Kilorn is a shadow through the tall grass, parting green stalks with able hands. He hardly leaves a trail, not that it matters. With Cal crashing along behind me, his broad bulk trampling everything in his path, there’s no point in masking our presence. And we’ll be gone long before morning, hopefully with Nix in tow. If we’re lucky, no one will notice a missing Red, allowing us time to get ahead of Maven once he figures out what we’re doing.

What is that, exactly? The voice in my head turns strange, a combination of Julian, Kilorn, Cal, and a little bit of Gisa. It needles, poking at what I’m too afraid to admit. The list is only the first step. Tracking down newbloods—but then what do we do with them? What do I do?

Frustration makes me walk faster, until I outstrip Kilorn. I barely notice him slowing to let me pass, knowing I want to lead alone. The grove gets closer by the second, shrouded in darkness, and I wish I was alone. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since I woke up alone in the mersive. But even that was fleeting, my silence broken apart by Kilorn. I was glad to see him then, but now, now I wish I had that time to myself. Time to think, to plan, to grieve. To wrap myself around what my life has become.

“We give him a choice.” I speak aloud, knowing neither Cal nor Kilorn would stray beyond earshot. “He comes with us or he stays here.”

Cal leans against a nearby tree, his body relaxed, but his eyes stay fixed on the horizon. Nothing escapes his gaze. “Do we tell him the consequences of this choice?”

“If you want to kill him, you’ll have to go through me,” I reply. “I won’t put a newblood to death for refusing to join up. Besides, if he wants to tell an officer I was here, he’ll have to explain why. And that’s as good as a death sentence for Mr. Marsten.”

The prince’s lip curls. He fights the urge to snarl. But arguing with me will get him nowhere, not now. He’s obviously not used to taking any orders but his own. “Do we tell him about Maven? That he’ll die if he stays? That others will die if Maven tracks you down?”

I dip my head, nodding. “We tell him everything we can, and then we let him decide who and what he wants to be. As for Maven, well . . .” I search for the right thing to say, but those words are scarcer with every passing moment. “We stay ahead of him. I guess that’s all we can do.”

“Why?” Kilorn pipes in. “Why give him a choice at all? You said yourself, we need everyone we can get. If this Nix guy is half of what you are, we can’t afford to let him go.”

The answer is so simple, and it cuts me to bone.

“Because no one ever gave me a choice.”

I tell myself that I would still walk this path if I knew the consequences—save Kilorn from conscription, discover my ability, join the Guard, tear lives apart, fight, kill. Become the lightning girl. But I don’t know if that’s true. I honestly don’t know.

Maybe an hour passes in heavy, tense silence. It suits me just fine, giving me time to think, and Cal revels in the quiet. After the past few days, he’s just as hungry for rest as I am. Not even Kilorn dares to joke. Instead, he’s content to sit on a gnarled root, weaving strands of tall grass into a brittle, useless net. He smiles faintly, enjoying the old, familiar knots.

I think of Nix down in the village, probably pulled from his bed, maybe gagged, definitely ensnared in a net of my own making. Would Farley threaten his wife, his children, to make him come? Or would Shade simply grab his wrist and jump, sending them both hurtling through the sickening vise of teleportation until they land in the grove? Born 12/20/271. Nix is almost forty-nine, my father’s age. Will Nix be like him, wounded and broken? Or is he whole, waiting for us to break him?

Before I can fall into a spiral of dark and damning questions, the tall grass stirs. Someone is coming.

It’s like flipping a switch in Cal. He pushes off his tree, every muscle taut and ready for whatever might step out of the grass. I half expect to see fire on his fingertips, but after long years of military training, Cal knows better. In the darkness, his flame would be like the watchtower beacon, alerting every officer to our presence. To my surprise, Kilorn looks just as vigilant as the prince. He drops his grass net, crushing it underfoot as he stands. He even pulls a hidden dagger from his boot, a sharp, thick little blade he once used to gut fish. The sight of it sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know when the knife became a weapon, or when he started carrying it in his shoe. Probably around the time people started shooting at him.

I’m not without my own weapons. The low thrum in my blood is all I need, sharper than any blade, more brutal than any bullet. Sparks vein beneath my skin, ready if I need them. My ability has a subtlety that Cal’s lacks.

A birdcall splits the night, hooting through the grass. Kilorn responds in kind, whistling out a low tune. He sounds like the thrushes that nest in the stilt houses at home. “Farley,” he murmurs under his breath, pointing at the tall grass.

She is the first to step out of the shadows, but not the last. Two figures follow: one is my brother leaning on his crutch, and the other is squat, with muscled limbs and the round belly men gain with age. Nix.

Cal’s hand closes around my upper arm, exerting a slight pressure. He pulls gently, moving me back into the deeper shadows of the grove. I go without hesitation, knowing that we can’t be too careful. Dimly, I wish for a scrap of scarlet, to mask my face as we did in Naercey.

“Did you have any trouble?” Kilorn says, stepping up to Farley and Shade. He sounds older somehow, more in control than I’m used to. He keeps his eyes on Nix, following every twitch of the round little newblood’s fingers.