Chapter one
Robin: Annihilation
They came for us on a Tuesday morning.
The alarm bell shattered the pre-dawn quiet—three strikes, pause, three more. The pattern we’d drilled into ourselves since I was old enough to hold a spade. My hands moved before my brain caught up, pulling on clothes, yanking on boots, grabbing the knife from under my pillow and my sword from behind the door.
Esme sat bolt upright in her bed across the room.
“Stay here,” I said.
She opened her mouth to argue, but footsteps thundered past our door. Shouts erupted outside. Through the window, torches bobbed along the beach like fireflies. Too many of them.
I shoved through the door, boots skidding on wet sand. Dawn bled gray across the horizon—too dark still, clouds smothering the light.
“Mason!” I shouted. My neighbor turned, rifle already in his hands. “What’s happening?”
“Watchers only just caught them.” Mason’s lined face looked grim. “Cloudy night. They cut their motors, comingin quiet with oars.”
My stomach dropped. Three years since the last raid. Three years of hoping they’d forgotten about us.
The door banged open behind me. Esme stumbled out, still in her nightdress, her blonde hair wild.
I grabbed her arm and yanked her back toward the threshold. “Inside. Now.”
“Robin—”
“I saidinside.”
Those gray eyes, identical to mine, blazed with defiance. She planted her feet, chin lifting. Thirteen years old. Old enough to hold a blade, old enough to help defend our home.
Old enough—and pretty enough—to be taken for reasons I couldn’t bear to think about.
The thought iced my veins.
“You know what to do,” I said, quieter now but no less firm.
Her jaw worked. For a moment I thought she’d refuse and I’d have to waste precious seconds dragging her back inside myself. Then something in my expression must have convinced her, as she turned and disappeared into the darkness of our house.
I didn’t wait to hear the floorboards creak open. Didn’t have time to make sure she actually hid in the compartment we’d built when we moved here a few years ago. I had to trust that the fear I’d seen flash across her face would keep her safe.
The beach was chaos. Figures sprinted past me, armed with blades and rifles. A fierce sense of pride surged within me. We were ready for this. We’d trained every day for it, in fact. Even the elderly among us were here—seasoned fighters with weathered hands gripping well-maintained weapons. Old Carlos hefted his war axe, the same one he’d carried for forty years of raids. Every soul on Atrea could fight. Had to fight. It’s how we’d survived this long.
In the distance, through the murk, massive ships loomed, their hulking forms anchored far beyond the breakers. But closer—muchcloser—smaller boats glided through the water like sharks, silent and deadly. Every person on this beach was forged by the trials of survival, united in a single purpose: to protect Atrea from those who would take what was ours.
We fell into formation like we’d practiced a hundred times. A line across the shore, weapons raised, bodies braced. Antonio appeared beside me, his familiar grin replaced by grim determination. The sight of him there, solid and ready, calmed my racing heart. But where was Tobias? I scanned the line but couldn’t spot him in the chaos.
The vessels cut through the water. Six of them. Maybe seven. Hard to tell in the dim light.
Mason stood to my right, rifle aimed. Just ahead, Elena gripped a spear. Her breath came fast and shallow.
“Hold,” someone called. Tomás Verus, our governor.
The boats drew closer. I could make out new shapes now—soldiers in blue uniforms. Victoran-blue uniforms.
Victora. I’d suspected as much, but the confirmation had my hands tightening around my sword as blood rushed through my ears.
Behind us, the island waited. Our homes. Our families. Everything we’d built and rebuilt.
