“These are known hot-spots,” he says. “Potential safe houses, underground bunkers, and abandoned schools and hospitals where they might be congregating. Prue is dangerous because she understands our system. This makes her a threat to the peopleandthe regime.”
She’s not an amateur. She is someone from the inside who turned on them. Just like my mother. There are cracks in their system. Ones that the Resistance is using to their benefit.
There have always been insurgents. Ever since Bane Vale overtook the government, various factions spoke up against the strict laws that were established. The people were shaken by the outcome of the Nuclear War. The neighboring continents had been destroyed, and the president they knew but despised was replaced by the head of the armed forces, Bane Vale. And those who supported him in the Great Coup were given a spot on his council.
It was the middle of Bane’s term when the Red Fever arose, which changedeverything.
Conspiracy theorists on the cyberspace (before it was banned) believe that Bane was creating a chemical formula to create super soldiers, and that blaming the president was a tactic to distract us. They claim that the leak was never supposed to happen. Regular people were never supposed to have this much power. It was why the Bind was created, to control them. And why certain powers are against the law.
I open my notebook and begin to write down all the information Nolan is sharing to pore over later.
“These attacks are not random,” he goes on. “They target supply routes and communication towers. They are getting bolder.”
A low murmur ripples through the room.
“The Continent does not negotiate with terrorists,” Nolan says flatly. “We do not acknowledge them as a legitimate force. And we do not allow symbols of dissent to take root.”
Another click. A photograph fills the screen, an alley wall scorched white, the outline of the sun painted over with a cracked streak through the center.
Sora inhales softly. “That’s new.”
I nod. I’ve never seen it before either.
“They call it the Broken Sun,” he says. “A message meant to undermine our unity and hint at weakness. But the regime is stronger than ever.”
His gaze sweeps the room, lingering just a moment too long on the back row. On me. He must recognize my surname. Most of the sergeants know who I am from the admission role, but they assume it is a similar surname to the High General’s because they have never met Orson Warrick. He is too far too high on the chain of command. But this sergeant is a Gifted who has likely seen my sister before at dinner parties.
It isn’t admiration that glimmers in his eyes. It is potent disgust, which means he is thinking about my mother.
He knows what I am.
A Child of Treason.
“Let me be clear,” he says coldly. “The rebels want you to believe that New Foundry is fragile. That its control is slipping and loyalty is wavering.”
He straightens, hands braced on the podium. “It is not. It is absolute.”
He returns to the image of Prue Miller. To remind us of our target.
“Your role,” he continues, “is to ensure that this conflict ends before it spreads.”
The lights come back on.
“As of today,” he says, “all Common cadets are considered assets in operations. You will be deployed as needed.”
My pulse quickens. We assumed we would be put on mind-numbing rotations like maintaining curfew and border patrol. But the rebel crises might be dire enough to warrant more of us on active missions. This works in my favor. I will get a chance to be out there and maybe even meet the key members of the Resistance. Someone is bound to have met my mother.
Sora leans in. “And here I thought we’d get a boring update.”
I crack a smile.
“Things just got interesting,” Sora says.
My eyes remain frozen on the image of Prue Miller, studying the blunt cut of her hair, the calm set of her expression, the determination in her eyes.
I know that look.
It is the same look my mother wore that day on the square.
