Chapter 41
Callan
The stars blink to life slowly, dotting the darkened sky, and adrenaline beats through my bloodstream. Steady. Potent. Heavy with anticipation.
About a million things are running through my mind.
A million different ways this could all go wrong, but I’m eager and satisfied in knowing that in a few short hours, the monsters that have been parading around Streatham for the last twenty-something years are going to lose one of the last things they have on us:
Our people.
I bet they won’t even see it coming. I bet they’ll wonder how we got in—how we managed to get past their ward.
How, for the last twenty years, while they’ve held our people, we’ve held a grudge.
A massive one. One that’s been festering and multiplying to the point that now there’s nothing that can be done to sate it except for justice and revenge. The brutal kind.
I shift on my feet, double-checking my uniform, then turning to check Devon’s too. He’s standing as still as a statue, his expression calm considering the rigidity in his posture.
It’s his pre-fight ritual, finding calm while letting his body charge. He fills his limbs with the depths of his power until it buzzes beneath his skin.
Looking back, I triple-check that Hunter and Easton are still where they’re meant to be, and I’m relieved to find them still standing by the bunker. Their uniform-clad silhouettes shift back and forth, looking out to where Devon and I wait by the border into the city.
They got back a little while ago, and they reported that Pirn is as ready as they’ll ever be.
The infirmary is clear and stocked, the Hearths have a surplus of food ready, and everyone else is just…
waiting. Patiently anticipating who will come through the Banyan.
Ready to see people they’ve loved and lost.
All we have to do is get them back.
Simple.
I return my attention to Streatham, the Estate a tall, shadowy mass against the black sky. Stars glitter around it, none blinking in the way I need them to, but I’m itching for Lucina’s signal to get started.
Rubbing my hands together, I keep myself warm as the night gets darker, midnight passing, and still nothing.
“Come on, Cin,” I whisper.
Nearly two hours have passed when a flash of something pulls my attention to a top window in the Estate. It was a flicker of light—the glint of something reflective.
“Is that it?” Devon asks, and I shake my head, just as confused as he is. It’s not the signal I’m looking for, but it’s the first sign of movement we’ve seen. “What was it, then?”
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “But she’s supposed to signal with—”
A star above the Estate begins blinking rapidly.
In immediate response to the signal, a ball of fire shoots into the air on the opposite side of the city.
Devon and I watch it ascend, a second burst rising to meet it.
Time slows as they climb, higher and higher. Taller than the highest point of the Estate.
My heart beats once. Twice.
The fiery bursts reach their precipice and rupture, shattering across the sky. The crack that echoes through Streatham is sharper than lightning and deeper than thunder—so violent the ground beneath us shakes.
Deep black is painted red as the rush of flames smothers the blanket of stars.
Pax and Phoenix send up two more, not letting anything settle. Another round of red spheres shoots up in the sky, but we don’t stay to watch them detonate.
Dark figures pour out of the Estate, racing to the northern side of the city—entirely unaware that Devon and I have just entered through the south.