Kestrel Farrow emerged from the darkness as she pushed off the doorframe beside them and lit a cigarette. Her frame had thinned since he’d last seen her, cheekbones more pronounced, the shadows beneath her eyes deeper. Cardinal ring was taking its toll on even its most resilient daughter.
“Follow me,” Kestrel said, jerking her head to the side as she turned away and led him deeper into the room.
The space was organized clutter—communication equipment stacked alongside ration containers, weapon parts disassembled on a workbench, encrypted tablets charging in a row. Through the grimy window, the garish glow of holo-ads on the billboards painted everything in shifting blues and reds, casting Farrow’s face in alternating hues that made her appear both ghostly and fevered.
She pushed open the door to her makeshift office with the bottom of her boot and gestured for him to sit as she sunk into her chair on the other side of a rusted metal desk and took a long drag.
“Tell me what’s happening in Cardinal,” he said, taking the seat she indicated and repositioning it with clear sightlines to her and the exit. Old habits never truly died and he knew better than to underestimate her.
She rocked back in her chair as she lifted her feet to the desk and sighed. “Maximus is dividing us. Methodically, deliberately.” Farrow’s expression shifted, something dark moving behind her eyes. “The Heart’s tightening the noose. New policies rolled out three days ago. Any Cardinal worker who meets production quotas gets extra water and food rations. Those who report suspicious activity get double.”
“Turning them against each other.”
“It’s working.” She pulled a small tablet from her pocket, sliding it across the table. The screen flickered to life, showing grainy security footage. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
Jameson watched as ten figures were dragged into frame, their Cardinal uniforms torn, faces bloodied. The agricultural dome’s viewing area stretched behind them—that pristine window into abundance that mocked everything the outer rings endured. The Veyra worked with efficiency, stringing that red rope over the support beams.
“They were caught trying to smuggle seeds,” Farrow said, her voice flat. “Not even food. Just seeds. The potential for food.”
“Fucking tyrant,” he muttered under his breath as the footage continued. Jameson’s jaw clenched as the workers were hauled upward, feet kicking, hands clawing at the ropes around their necks.
“They left them there for five days,” Farrow continued. “Made every shift watch them rot while they worked. Ten Cardinal citizens, strung up like a warning. My people, Ghost.My people.”
The anger in her voice was controlled, refined into something sharp enough to cut. Jameson recognized it—the same rage that had been eating him alive since childhood.
“Our people,” he corrected, meeting her gaze head on.
“It’s not just that.” She leaned forward, her feet landing on the ground with a loud thud as she lowered her voice. “The Heart isn’t just tightening control on rations, they’re preparing for something. Something big. Veyra presence has doubled at all Cardinal checkpoints. The Cardinal workers assigned to weapons manufacturing posts on the base have not come back for ten days now. They have never kept them overnight before this.”
“Do you know if they are still alive?” Jameson asked.
“Yes.” Her eyes flicked to the window then back to him. “My sources say they are developing something new, something they do not want anyone to know about, so they are quarantining them until it's done.”She swallowed. “But I suspect they will never leave that base alive now that they’ve seen whatever it is with their own eyes.”
Jameson stayed quiet for a long moment, watching as she crushed the remainder of her cigarette. “Cardinal needs to join with us,” he said finally, turning to fully face her. “Your ring has access we don’t—entry points to the Heart, technical expertise, numbers. Combined with Boundary muscle and our network of smugglers . . .” He let the sentence hang.
“You’re talking about open rebellion.” Farrow’s voice was neutral, but her brown eyes were sharp, assessing.
“I’m talking about survival.” Jameson held her gaze. “How long before whatever they’re building at that base is turned on all of us? How many more public executions are we willing to endure? The Boundary’s been fighting back for decades, but we’ve been doing it alone. Imagine what we could accomplish together.”
A holo-ad for Heart-approved entertainment flashed particularly bright, momentarily bathing them both in artificial daylight. In that flash, Jameson caught the full measure of exhaustion in Farrow’s face. She was beautiful. Golden blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, olive toned skin with freckles scattered over its surface, scars covering her body like the rest of them had. That beauty was what made her dangerous, among many other things. She knew how to use it to get into the right rooms, to manipulate men in her favor. Right now, beneath that beauty, all Jameson could see was the pain written in the way she held her shoulders, the exhaustion from carrying the weight of her ring’s suffering. They had that in common.
“I have something to add to your intelligence,” he said, reaching into his pocket and placing a small object on the table—a drone chip no larger than his thumbnail.
Farrow picked it up, examining it closely. “Heart technology, but I have never seen one this small before.”
“That’s because it’s from a new kind of drone. They can collapse in on themselves to get through tight spaces. They’re mapping the Boundary,” Jameson explained. “They started following me a while ago and I’ve seen them every day since. Each one we’ve shot down has the same type of data. They are cataloging every building, every tunnel, every hidden passage. Creating a complete three-dimensional rendering of both rings.”
“For what purpose?”
“That’s the question that keeps me awake at night.” Jameson ran a hand over his face. “You don’t map territory this thoroughly unless you’re planning to do something with it. My guess is whatever they are creating on that base has something to do with it.”
She stayed silent.
“We have to do something.” Jameson leaned closer, urgency bleeding into his voice. “Together we’d have a chance. Real coordination, not just parallel resistance. Your workers could sabotage production lines, create shortages the Heart can’t ignore. The Boundary could hit their patrol and supply routes, their security checkpoints. Force them to spread their resources thin.”
Farrow tilted her head, that birdlike gesture that meant she was truly listening. “And what makes you think the Boundary would follow your lead on this? The Daggermouths have their own agenda.”
“Because the Heart has one of their own.”
