informed. They’ll power down the city with your first strike, after the signal crosstown. Coordinate the systematic shutoff with your storm. Silvers won’t know we’re in on it. Buy some time.” This part of the plan was eagerly arranged by both the Scarlet Guard and their contacts within the slum city.

“Everyone knows about the charges?” I ask, if only to be sure. The Scarlet Guard who slipped in with us are already scattered around the city, planting their bombs. Laying our traps.

Cole’s expression darkens and he scowls. “Everyone who can be trusted. We might have our own resistance, but we’ve got informants all over.” I swallow hard, trying not to think what might happen if the wrong person knew what was about to happen. Maven himself might descend on New Town and crush our insurgency. Bring this poisoned, polluted ground smashing down on us all. And if we fail here, where will that leave the other slum cities? What will it prove?

That nothing can be done. That these people can’t be saved.

Kilorn notes my unease and nudges my shoulder, if only to snap me out of it. Cameron is, understandably, more concerned with her father.

“Okay,” she says, “just watch where you bleeding step.”

Cole clucks his tongue. “Don’t curse, Cam.”

Without warning, Cameron smiles and throws her long arms around her father’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Kiss Mama for me,” I hear her murmur.

“You’ll kiss her yourself soon enough,” he whispers back, lifting her slightly off the ground. Their eyes shut in unison as they hold on to each other. And this fragile, fleeting moment.

I can’t help but think of my family, so far away. Safe. Tucked up in the mountains, protected by thousands of miles and another country sworn to fight with us. Living with hope for the first time in too many years. It isn’t fair, especially to Cameron, who has survived far worse than I have. But I’m glad I don’t have to shoulder the burden of my family’s safety alongside everything else. I can barely handle the danger to the people I love who are still fighting.

Cameron pulls away from her father first. It’s an act of untold strength. As is letting her go. Mr. Cole steps back, sniffing, looking at his feet. Hiding a sudden redness around his eyes. Tears prick at Cameron too, and she scuffs her boot against the dirty street, kicking up dust in distraction.

“Shall we?” she says, turning to me. Her eyes are wet.

“Let’s climb.”

We watch the city with hawk focus, each of us at a window looking out in a different direction. I wipe at the glass with my sleeve. It only moves the grime around, leaving brown streaks. The attic space fogs with dust every time we move, kicking up another cloud. Kilorn coughs into his hand, a hoarse sound.

“I see smoke on this side, in between those factories,” he says.

At her window, Cameron raises a shoulder. “Autoworks sector,” she replies without turning around. “The assembly lines jammed half an hour ago. The shift will be turned out, and they’ll idle around the gates asking for the day’s wage. Overseers will refuse. Officers will try to keep peace.” She grins to herself. “Big mess.” “What color is the smoke, Kilorn?” I ask, still scanning my section of horizon. From this height, New Town seems smaller. But just as depressing. All gray and smoggy, hung with low clouds of brutal haze. It pulses, sluggish, the electricity almost overwhelming.

“Uh, normal?” Kilorn sputters. “Gray.”

I huff low in my throat. Eager to get this moving.

“Normal. Just the smokestacks,” Cameron drawls. “Not the signal.”

He shifts, coughing some more. I wince at the hacking sound. “What are we looking for again?” “Anything that isn’t normal,” I reply through gritted teeth.

“Right,” he grumbles.

On the opposite side of the low room, Cameron taps her knuckles against her greasy window. “You know, maybe this rebellion would be further along if they didn’t rely on teenagers so much.” She tosses a smirk at Kilorn. “Especially ones who can’t read.” He barks out a laugh, rising to the bait. “I can read.”

“But colors are beyond your bleeding comprehension?” she snaps back with whip quickness.

He shrugs and raises his hands. “I’m just making conversation.”

Cameron scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Because we really need distractions right now, Kilorn.” I press my lips together, trying not to giggle at them both. “Is this what Tiberias and I sound like when we argue?” I ask with a raised brow. “Because if so, I sincerely apologize.” Kilorn goes scarlet, flushing, as Cameron quickly turns back to her window, almost pressing her face to the glass.

I missed what was happening with Shade and Farley. Have I missed this too?

“You two are about ten times worse,” Kilorn finally says, his voice a low, rumbling grunt.

At the opposite window, Cameron snorts. “You mean a hundred.”

Grinning, I glance between the pair of them. Both are on edge, even for the circumstances. I try to read the tightness in Kilorn’s shoulders, but the flush still coloring his cheeks is more damning. “I walked into that, didn’t I?” I mutter, turning back to my window.

Behind me, he chuffs out a laugh. “Absolutely.”

Then Cameron slams a hand to her window, hissing. “Green smoke. Weapons sector. Shit.” Kilorn jumps to her side, drawing his gun. He eyes her, worried. “Why ‘shit’?” “Weapons sector has the most security,” she says quickly. With even motions, she peels off her jacket, revealing her own gun and a wicked knife I hope she never has to use. “For obvious reasons.” I exhale slowly. Inside me, the lightning snaps and crackles. “More likely to blow up too.” With a roll of his shoulders, Kilorn dons a scowl. He touches Cameron lightly on the arm, pulling her back from the window. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen,” he mutters, kicking out the glass.

Shards explode out and in, shattering with the force of the blow. Still grimacing, he wipes one jacketed sleeve around the frame, knocking loose any jagged edges. He then steps back to let me lean out and brace myself on the ledge. A smoky wind blows against my face, smelling of fumes and distant fire. Without hesitation, I slip one leg out the window, then the other. Kilorn grabs the back of my shirt, keeping a firm grip.

I look skyward, focusing on the blue dawn as it melts to pink. Even though the sky is choked with corrupted clouds, they make for lovely colors. My heartbeat thrums, rising to a steady rhythm. The lightning in me pulses with it, feeding off the electricity below. I clench a fist, trying to remember what Ella taught me.

Storm lightning is the strongest and most destructive kind we can make. It gathers; it grows; it breaks. Overhead, the vibrantly colored clouds begin to darken and swirl, condensing with my power. Before my eyes, identical shadows bloom over two other parts of the city. Ella and Rafe. The three of us make a triangle, with the electricity hub at our center. The city spread out before us like a killing ground. And Tyton is somewhere down there, more dangerous than any of us, ready to loose his pulse lightning on anyone who might get too close.

Blue lightning flashes first, illuminating the curls of a rising thunderhead to my left. The roar of close thunder cracks over us and I feel Kilorn flinch, the motion tugging my shirt. I stand firm, keeping my grip on the window frame.

Purple and green join the fray as our storms collide, raining bolts down on our target. The hub, a domed building near the center of the city, is easily distinguished by the tangle of wires reaching in every direction. Connecting power stations all over the city, and feeding back electricity into the factories. The lifeblood of any slum town. Even from this distance, I can feel the low hum of it.

“Make it rain,” Kilorn snarls.

I bite back a sigh. “That’s not how it works,” I hiss back, throwing a bolt across the sky. The other electricons do as well, their blue and green racing toward my purple.

Our strikes hit directly above the hub, birthing a blinding flash. On cue, the hum disappears as our allies inside take the hub system offline. They shut it down more quickly than even we could, and with far fewer casualties.

All over the city, smokestacks stop belching out their poison. Assembly lines grind to a halt. Even transports on the streets, isolated with their own energy sources, slow or pull over, surprised by the sudden shutdown. The storm continues, a three-headed monster, sending cracks of lightning across the sky in all directions. I keep my bolts away from the ground for now. I can’t aim them well at this distance and don’t want to risk innocent lives. Not to mention the Scarlet Guard explosives, which are now set all over the city. One spark from me could set off a chain of bursting death.

“All stop,” Cameron murmurs next to me. She looks out on her city with marvel in her eyes. “No power means no work. Shifts turned out all over. Workers baying for their wages. Officers distracted, overseers overrun.” Blind to the cutthroats, criminals, and soldiers now in their midst. Blind to the bombs beneath their feet.

“How long until—”

The first detonation cuts Kilorn off, rumbling a little too close for comfort. An explosion rises to our left, two streets away. At one of the city gates. Rock and smoke streak through the air in a dusty, dragging arc. The next bomb obliterates another gate, followed by the other two. Then the interior charges blow. Beneath security posts, guard towers, Silver barracks, the overseers’ quarters. Any and all Silver targets. I wince with each strike, trying not to think of how much blood we spill today. On both sides. Who will be caught in the crossfire?

We watch in silence, cowed by the sight. More smoke, more dust, and now ash. Cameron’s chest rises and falls as her breath turns to panting. Her wide, dark eyes dart back and forth, always returning to the factories marking the weapons sector. Nothing explodes there.

“The Scarlet Guard isn’t stupid enough to put bombs beneath a munitions depot,” I tell her, hoping to comfort her a little.

Then it explodes.

The resulting force knocks us all backward, sending us sprawling over broken glass and the dusty attic. Cameron scrambles up first, bleeding from a cut on the forehead. “Then that wasn’t the Guard,” she yelps, pulling me to my feet.

My ears ring, dulling all sound. I shake my head from side to side, trying to get my bearings. Cameron takes my wrists and I instantly jump, flinching out of her grasp. “No,” I snarl, unable to stand the feeling.

She doesn’t react and instead focuses on getting Kilorn up, putting one of his arms over her shoulder to hoist him. His lip is busted and one of his hands has a gash from the glass, but the rest of him seems whole.

“I think we might want to get our feet on the ground,” he says, focusing on the cracked ceiling above us.

“Agreed.” My voice sounds oddly strangled as we bolt for the door.

The stairs are little more than a tight spiral, reaching down and down and down. A chore to climb, and even worse to descend, each step a jolt through my knees. I pull my lightning to my fingertips, letting the purple sparks gather and spit, ready to run through anyone in our way.

Kilorn overtakes me easily, moving down the stairs two at a time. I hate it when he does that, and he knows it. The boy even has the spine to smirk back at me, winking.

In that moment, Cameron screams, seeing the Silver guard before we do.

He waves an arm, sending Kilorn sideways over the railing with the force of telekinetic ability. My vision slows as Kilorn topples, body sprawled in the air, and I feel like someone is digging a knife into my gut. The ringing in my ears threatens to split my head, rising to a shriek. All down the stairwell, lightbulbs pop and hiss with my fear, spreading darkness.

The guard drops before he can turn his wrath on us. He clutches at his throat, eyes rolling as he lands hard on his knee. Cameron curls her hand, fingers clawlike, as she smothers him with her ability. Slowing his heart, darkening his vision. Killing him.

The crack and thud of Kilorn hitting the railing below makes me sick. We sprint as fast as we can, directly into two other Silver guards working their way up to us. A shiver freezes the steps beneath our feet and my boots slide, almost taking me down. I slice him apart with a rocketing bolt, while his partner, a stoneskin, topples under Cameron’s wrath. We cut them apart, knives through paper.

I reach Kilorn first. He rolls to a stop two floors down, landing sprawled across several rows of steps. The first thing I see is his chest, rising and falling. Shallow, but moving. Breathing. He’s choking on blood. Red and crimson, scarlet, ruby. The color so bright I want to shut my eyes. He coughs violently, flecking both Cameron and me. The hot droplets pepper my face.

“Get him up—we have to get him up,” I mumble, scrambling over him. Cameron follows, deathly quiet. I want to scream.

He can’t speak but tries to rise on his own. I almost slap him. “Let us,” I bark, throwing his arm around me. “Cam, the other side.” She’s already there, heaving. He’s an anchor, a deadweight.

Kilorn jolts and hacks, painting the steps with his own blood. I don’t bother trying to assess the damage. I just know I have to get him out, get him down, get him to any one of the healers all over the city. I need Davidson, I need someone. My chest tightens, but I refuse to feel the agony or the strain of him. My legs burn with every new step. Down, down, down, down.

“Mare—” Cameron sobs.

“STOP IT.”

He’s still warm, still breathing, still retching blood all over himself. That’s enough for me. Probably broken ribs, cracked bone, sharp and digging into his organs. Stomach, lungs, liver. Stay away from the heart, I beg. We don’t have time to survive a pierced heart.

I taste salt and realize I’m crying, washing my face of his blood with my tears.

The floors pass in a blur, sliding by. Kilorn sucks down a wet, rattling breath; his face and hands are paler by the second. All we can do is run.

More guards charge up the stairs, baying like hounds on a scent. I barely see them, barely feel their nerves as they shred beneath my lightning. Some fall quickly, bleeding from the eyes and mouth and ears as Cameron hammers her ability through their bodies. But there are so many, too many, flooding up to meet us.

“This way!” Cameron barks, her voice still tear-filled as she slams her body through a door on the next landing.

I follow without thought, crossing through a cramped and meager apartment. Where Cameron is taking us, I can’t say. All I can do is keep hold of Kilorn and my lightning, the only two things in my world.

“Hold on,” I hear myself whisper to Kilorn, too low for anyone to hear.

Cameron leads us to the closest window, another square of grimy glass. But this one opens onto an adjoining rooftop. She knocks out the window, using one long leg to kick the pane free. My lightning holds our backs from pursuing Silvers, allowing us enough time to clamber out and onto the roof.

The officers follow, squeezing their larger and broader bodies through the broken window and onto the ashy roof behind us. Beneath the torturous, thundering sky.

Once there’s enough distance between us and the guards, I gently lower Kilorn, laying him down against the concrete. His lashes flutter, eyes glassy, as Cameron stands over him, her stance wide and defensive.

I put my back to her, facing down the Silvers struggling onto the roof. I count six already on the roof, with more squeezing through. What their abilities might be, if they belong to any family I recognize, I don’t know. And I don’t care.

As soon as the last Silver’s feet hit the concrete, I unleash.

The storm opens above me, purple and violent, blinding with my fury. I’m screaming, but the force absorbs all sound, all thought. The lightning swallows the bodies, killing them so quickly I don’t even feel them. Not their nerves, not their skeletons. Nothing.

When the lightning clears, it’s the smell that brings me back. Kilorn’s blood, ash, burned hair, and cooked flesh. Behind me, Cameron makes a gulping sound, like she’s trying not to vomit. I have to look away from the charred remains. Only their buttons and guns remain intact, smoking with heat.

I barely heave a breath before a deafening crack splits the singed air, and the roof shudders beneath our feet. Cameron drops, covering Kilorn with her body as the entire building lurches. Starts to lean. Slowly at first, then faster and faster.

I fall to my knees, reaching for Cameron and Kilorn as the structure buckles. My storm was too strong, the apartment building too poorly made. The walls are crumbling on one side, making us tip. All I can do is hang on as the roof snaps and falls, sliding forward at a steady incline. I slide with it, scrabbling, fingers grasping for anything to hold on to. My fist closes on the collar of Kilorn’s jacket, sticky with hot, wet blood. His breath rattles, weaker than ever, as we move with the collapsing roof.

The ground rises up to meet us, a fist of concrete. Silver officers wait below, ready to kill us if the collapse doesn’t. I clench my teeth, bracing for impact. I’ve never felt so helpless and afraid.

At first I can only blink at the sudden, translucent blue glow in front of me. It hovers, holding up the edge of the tipping roof, stopping the falling slab. But not us. We slide along the angle, dragged through the ash until we smack against the shield. Bullets sound below, and out of instinct I squeeze my eyes shut, curling up.

They ping harmlessly off the shield, sending ripples of force dancing beneath us.

Davidson.

One eye opens to see a massacre below us, a smoky haze of blue and green and white lightning as it branches among the Silvers. Tyton’s white darts fell four of them in an instant, while Ella and Rafe batter the rest with their whipping electricity. The shield moves as they fight, letting the roof down gently. We hit the ground with a low thud, sending up a curtain of gray dust.

Kilorn is tall, lean but heavy. My adrenaline makes him almost weightless. I barely notice the strain as I lift him again, throwing one of his arms over my shoulder. Still breathing, still breathing. Cameron takes his other side and we charge through the ash, without thought for the lightning or the Silvers still fighting.

“Healers!” I roar, screaming as loudly as I can to be heard over the din. “We need healers!” Cameron echoes my cries, her voice carrying. She’s stronger and taller than I am, taking the brunt of Kilorn’s weight. He doesn’t slow her down.

The premier meets us head-on, his personal guard fanned out around him. There’s a smear of blood on his cheek. Red blood. I don’t have time to wonder who it belongs to.

“We need—” I gasp out, but Kilorn shudders, doubling over on himself. He almost tumbles out of our grasp and forces us to stop. Another wave of blood spatters the ground, painting my boots.

I almost faint with relief when the healer charges forward from Davidson’s soldiers. The red-haired newblood has a familiar face, but I don’t have enough energy to remember his name.

“Lay him down,” the man barks, and we gratefully obey.

The only thing I can do is hold Kilorn’s hand, his skin cold against the flame of my own. He’s still alive. We made it in time. We were enough.

Cameron kneels over him, silent and staring, hands knitted in her lap. Afraid to touch him.

“Internal bleeding,” the healer mutters, ripping open Kilorn’s shirt. His abdomen is almost black with bruises. As the healer dances his fingers, pressing and prodding, they begin to recede. Kilorn grimaces, teeth gritted against the strange sensation. “It’s like someone took a hammer to your ribs.” “Feels like it,” he grinds out.

His voice is strained but alive. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I wish I had gods to thank for his life. His grip tightens on my hand, squeezing my fingers. Forcing me to look at him.

Bottle-green eyes meet mine. Eyes that have followed me my entire life. Eyes almost shut forever.

“It’s okay, Mare. I’m fine,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

We stay by him, silent guardians, as the healer works. I flinch in time with the distant rumble of explosions and artillery. Some of it far away, beyond New Town, muffled by the miles. The assault of Harbor Bay has begun, a three-pronged attack to take the city. Will they win the day? Will we?

The electricons close in on us, picking their way back through the dozen Silver corpses littering the road. Tyton idles, turning over a few with his foot, while Rafe looks on.

Ella gives me the smallest wave as she approaches. Her scarf is gone and ash colors her blue hair in streaks of gray, aging her. One hand twists idly at her side, and the thunderheads above, silent for now, spin with the motion. She winks at me, trying to put on a brave face.

Rafe and Tyton are more blatant in their grimness. Both keep their hands free, ready to push back any assault.

But no one seems to be coming. Either the fighting is concentrated elsewhere, or it’s already over.

“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice cracking.

Tyton’s reply is swift. “We protect our own.”

“Still more to go, but out of the woods.”

I look back to see the healer ease Kilorn into a sitting position.

Cameron helps gingerly, putting a hand to the bare skin on his back. Suddenly I feel like I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t. With the back of my hand, I quickly swipe away the blood, sweat, and tears dirtying my face.

“I’m going to find out what’s going on,” I mumble, getting to my feet before anyone can protest.

My boots crunch through the debris as I beeline for the electricons. Rafe offers a weak grin. He rips the covering off his head and runs a hand over his closely cropped green hair.

“Looks like he’ll be okay?” he says, jutting his chin back at Kilorn.

I exhale slowly. “Looks like it. What about you all?”

Ella puts an arm around me, lithe as a sapphire cat. “Had less trouble than you, that’s for sure. I think we brought a bit more firepower than anyone might expect for a place like this.” “The Nortans here were outnumbered and unprepared.” Tyton spits at the street. “Silver kings don’t expect anyone to care, let alone fight, for a Red slum.” I blink at the implication, surprised. “So we won?”

“They’re certainly acting like we did,” Tyton replies. He gestures with a hand, pointing to the Montfort and Guard soldiers now holding the street. They could be Red techies, if not for the machine guns hanging off them. A few seem to be laughing, exchanging pleasantries with the premier as he walks among them.

“Wonder how they’re doing in Harbor Bay,” Ella says, kicking up a puff of dust.

I lower my eyes. My heart still thunders in my chest, pumping adrenaline through my veins. It makes it hard to think about anything beyond the street. Let alone the people I love, fighting and perhaps dying a few miles away. For a second, I try to forget. Collect myself. Breathe deep and easy. It doesn’t work.

“Premier,” I bark, crossing to him with force.

He looks back, smiling, and even waves a hand to motion me over. Like I need an invitation. “Barrow,” he says. “Congratulations on a job well done.” It’s hard to feel celebratory with Kilorn lying a few feet away, even with a healer patching him up. That was far too close.

“What about the city? Any word from Farley?”

His smile freezes in place. “Some.”

Something tightens in my chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand. “Is she alive?” Davidson indicates one of his soldiers, her pack a mess of wires and radio equipment. “As of a few minutes ago, yes. I spoke to the general myself.” And Tiberias? I bite back the urge to ask about him, at least by name. “Did everything go to plan?” I force out, my mind flying over the many facets of the Harbor Bay invasion.

The premier’s face tightens. “Did you expect it to?” he murmurs.

I almost snarl in frustration. Another round of artillery thunders miles away.

As the adrenaline in me ebbs, a cold takes over, threatening to numb my body. I look back for a moment, watching Cameron as she kneels with Kilorn. They aren’t talking. Both of them are wide-eyed, nearly pinned down by exhaustion and the aftertaste of fear. Then I glance to the electricons. All three of them stare back, resolute.

Ready to follow. Ready to protect their own.

My decision only takes a split second.

“Get me a transport.”