—and then come together where I started, at the rear of the car. My mouth bone-dry with thirst; my breaths shallow and rapid, still timed with the rhythm of phasing. My head spins, light from oxygen deprivation, and I press my back into the wall behind me so I don’t tilt or stumble and show any weakness. Four wardens are still on their feet in front of me, their faces full of rage and fear, and it reminds me of Eteri, of the expression on her face when my knives came for her.
I hesitate, just for a heartbeat, Val slipping loose from the chest I’ve locked them in. Making me falter.
But then I think about Halle and Kelda. Lost somewhere, alone, scared. I remember how it felt to see the wardens flood into Covenant years ago, that wrong kind of hunger crawling around behind their eyes. How they took Orion’s dad and dozens more. How I’d cried with Orion on the roof afterward, both of us screaming at the carpet of skyliners above us.
As the wardens rush forward, I pop open the side of the pulse pistol still in my hand, rip out the stabilizer crystal, and then drop it at my feet. It explodes in a net of arcing, violent energy, catching all four of them in it, ripping through their bodies until burns bloom and blister across their skin.
But not me. I’m already across the train car and throwing open the door with a sharp, metal screech, leaving them to collapse in a pile of smoking corpses.
CHAPTER TEN
“WHEN WE RISE, THOSE IN THE SKY WILL FALL.”
—CALLING CARD OF THE SKYWAYMAN
The thief known as the Skywayman has only been working on Trinity for about a year, but you wouldn’t know it from his reputation. He’d burst onto the scene by ripping off a commerce giant who lived in a wildly fashionable homestead above the town of Charity, breaking into his top-of-the-line vault and cleaning him out of almost a quarter of a million paper worth of jewelry and other valuables.
He pulled off three more heists against major skyliner citizens over the next several months—a high-paid head summoner, the woman in charge of half the creditors over six continents, even the right-hand man of a Heraldic Minister. No one seemed to be out of the Skywayman’s league.
Down in the dust, the Skywayman became a legend, a figure who was respected, revered, even somewhat loved. Rumors sprouted that he didn’t keep his stolen prizes, that he funneled thecash down into the hands of dusters. The story of the Skywayman grew twice as fast as his criminal record.
I never knew Orion as the Skywayman. When we were children, he’d just been O, my best friend, who’d helped me watch out for Halle and Kelda. Later, he had been a beautiful idiot with a star-bright smile who’d gotten caught up in all his big, idealistic plans, all the ways he wanted us to change the world. It’d swept him along until we couldn’t understand each other anymore.
But now…
An idealistic dreamer with a lot of moral principles is exactly what I need. And one with expert thieving skills and an information network extensive enough to pull off massive heists doesn’t really hurt, either.
Just gotta get to him first.
Balancing on the platform, air screaming past my ears, I adjust my goggles, scanning through the wall in front of me. It looks like there are only two figures in this next car. One person in the middle of the room, another one standing a few feet away. Inching forward, I press my ear against the door and catch the hum of tinny music and droning voices that sound like footage from the dailies. And someone, talking loudly, keeping up a steady stream of commentary.
“—just saying that as far as compelling stories go, this one is somewhat lacking—”
I know that voice. Although, it’s definitely deeper than I remember.
I pick my spot, phasing into a corner all the way across the train car. Immediately, the noise of the footage blasts my ears, so loud it’s close to painful. Orion, it turns out, is the figure in themiddle. He’s strapped down to a chair with his head in a brace to keep him pointed at blaring images of the divinity of the Heralds and the glory of Trinity. A vicious, raised bruise graces one of his cheekbones, and there’s dried blood underneath his nose. Facing him, with their hands neatly folded and their back to me, is a warden.
This, apparently, is the person Orion has been trying to entertain with his running thoughts. When he spots me in the corner, Orion’s eyes flick in my direction and his voice falters—just for a heartbeat.
But it’s long enough.
The warden whirls around, drawing their golden gun and shoving it in my face.
I tilt my head at them. “Any way you could cut the reel, goldbelly? It’s really annoying.”
“They don’t like it when you call them goldbelly, V,” Orion calls from his prison chair. “Discovered that one myself recently.”
It knocks me off-balance for a second to hear him call me V. To have anyone address Val when the Butcher is at work. It’s surreal, like staring at heat shimmers on the horizon. “Thanks for the tip.”
The warden spins the charge on their pulse pistol, cranking up the intensity as they scowl at me. Their longcoat is bedazzled with medals and badges that clink together whenever they so much as breathe. “I am a chosen warrior of the Heralds. I do not fear the hands of demons.”
Demons. That one is new. I think I like it better than being called a saint, though.
“Let’s all just take it easy here, huh?” Orion says. His tone islight, friendly, but there’s a touch of nervousness underneath it. “V, this is my new best friend, Clarence, and I’d really love it if we could keep him—”
I’m vapor in the air. With Wrath in one hand and Mercy in the other, I phase above the warden and drop, burying the blades deep into the armor gaps on either side of his neck and then ripping them out again with no remorse.
Clarence isn’t dead before he hits the floor, but it only takes a few more seconds.
