You think you have a shot at slowing the Federation down; you think you’re ready. And then you fall.
“Come back, Redlen,” Constantine says, “and let me fix your wings. They must hurt you.”
As if on cue, I feel the pain of the twisted steel against my back. I turn my stare to Talin. She looks at me with a pained expression now, and as we face each other, she gives me a subtle shake of her head.
Please, she says to me through our link.
I hear the word echo in my mind, a presence that I’ve missed for so long.
A lump rises in my throat at her presence in my thoughts. I strain to hear more, but nothing else comes.
And in a rush of grief, I understand how the Federation knew we were coming today. Talin. Somehow, she must have seen through my eyes what we were planning. The link between us must be more intact than I thought. And if she knew about it, she must have been helpless against passing the information along to Constantine.
She is—I am—the reason behind this trap.
I don’t want to hurt you, she tells me now.
I know, I answer her gently.
Release the General, she says, gesturing at the other Strikers, or you will see them bleed to death right here.
How much control does Constantine hold over her? The Talin I knew would rather die than threaten the lives of her former companions like this. I shudder to imagine the kind of pain she must be feeling, but I sense a wall of resistance through our link. I know there is nothing I can do.
I look back at the others. Adena meets my gaze with her own, and her eyes are hollow with defeat. We have lost. It is over.
Suddenly I hear a single, final word from Talin through our link.
Go.
I don’t know if it’s our bond that lets me guess exactly what she wants to do, our unconscious sense of her emotions and thoughts. But I understand immediately. She’s trying to help me. She knows I cannot, under any circumstances, fall back into the hands of the Federation.
Then Talin rushes at me—but she leaves me the slightest fraction of a second to act.
I sense the tiny advantage and take it. My wings unfurl in a single, snapping motion, and pain shoots through my back. I push off the ground in a burst of strength and take Caitoman with me. The General struggles in my grasp, but I grit my teeth and concentrate, using everything in me to fly as high as I can.
Behind me comes a rush of wind. Talin has taken off in pursuit of me. I push one more time with my injured wings and feel the strain in my back. It’s as far as I can go.
That’s when I release Caitoman.
He plummets with a strangled shout. I only dare a single glimpse down to see Talin forced to pause in her flight. She swivels in her attack, metal wings carving a mighty arc through the air, then twists to reach out for Caitoman. She catches him as I swerve into a sharp glide and hurtle away from the scene.
I don’t get the chance to see what happens to the others. I don’t know whether Constantine orders them all gunned down. I only see the expression on Talin’s face as she looks up, the reflection of unshed tears glossy in her eyes. The other part of me, the part that speaks into the hollows of my mind, echoes loudly through me now.
You can’t save them. It’s the curse of your life. All you can do is run.
8
TALIN
My first thought after Red has escaped is one I hate. Did Constantine sense what I told Red? Does he know I let him escape? Will this be what kills my mother?
Did Red make it out alive? Will they hunt him down? Will the others be allowed to live?
This is what my fear of the Premier has done to me.
As Caitoman tumbles past midair, I grasp his arm and swing with him for a second, carried by his momentum. Then my other hand steadies my grip, and I hold him there for an instant before lowering him carefully to the ground. The General rolls in a shower of dust before leaping to his feet, his eyes already searching the sky for where Red might have gone.
I turn my gaze up to hunt for him too, but through our bond, I can already tell that it’s no use to look. In the time it took me to save Caitoman’s life, Red has long vanished.
Do I pursue him? I ask Constantine through our link.
When Constantine answers, his tone is bitter. No, he answers. I want you here. And I realize it’s because he’s not sure whether other invisible rebels are waiting to attack. In case there is a surprise we’re not prepared for, I need to stay here to protect the Premier and his brother.
My gaze returns to Caitoman, who’s still on one knee as he catches his breath. There are soldiers running all around me, dragging my friends up as they tie their hands, their figures shrouded in the train’s steam and smoke that coil along the ground. But to me, the world feels slow and silent.
I am a traitor. I am a destroyer. I am the reason my friends—and my mother—will die. The guilt floods me until I can barely stand.
How had I linked with Red in my dreams? I’d worked so hard to build a shell around myself for all these months! I’d forced my emotions down, closing them off to protect us all. How had I broken my promise to myself, to keep my feelings in check to guard my loved ones from Constantine’s wrath?
Sleep. Sleep is what betrayed me.
In my dreams, I have less control. I can sense it when I wake, fighting to open my eyes and build my walls up once more. My broken heart must leak through the stone of my restraint when I’m unconscious. Does my link to Red strengthen in response during those hours, connecting me to him against my will?
Is that what had happened?
Constantine had forced everything out of me once he was aware of the extent of our linking, on pain of my mother’s life.
It’d gotten my friends captured. It’d almost gotten Red.
Even though I can sense the low pulse of Red’s heartbeat, everything in me trembles as if I had ended his life. I could have, in that moment. If Constantine had ordered me to ignore Caitoman and kill Red, I would’ve had no choice but to do it.
What if he had sensed the fraction of a second I’d given Red to escape?
The thought leaves me weak with fear. Nevertheless, I force myself to clench my fists instead, opening and closing them in my steady exercise.
My mother, I think, reminding myself. My mother. My mother.
So when Constantine calls me back to his side, I force myself to go to him. I force myself to bow my head in obedience when he praises me for what I’ve done. I force myself to watch as Constantine turns his attention to the captured Strikers. My friends.
He doesn’t order their deaths. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified by that. They’re instead bound with rope and chain, added to the prisoners that will head to Cardinia. I search each of their faces. Tomm and Pira. Adena. Aramin.
Jeran. I don’t see him here, but I don’t dare utter a sound about it. Still, my eyes scan the prisoners and the grounds before I come to the realization that Jeran isn’t among them. He’d been here during the attack—I’d seen him in the fray.
At first, I worry that maybe one of the soldiers had killed him. But he’s far too talented a Striker for that. Had he escaped in the chaos? My heart hammers against my ribs, and I hope that Constantine associates it only with the fact that I’m seeing my companions chained before me.
Jeran and Red have escaped. I let myself hang on to this threadbare hope as I meet the gazes of the others.