Prologue
Red SunRising
The stingof betrayal burned worse than the fire that made up hisworld.
He pushed the rage aside, choking on the smoke filling the lab and searing his lungs. The walls were singed black, scorch marks reaching high for the ceiling. Fire danced around him, curling in strange ways as he pushed forward through the dangerous heat, searching desperately for the only person who mattered inthishell.
All the air in his lungs was used to shout a single name. “Kilyusha!”
He coughed hard, nearly doubling over. Everything about his body felt wrong, as if his skin was too tight and ready to tear at the seams of his joints. Gnashing his teeth, he kept moving, watching as the fire twisted out of reach with every step he took, making roomforhim.
He heaved for air, eyes watering so badly he could barely see. The heat surrounding him was enough to blister his exposed skin, but when he touched his face, he felt noburns.
When he pulled his hand away, fire sparked across hisfingertips.
The pressure inside him grew stronger, hotter, drying out his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He wasn’t going toleave.
Not without hisbrother.
“Kilyusha!”
The fire flickered—andmoved.
AFTER
2285
___________________
1
LongTongueLiar
New Miaminever went below triple digits during the day insummer.
The coastline of Florida was a tangled mess of ocean-swallowed islands, beaches scattered around the waterlogged foundations of long-forgotten housing developments, and dangerously hidden sandbars. The rising water of the oceans generations ago had inundated the Everglades National Park with salt water, creating a small bay that bisected the tip of South Florida. New Miami was located on a thin strip of viable land clinging to the Eastern Seaboard with a stubbornness not even multiple hurricanes a year couldwipeout.
More a destination city than one to set down roots in, New Miami was known more now for its clubs and nightlife rather than its beaches. Parties that could be held indoors away from the dangerous midday heat were all the rage. The sun-kissed tan many men and women sported was the work of skin dyes or tanning pools, places offered up by hotels or specialized club-type businesses that filtered the sun’s harmful rays through small retractable biodomes over their outdoor pool areas. The stand-alone businesses charged moderate admittance prices but gouged their guests on the alcohol to help balance out the water taxes they needed to pay. Resorts didn’t have thatproblem.
Agent Sean Delaney squinted through the plas-glass wall overlooking the outdoor pool area in the Azur Resort. The five-star resort offered a list of amenities catering to a wealthy clientele looking for a good time, ranging from a day at the spa to an all-night pool party hosted by a celebrity DJ. Normally, he wouldn’t be able to afford a single night in a place like this, but his current cover required a particular gloss over the streetwise persona heembodied.
Sean pressed his hand against the floor-to-ceiling window, tapping his fingers against it. While the soundproofing built into the resort was top-notch, and he couldn’t hear the music playing below from his spot on the twenty-first level, he could still feel the faint vibrations of the bass beat. Earlier, when he passed the pool area on his way to the private elevator in the lobby that took guests up to The White Squall restaurant, the music had been impossible to ignore. He’d watched the revelry for a few minutes before moving on, but during that time Sean had heard a familiar song playing. He knew that melody by heart, half humming it under his breath as he waited for his dinner guests to arrive in the privatediningroom.
Tucking his hands into his pockets, Sean studied the party below with keen brown eyes. The biodome had been retracted for a humid June night while colorful floating lights illuminated the pool area. Guests frolicked in the water when they weren’t waiting for drinks at the bar. Everyone looked like they were having agoodtime.
At thirty-one, that hadn’t been his scene for a long, long time. Recruited by the CIA during his freshman year of college, Sean had left behind the lure of fame with the rock band he’d started with his brothers in favor of a life of lies. Atomic Grace had blown up the charts not long after Sean opted for a career change, and was still a hard-hitting act in the cutthroat music industry these many yearslater.
Sean’s current life was merelycutthroat.
Years spent undercover had made him adept at slipping out of one identity and into another, answering to names that were never his to keep. He lied in service of his country because he believed the information he brought back would help keep America safe in the long run. Spies put their lives on the line just as often as the country’s military personnel did, rooting out threats no one elsecould.
Sean had been lucky throughout his CIA career—until he wasn’t. In 2282, he was caught in a Splice chemical bomb that decimated a summer outdoor market in Belfast, Northern Ireland. At the time, he’d been deep undercover with the Reborn Irish Republican Army to try to pinpoint their Splice supplier. Sean was the only survivor of the blast, even though the official count was zero survivors and over three hundred dead. Surviving meant being turned into a metahuman by a quirk in his DNA. It resulted in a complete derailment of his career as a CIAofficer.
By law, all metahumans in the United States of America had to register with the government. They weren’t required to fight for their country and could enjoy a relatively quiet civilian life if they wanted to. Considering the vast array of ages that survivors encompassed, a civilian life was preferredbymany.
After dedicating ten years of his life in service to his country, Sean had known he’d wanted to keep fighting. The Metahuman Defense Force was more than willing to accept his transfer into their ranks. With a background in spy work, he’d joined the MDF’s intelligence division rather than train to be part of a field team. His particular power made communication difficult when on assignment, which meant Sean rarely, if ever, used his power while undercover. The phase field his body emanated enabled him to pass through solid objects, but it utterly killed anything electronic, including any implanted bioware. Losing comms and access to his RealIdent chip was a complication Sean neverenjoyed.
The door to the private dining room slid open with a soft hiss, cutting short his musings. The ambient sound of the main dining area of the restaurant filtered through. In the reflection on the window, Sean watched the hostess wave inside a well-dressed couple. He turned to face them, plastering a smile onhisface.
