Down below, I hear a shot fired.
I ignore it. Then I force one of my steel wings around, slicing through one of the bars of the window. I pull myself through, rolling as I hit the ground.
Inside, the hall is curiously lit with bright, artificial sconces against the walls that cast strange stripes of shadows across the corridor. It looks like a prison, except there are signs of a hospital here and there—the smell of poultices and herbs and medications in the air, the stench of steam burns, of blood and crushed limbs. It mixes with the smell of mint and sugar, creating something sickening.
I find myself instantly reminded of the two victims I’d seen rushed into the lab complex, burned almost beyond recognition.
I can hear the sounds of dozens of guards down this corridor. And at both ends, jaws clicking, claws scraping the floor, are Ghosts.
They sense me before anyone else does. Their eyes dart blindly down the corridor, searching, and their jaws grind, their long ears twitching as they sense the presence of someone who shouldn’t be here.
I narrow my eyes, and a smile creeps onto my lips. They had prepared them for someone to come for their valuable prisoner. But I am a Skyhunter. And in my chest, I feel the buildup of my rage, the way it courses into every limb of my body, sets my eyes alight. The way it feeds and fuels me.
This is what Constantine designed me to do, to be an unstoppable war machine.
But he had never intended for me to turn against him. That’s the thing about inventing new things. You can only control the genesis of it, not the evolution. And I have evolved.
The instant one of the Ghosts locks eyes on me, I lunge for it. My good wing spreads out, fanning into dozens of steel blades. In a single twist, I slice through the Ghost’s arm and turn back around to stab it through its chest. It screams, crumpling against itself, before I finally cut its throat and move on. Another Ghost. I move like a creature of death, cutting through it before it can touch me.
Farther down the hall, in front of the cell where Talin’s mother must be kept, the guards are already on the move. They’ve been preparing for this ever since the Premier captured the woman—knowing that someday there might be a fight for her life. I clench my teeth and hurl myself into the third Ghost.
It doesn’t matter how quickly I can move to kill the monstersstanding in my way. Talin said they’d been trained to kill her mother if there is any sign of a threat. And now they are unlocking her door, ready to point a gun at her face. I surge forward.
Through my bond, I call out to Talin, hoping she can hear me.
I love you. We are going to get your mother out. I promise.
I think of the moment I’d kissed her in the shadows of the sculptures on the thoroughfare, the moonlight in her eyes. I think of her tears through our link the night after the arena.
Soldiers rush toward me, blades lifted, but I cut through them. One of them manages to slice me deep in the arm. I wince, but the steel that strengthens my body holds up, and the cut that would’ve gone all the way to the bone instead bites into my muscle. I slash out with my wings—the soldier collapses. My eyes turn back to the cell at the end of the hall.
I hurtle through the corridor.
The soldiers unlock the cell door, shouting at one another to hurry up. One of them lifts a gun and points it straight inside.
“No!” The shout bursts from me, and I realize that it’s a shout of desperation for my sister, my father. For the family that I had lost. I surge forward. A shot is fired at me—it hits me in the shoulder. I twist to one side, dodging a second shot, then hurtle into the soldier who had fired at me. The cell door draws near.
The soldier’s finger tightens against the gun’s trigger.
I hurtle into the guard right as he fires the gun into the cell. My wings slash out, catching anyone in their path. I’m too late, too late—the refrain runs frantically in my head. I’ve failed to get to Talin’s mother. They’ve shot her.
They’ve killed her.
We’ve failed, and Talin’s mother has paid the price.
And just as I think this, just as I stagger to the cell door, just as I look in, fearing what I’ll see, that I’ll witness a familiar woman lying dead on the floor, gunshot wound to her heart—
I look in and see a woman still breathing, lying exhausted with her head against the wall.
I’d hit the soldier right as he fired. He hadn’t managed a good shot. Talin’s mother is alive. I find myself staring into a face that Talin inherited—that fierce gaze, the proud tilt of her chin, a mixture of both fearlessness and vulnerability. It is the face that birthed the one I love.
What have they done to her? Her face is black and blue, and her left eye is swollen shut. One of her hands is bandaged, the cloth bloody, and her arm is slung in a cast as if it had been badly broken.
In an instant, I know this is what had caused Talin so much agony hours earlier. She had known what they’d done to her mother. I’m glad that Talin isn’t here to see her like this. My breath escapes in a rush as I hurry to her side.
Even though she is injured, that fire hasn’t died. At the sight of me, her mouth crooks up in a slight smile. The light of recognition flickers in her eyes.
“You,” she croaks out in Maran, then frowns. “You haven’t been eating well.”
