Her hands were slick against the warm metal as she descended into the dark, the heat growing heavier the deeper she went. The vibration from the incoming tram shook the vent shaft so hard that her teeth hurt.
“Move, guys! We’re running out of time,” Hawk shouted from below, the grated panel pried open. Imara was nowhere to be seen—she must’ve been the first to go through.
A glance up showed Christian and Nadine racing down the ladder. Gemma picked up speed, gripping each rung as tightly as possible to keep from slipping. At last, her boots touched surface, and she dropped through the floor panel.
The roar of the freight was deafening now. Gemma covered her ears, watching in horror as Christian, Nadine, and Hawk fell through just as the freight passed over. Sparks flew as the metal panel was ripped from its hinges. The five of them dropped to the ground and protected their heads from falling debris as the tram tore across the track above them.
Gemma clenched her teeth against the terror threatening to rip through her.
The tattoo on her arm began to warm and her fingertips started to tingle. A painful hum grew behind her sternum, roaring in her ears.No, no, no. Not now. Please not now.A soft violet glow covered her vision in a haze as time began to slow—
The quake from the freight lessened; the rumble quieted. And with it, her panic diminished, calming the power that wanted to erupt.
Nadine growled. “That should not have been running right now.”
Gemma pushed off the ground, her heartbeat still thumping in her ears. Christian’s worried gaze found hers. She nodded, letting him know she was okay.
“Where are we?” Imara asked once they were all on their feet.
“Maintenance tunnel,” Nadine answered. “Let’s move.”
Their boots were near-silent against the grime-slick floor as they worked their way deeper into the city. Gemma skimmed her fingers along the dents and seams in the old, revarium steel walls that had been warped by decades of blistering heat.
Droplets of condensation dripped onto her head and shoulders as Nadine led them through a series of bends, each section more humid than the last, and within minutes, Gemma’s prison outfit was sticking to her sweaty, damp skin. Then a bend in the passage brought a wash of dim light spilling toward them from up ahead.
Nadine slowed, raising a fist for silence. Every sound—their breathing, the scuff of their boots—felt amplified in the close, oppressive heat.
Around the curve, the light resolved into a single torchlight, and holding it, half-shadowed, stood the maintenance worker from Zion’s prison block. He wore coveralls smeared with dust and oil, and a maintenance badge was clipped to his chest. A battered tool crate sat at his feet, but his eyes were fixed on Nadine, sharp and alert.
“You’re late,” the man whispered.
“Yeah, whatever,” Nadine replied. “Got the clothes?”
He popped open the crate lid. Inside were folded sets of dusty maintenance uniforms, scuffed boots, and hardhats with flickering head lamps. Beneath the clothing, coils of insulated wire and sections of pipe jutted at odd angles, enough to make the load look like legitimate repair gear if anyone peeked inside.
Of course the man cleaning their prison cells had been working for Nadine the whole time.
“Put these on,” Nadine said, tossing a set to Christian then Gemma. “We don’t need to look like fighters walking in with rifles on display.”
The fabric was rough against Gemma’s arms, smelling faintly of machine oil and stone dust. She zipped it to her collar, tucking her hair under the hard hat. Christian slung his rifle crosswise beneath his uniform, and the weapon disappeared beneath the oversized jacket. Hawk too kept his rifle close to his body, and Imara stuffed her drone into her pack with a quiet apology.
The man’s voice stayed low but urgent. “The maintenance hatch behind me will put y’all two streets from the Industrial Belt. You’ll have to cross through Sector 19, but it’s been quiet, accordin’ to Lysa. Still, don’t give anyone a reason to notice ya.”
Lysa?Even Christian’s sister was involved?
Gemma’s chest tightened. So many people were risking their lives for her. How could she ever repay them?
Nadine nodded and pushed forward.
A rush of cooler air met them, carrying the faint, familiar tang of processed oxygen, as they stepped out through the maintenance hatch. They stood now in a long, dim passage wide enough for a tram car and lined with dormant conveyor belts and rust-stained loading docks. Where in the blazes were they?
With quiet, careful steps, they hurried down the corridor, slowing when muted voices carried from somewhere far ahead.
Nadine stopped them in their tracks. Gemma’s gaze flicked from side to side, looking for cover to hide behind, when a sharpwhoomphrolled through the corridor, followed by the crackle of fire.
Those muted voices swelled into shouts.
Smoke, thin at first, curled into thicker coils, bringing with it the scents of burnt oil and scorched paint.
