Chronos’s breath is cold against my ear. “Pity you have to die.”
In the chill of his whisper, I hear the unspoken words. The implication. This future, this vision he’s chosen to show me, reflects my final death—my Termination.
I blink, unable to move or speak as Chronos and his Guards march from the room.
Gaia bows her head over her desk. I jump when her hands smack the wood. She leans over the orb, her lips pressed thin as she watches the smaze struggle to free itself. Her shoulders rise and fall with her deep, quivering sigh, and her white gown hugs the floor, reluctant to turn with her.
“Come forward, Winter. Bring your Handler with you.” Chill and I approach the dais on weak legs. Her eyes are unsettling, hard as diamonds, their clear facets blinding in their intensity as we come nearer.
My heart stops when I feel them staring at my bruises.
Chill kneels deeply. When I don’t follow, he shoves an elbow into my hip.
“There’s no need for formality.” Gaia’s voice is raspy and deep. Her hair, sparking with rage a moment ago, is limp against her shoulders. “I suppose you know why you’re here.”
Chill shakes his head. She levels me with a pragmatic stare. I shake my head, too.
She reaches for the intercom button on her desk. “Send Professor Lyon in.”
The doors behind us open. I can’t make myself look at him asProfessor Lyon crosses into my field of vision, carrying a hinged glass dome. A bumblebee hovers inside, its legs struggling for traction against the glass. Gaia steps close, her eyes catching Lyon’s. He watches her with a quiet reverence as she opens the lid.
The bee buzzes feverishly, its stinger poised as Gaia reaches in. With coos and whispers she traps it, bringing her cupped hands to her lips and blowing into the space between her fingers. Her hands glow with magic—magic she took from the Spring Chronos killed.
Gaia releases the bee, but it clings to her. Docile and quiet, it bows under her touch as she strokes its furry back. With a wave of her hand, she dismisses it. The bee takes flight, but doesn’t fly far, settling on the arm of Gaia’s desk chair.
Lyon closes the lid. He glances down at the two piles of ash, then at me, over the cage he holds solemnly to his chest.
Pity you have to die.
Chill’s eyes squeeze shut. His lips move in silent prayer.
I can’t just stand here. Can’t let Chill die for my mistake. My pulse quickens as I step forward. “I can explain.”
“That won’t be necessary. The numbers speak for themselves.” Chill’s eyes lift to the monitors as my rankings appear on a screen. The days I’ve spent eluding my own death are weighted against weather reports, human deaths from exposure and traffic fatalities, combined with my training records and behavior reports... all of it culminating in a final score. On the screen beside it, a red name scrolls by so fast I almost miss it—Fleur Attwell.
She’s below the red line.
“Your performance over the last few years has been... impressive, Mr. Sommers.”
Fleur.Next year, she’ll be up for the Purge. My knees threaten to buckle. “I don’t understand.”
Did I do this? Am I responsible?
I barely register Gaia’s next words as I watch Fleur’s name disappear from the screen. “I realize we’re still two years from the next Culling for promotions. However, one of our North American Winters has not returned from her hunt. She is, as we say, in the wind.”
I turn my attention to Gaia, my racing thoughts scrambling for traction in the conversation. A Season in the wind isn’t just gone. She’s dead, lost forever, her matter irrevocably scattered.
Gaia smiles tightly. “I’m offering you her position.” A map of Anchorage, Alaska, fills the screen.
My mouth goes dry.
“Oh hell yes,” Chill whispers, all his fear from a moment ago swept away by the swell of his pride.
How? How is this possible? Doug knew about my transmitter. They know I broke the rules. It doesn’t make sense that Fleur’s being Purged and I’m being promoted for it.
“I’ve requisitioned a member of Chronos’s Guard to manage the vacancy in the interim, so you’ll have plenty of time to make arrangements for your Relocation. Over the next year, our Resources Team will assist your Handler with the transfer of any financial accounts you wish to move and the shipment of any personal belongings to a storage facility in Anchorage, where it will await your arrival next November. Meanwhile, you’ll be working directly with Professor Lyon over the next eighteen months to prepare.” The professor nods. “He knows the region well. And he knows the physical demands. You’ll have longerstasis and recovery periods, longer hunting seasons, and less time to train.” She darts a pointed glance at the bruises Doug gave me. “Though I see you’ve already been stretching the rules when it comes to training during your mandatory recovery period. I hope it’s safe to assume you’re up for the challenge?”
I touch the bruise on my cheek. One more year. Fleur has one more year before the Purge. I have one more year before I’m sent to Anchorage. A knot tightens in my throat. Lyon raises an eyebrow.
