prologue
Haven
My mother is sentenced to die today.
The sun hangs low, casting a dim shadow across the square, and whispers ripple through the crowd. Everyone is on edge, as if one wrong move will see them hauled to the front to be condemned alongside her.
It has been months since the last execution. There were only five this year. A small tally compared to the previous one.
They don’t happen often, not like this. Not with the entire borough summoned to watch.
Screens are lined around us, ready to display the execution to the entirety of the Continent.
Mercy, my twin sister, clutches my hand so tightly it hurts. Her nails dig into my skin, anchoring me in place. I know when she releases me, there will be crescent marks on my flesh.
“Why is he here?” she whispers.
I follow her gaze.
The High General stands apart from the rest. His coat is tailored to ruthless perfection, a simple gun holstered to his hip.
The governors always oversee the executions. Division Eight is a quiet manufacturing hub; its main contribution to the Continent is machinery components and industrial supplies.
Orson Warrick is a long way from Division One.
“Stay here,” I tell Mercy.
“You can’t go up there,” she says, panic laces her voice. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I have to help her,” I say. “I have to do something.”
I wrench my hand free before she can stop me. Her pleading cries chase after me as I push through the crowd. No one intervenes. No one ever does in Division Eight. We keep our heads down. We obey. We survive by pretending not to be seen. The people won’t save a child who refuses to be saved. They know better.
I scramble onto the stage. The enforcers reach for me, but their hands fly past me as I lunge toward my mother. I can see my green eyes reflected in their obsidian, gleaming visors. They wear matching armbands that mark their status in the troops and bear the regime’s emblem, sewn in silver thread.
“Leave her alone!” I shout at the High General.
Treason. That is the crime they’ve claimed. But it is a lie. My mother has never stolen a slice of bread before, let alone commit an offense so great that they’d put a bullet in her head for it.
He lifts a hand, and the enforcers halt. Their boots screech across the floor as they scramble to follow his orders.
Power leaks from every pore of his body.
“No,” my mother chokes. “You need to go back. Return to your sister.”
I shake my head fiercely. “I’m not leaving you.”
“And who might this be?” the High General asks, crouching to study my face.
His forest green eyes peer into my soul. His hair is neatly groomed, lip half-concealed by a trimmed mustache.
“Mercy or Haven?”
“It’s none of your business,” I snap. “Let my mother go.”
“You know the Supreme Director’s laws,” he says calmly. “The Untamed are a danger to society. Assisting them is?—”
“Spare me the excerpt from the Code,” I interrupt.
