“People of Perileos.” Her voice boomed, rattling through the concrete walls and—Gemma guessed—through every ancient speaker wired into the veins of their city. Gemma pictured her sister’s voice bursting into cramped flats, spilling down mineshafts, vibrating along the old tram lines. Workers pausing mid-shift. Families frozen in their homes.
“This is Nadine Proctor, leader of the Dissent. The Systems are here at last. They came to burn us out like they always swore they would. But they made one mistake.” Her voice rose, steady and sharp. “They think you’ll bow. They think you’ll let them take what’s ours. They think Perileos—and all of Reva—belongs to them.”
Shouts broke out amongst those nearby. Dissent fighters pounded weapons against the walls, a drumbeat of fury.
“Not anymore,” Nadine continued. “Reva belongs to the people of Perileos. Tonight, we stand, and we take her back.”
The intercoms cut out, leaving only the echo of Nadine’s words. For a heartbeat, silence clung to Perileos, heavy and waiting. Gemma held her breath, pulse hammering in her ears. The glow of her tattoo thrummed with restless energy, like the city itself had pressed against her skin.
She closed her eyes and focused her heightened senses.
It only took seconds for her Revarian hearing to illuminate the sound. A faint rumble at first, almost too low to catch, then louder—metal groaning, fists hammering against old conduits, voices calling out through the tunnels. The sound rolled toward them in waves, swelling until it was undeniable.
The city was waking up.
Gemma’s throat ached. She could feel them now, the weight of thousands waking from fear, answering Nadine’s call. It was like the air itself shifted, vibrating with resolve. For the first time, the city didn’t feel beaten. It felt alive.
Gemma stared at her sister with tears in her eyes.
Nadine’s shoulders sagged for a single breath before she straightened, her expression fierce. Hawk and Imara exchanged a look, and even Lysa—pale and wide-eyed—was trembling, not with fear but with something brighter, sharper.
Hope.
“Ready your weapons,” Nadine said, eyes blazing. “Anyone too injured to fight, stay here with Polly. Everyone else, you’re with me.”
The fighters around her straightened instantly. Weapons shifted into ready hands, vests were donned, and blades were sheathed. The hesitation that shadowed Tent City was gone, replaced with unity as sharp as a revarium steel blade.
Gemma’s pulse surged. She slid her daggers free, the violet glow of her tattoos catching on the metal. Christian checked his rifle, jaw tight, while Hawk wiped blood from his brow, re-tied the patch over his ruined eye, and pulled a fresh set of knives from his vest. Imara reloaded with practiced precision, her prosthetic hissing softly with each movement. Around them, the survivors hardened, their fear caged behind something sharper:
Readiness.
And then Gemma caught sight of Lysa. She was strapping a basaltweave vest over her shirt, her hands steady as she adjusted the buckles.
Christian froze. “No way. L—no. You’re not—”
“I am.” Lysa’s green eyes flashed in determination as she picked up a collapsible fighting staff, its ends capped in metal that hummed faintly with a low electrical charge. At a flick of her wrist, it extended to full length with a snap. She spun it once, clean and practiced. Blue-white static snapped at one end.
“You think I just sat around the flat while you were off doing your thing?” Lysa said. “I found a sensei. Trained every hour I had. I’m good, Christian.”
He swallowed, torn between fury and terror.
She tapped the edge of the staff against the ground, the sound sharp as a promise. “You’re not leaving me behind.”
Hawk chuckled low, impressed.
Gemma felt the tension between them, the protectiveness in Christian’s chest warring with the mettle in Lysa’s heart.
Gemma put a hand on Christian’s arm, grounding him. “She knows what she’s doing.”
Christian’s jaw worked, but finally he gave a single, rough nod. His voice came out tight. “Just stay with me, okay?”
Lysa’s answering smile was fierce. “Deal.”
Nadine’s voice cut through the moment, sure and commanding. “We link with the Dissenters in Zone 12. Fromthere, we cut through to the streets to Gallowood House. We take their base of operation, we take the city. Let’s show them what it means when Perileos fights back.”
Christian tightened the grip on his rifle. Beside him, Gemma’s violet eyes were bright with hope, and Lysa—his fucking little sister—stood tall with her electrostaff spinning in practiced hands. He wanted to tear it from her and lock her behind the nearest barricade, but he couldn’t stay protective of her forever.
He needed to let go.
