Giannaand I wheel our bags across the scorching pavement outside the bustling Aurora train station, where people and stray cats vie for attention. Cats sprawl across sidewalks, empty seats, and street corners. The heat radiates through the soles of my shoes as I guide Gianna toward the cab station. With the ongoing blackout, few trains are running, and the precinct is overwhelmed. The Blades are all too busy to give us a ride.
“How far is the garrison?” Gianna huffs, shielding her face from the unrelenting sun.
“Not too far,” I lie. The garrison is over the Charon Bridge, then another five miles north.
Leigh secured Gianna’s rooms at the Blade garrison without telling me why. She’d be far more comfortable at the Najma Hotel, the favored haunt of celebrities and politicians in Aurora. I suspect Leigh wants Gianna to keep an eye on me, which is fine. She’ll only see she can trust me. I doubt Gianna will appreciate sharing a coed bathroom with me and the rest of the Blades. Something tells me she’s never had to share anything in her life. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
Refineries and the imposing Bersa Power Station, Corona’s largest power plant, frame the cab stand. This side of town—West Aurora—is a far cry from East Aurora with its rich history, diverse culture, and unique architecture. To truly experience thecity, one must explore the east, where most residents live in towering sandstone apartment buildings. The outskirts feature a few sprawling estates, mostly owned by affluent Epsilon oil magnates.
I set down my duffel and peel off my sweat-soaked long-sleeve shirt. Crouching, I retrieve a fresh shirt from my bag and my water bottle. After taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid, I offer it to Gi, who turns up her nose.
“Can you hurry up?” Gianna groans, as if my shirtless state offends her. I deliberately slow my movements.
“What’s the rush, country club?” I drawl, relishing her discomfort.
Gianna flashes her perfectly bleached teeth. “People are staring.”
I pull the dry shirt over my head, rolling my eyes. “Believe me, they’re not staring at me.”
Dressed as if she just stepped off a runway—designer everything, perfect hair, long polished nails that have never seen a day’s work—Gianna is counting every stare behind those oversized sunglasses. Sure, people are watching her. She’s a Nebula clinging to her Epsilon roots. Sooner or later, she’ll realize she’s better off being herself.
“Whatever. When you are finished putting on a show, I’ll be waiting in the cab.” Gianna stalks to the cab stand, commanding the entire sidewalk, forcing pedestrians to bypass her.
I stand there, stunned, as a passerby chuckles. “Your girlfriend’s quite something,” he comments.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I gripe, picking up the bags.
By the time I catch up, Gianna has already secured us a ride. The driver—a man with a silver front tooth and wandering eye—helps me load our things into the trunk. Gianna sits in the back, texting furiously. I’m sure she’s complaining to Leigh about my insufferable behavior.
With a heavy sigh, I tell the cabbie, “We’re going to the Aurora Blade Garrison.”
The ride is uncomfortable, to say the least. The driver leers at Gianna through the rearview mirror, his eyes roving over her body to the point where Gianna ends up calling him out for being a pervert. Then, our luggage is unceremoniously dumped in front of the garrison, and some of Gianna’s nice things blow in the dusty wind.
“Fuck . . . that . . . guy,” she growls, tearing off a boot, and throwing it at the retreating vehicle.
I pick up her shoe. “Put that on. There are scorpions here.”
Gianna grabs the boot. “Is this the place?”
I follow her gaze and smile.
The desert has forged the Aurora Blade Garrison into a resilient relic. This two-story fortress, with its number of rooms wrapping around an open-air courtyard, features columns that stand sentinel beneath the harsh sun. Except today, an unsettling silence reigns. No Blades train, and even the doorkeeper’s post is empty.
“Come on, everyone must be inside.”
As we step inside the garrison, Gianna lets out a soft gasp. The interior is a masterpiece—exquisite patterns adorn carpets, metalwork, and vibrant stained glass that filters light into a rainbow of colors, casting a magical glow on everything it touches. The scent of leather and polished wood fills the air.
“Wow, color me impressed.” Gianna spins to take it all in. “It is stunning here.”
“Wilder?” Commander Eddo’s familiar voice interrupts the moment. Compact and muscular, with jet-black hair peppered with gray at the temples and a neatly trimmed goatee, Eddo has always been more than a commander to me during my tenure here—he’s been a mentor, a friend, and at times, a father figure.
But, right now, he’s approaching me as if I were a cobra poised to strike.
“It’s good to see you,” he says, pulling me into a stiff hug devoid of the genuine affection I remember. Eddo saw right through my anger when I first arrived—all that resentment I’d built up against my dad. He didn’t just train me to fight; he taught me how to let go of that chip on my shoulder.“You want to belong here?”he’d say.“Then you need to drop the attitude. We’re your team, not your personal punching bag.”
“I apologize for not meeting you at the station,” he says now. “Aurora has been a hive of activity since the blackout. Lately, it’s impossible to be everywhere at once.”
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
