Chapter 53
Rook remains true to his word, and over the next couple of weeks, we barely speak. He returns to our room late, often when I’m already asleep, and is gone when I wake up. I wonder where he spends all his time.
We eat on opposite sides of the cafeteria, where he sits alone, and I join Domino and Journey. For once, I’m thankful for Journey’s stream of observations because I don’t have to come up with anything to say.
Trinity and I exchange hellos as we pass each other, but that proposed hangout never materializes. She’s still spending time with Brick, despite knowing what he did to me. It hurts, but I push it away, determined not to let it bother me.
My wrist heals, the bandages are removed, and I return to my full training routine. My fellow Aria members still aren’t friendly, but they seem to have embraced begrudging tolerance.
And maybe what Henry claimed about Storm Guard loyalty before Society is partly true, as a few other cadets begin to soften, ever so slightly, toward me.
One can only hold a pointless grudge—and I’m convinced it’s entirely pointless—for so long while spending countless hours sweating, fighting, and growing in one another’s company.
The artificial lines erected between us hold no real weight when held under scrutiny. It’s not everything I hope for yet, but it feels like a future with Aria is possible.
Another week later, Domino, Journey, and I arrive to find out we’re heading on a field trip to the Tempestade, where we’ll witness Breakers in training and join in some of their drills. Everyone chatters excitedly until a chorus of pinging chimes draws everyone’s attention to their devices.
An emergency news bulletin has arrived announcing that a dozen people were found murdered in the square outside the Citadel this morning. We all look up, staring in the direction of where it happened. Just steps away from where we stand.
The bulletin goes on to describe the bodies as violently disfigured and dismembered, and I cover my mouth as bile churns in the back of my throat.
Our excited talk turns to horrified whispers as Henry and our other trainers confer in low voices.
The article isn’t naming suspects yet, but it assures us that The Shield is investigating the matter thoroughly.
Everyone is asked to remain vigilant for any suspicious activity related to these deaths.
“Cadets!” Henry shouts over our heads. “I understand this is troubling news, but I think it’s best we remain focused on our usual routine. If anything, this impresses upon us the need to ensure you’re trained to the highest standard.”
Everyone nods as we slowly shuffle out the doors, passing the plaza where lines of bright yellow tape have cordoned off the area. Several members of The Shield’s Circle Guard move among lumps covered in white sheets.
The bodies.
I come to a stop, unable to tear my eyes away, imagining the horrors underneath.
A hand rests on the small of my back. “Don’t look,” Rook says in a low voice, and it’s silly that I’m relieved he’s talking to me at all. This is a horrible reason to break our silence. “Just keep walking.”
I nod as I allow him to steer me toward a set of sliding glass doors, admitting us to a sprawling marble lobby decorated with golden-framed mirrors, creamy white statues, and a massive fresco painted on the ceiling.
The entrance closes behind us, muffling the din of the city.
The only sounds are the low murmurs of my classmates and the occasional squeak of footsteps in the distance.
A sharp rap of someone approaching draws us toward Dr. Eze, who’s carrying her trusty tablet under her arm. She’s also accompanied by another woman with auburn hair pulled into a tight bun. Her white skin is tinged pink, and her green eyes scan us without emotion.
“I’d like to introduce you to Dr. Cummings,” Dr. Eze says cheerfully.
“She’s the lead scientist in charge of electromagnetism here at the Tempestade.
Her job is to create the most realistic version of Spark bursts for training, and she’s been instrumental in the project to capture actual galvanic energy to be used in our simulations. ”
Dr. Cummings gives us a curt nod. “I thought you’d like to witness a real simulation today,” she says. “And get a look at our training facilities. They’re quite good at the academy, but there’s no comparison with the real thing.”
We’re told a few more tidbits about what to expect, and then we’re escorted through the Tempestade.
First, we pass a lab where several Breakers are in the middle of electrodesensitization training.
“Even after years in the Storm Guard, our members must continually maintain their resistance to the electricity they’re subjected to almost daily.
One problem we’ve been trying to solve for a long time is the regression that occurs when the body is no longer exposed to therapy.
Though it slowly adapts to the foreign intrusion, it quickly returns to its natural state. ”
We continue walking, passing through the gym, where dozens of extremely fit people are lifting what seem like impossible weights. Finally, we pass a set of wide steel doors with about half a dozen keypads along each side.
“What’s that?” someone asks, and Dr. Cummings pauses.
“That is where the Extinguishers bring potential Spark Keepers for testing and sequestering,” she says. “Beyond those doors are some of the most dangerous people in New Manhattan.”
“Are we going in?” a guy asks, his voice filled with hope, while several people side-eye him with incredulous looks.
Dr. Cummings’s expression is withering. “Absolutely not. That area is highly classified and secured. Permanently above your pay grade.”
My palms begin to sweat as I stare at the door, and my gaze meets Rook’s.
We’ve still never found out what happened to Lacey Turner.
Rumors persist about her disappearance, but for all intents, she was simply erased from existence.
Winter seems to have moved on, or maybe she’s just putting on a brave face.
We aren’t supposed to mourn the loss of the infected, and her grief would only have been tolerated for so long.
Rook runs a hand through his hair, probably having similar thoughts, and exhales a long breath before we’re once again on the move.
Over the next hour, we’re shown the sleeping quarters, the cafeteria, and the other common areas where Storm Guards can relax when off duty, stirring up the excitement of everything I’ve been wishing for. The Storm Guard. This is why I chose Aria.
We finally enter another giant lobby decorated much like the first, with soaring pillars stretching overhead, a massive trickling fountain, and a set of heavy iron gates at the far end.
Dr. Cummings turns to address us. “This is the entrance to The Shield’s information and security wing,” she says.
“Intelligence about the city, communications, and the movement of outside threats are all sent here to be analyzed and discussed with our leaders. They spend much of their time here, meeting with House scions and working with their teams to neutralize possible attacks.”
“Do they know what happened with the people who died last night?” someone asks, raising a hand.
Dr. Cummings shakes her head. “The matter is still under investigation. More than likely, it was either an internal threat or someone breached our perimeter and Solitudes entered the city.”
“I heard it was someone infected,” another person says. “The bodies were all torn up.”
My stomach drops as everyone shifts uncomfortably where they stand.
It’s been a long time since there was a public incident involving a feral Keeper. This is bad. It’ll put everyone on alert.
Dr. Cummings arches a brow, her mouth pinching into a frown. “It’s possible. Keeper murders are very specific, and the bodies will be closely examined for evidence.”
Her answer tightens the knot in my chest.
Another set of sliding glass doors opens, admitting to the lobby an older man with dark-brown skin and gray hair. I recognize him as another scion: House Asale. He’s been to some of my parents’ parties.
He tosses us a quick nod, then approaches a security scanner, swipes a red key card across the panel, and the gates swing open. He enters and disappears around a corner.
Dr. Cummings orders us to keep walking, and we finish the tour to find ourselves inside a glass booth overlooking a simulation room.
It’s at least three times the size of the one we have at Amery, accurately mimicking a smaller version of New Manhattan.
Standing in a circle at one end are about a dozen Storm Guards wearing their black tactical gear and goggles.
Instead of their usual shiny purple harnesses, they’re wearing fitted purple vests that mold to their chiseled forms.
“We’re about to witness a demonstration,” Dr. Cummings says.
“We’ve been experimenting with a new material that helps neutralize storm charges.
Lab tests have been promising, but we’ve yet to try it out in the field.
Our Guards are wearing the prototypes, and we’ve gathered some of the energy from last night’s storm to use. ”
Dr. Cummings turns a few knobs and pushes some buttons on the console stretching before us. A timer starts counting toward the simulation, and the Guards spring into action.
“Their goal is to rescue the group in the middle,” Dr. Cummings says, gesturing to a screen off to our right. The camera reveals three Hollows, all huddled together in the center of the arena.
Immediately, that same nauseous feeling twists in my gut.
The Storm Breakers are on the move, darting in between buildings and obstacles.
They flow like water, dodging a blitz of strikes raining from above. Their pace is much faster, movements more aggressive. They’re mesmerizing to watch, almost like dancers. I feel Rook move beside me as he studies the Breakers weaving in and out.
“Where did you come up with the design?” Rook asks Dr. Cummings. “For the vests and for collecting the charge?”
She blinks, clearly taken aback. “You’re the Solitude,” she says. It isn’t a question, but there’s plenty of heavy implication in her tone. Rook doesn’t answer, simply stares at her, all confidence and self-assurance. How does he do that?
“Through many iterations and years of testing,” she finally says. “General Sol helped develop the earliest prototypes. They were useless at first, but over time, we managed to perfect them to what you see before you.”
Almost as if the energy hears her, one of the Guards is struck, and we all gasp as she flies through the air and a plasma arc flares around her before fading away.
It takes me a moment to realize the Breaker hasn’t been blitzed.
I watch in fascination as she glitters with the remnants of purple Spark, which must be an effect of the vest. Then she rolls over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.
She doesn’t move, but she isn’t dead, and she definitely isn’t a husk of ash.
It’s becoming clearer to me that while I thought I’d be relatively safe training to be a Breaker, their technology is advancing at a rate that could put me at a greater risk.
I wonder how often they’ve started training with real Spark instead of the simulated version we use at school.
I might need a plan if I continue on this path .
. . or I might need to give this dream up.
The thought sits heavy in my chest.
Dr. Cummings flicks on a microphone and orders the medical team to remove her, but she wears a pleased smile. “This is very good,” she says almost to herself.
“So everyone could have one?” Rook asks. “No one would have to fear the storms again?”
Dr. Cummings shrugs. “Perhaps in time, but they’re incredibly costly to make and require materials that are difficult to obtain. The priority will be Breakers and other people of importance first.”
She returns to the simulation, and again, I’m struck by how the Breakers move so seamlessly over the terrain.
It takes about a quarter of an hour for two of them to near the center of the arena.
I find myself gripped by the scene as my gaze darts between the Breakers and the huddling Hollows on the screen.
Spark hasn’t breached their circle yet, but a charge spears down and hits the ground a foot away, exploding up, leaving behind a charred ring. The Hollows’ mouths open in a scream before they leap for cover. That’s when a Breaker emerges between the buildings, shouting orders for them to run.
Dr. Cummings leans forward and reaches for a knob, cranking up the barrage of bursts. More jagged bolts fall from the ceiling, gathering into a potent strike. It hits the Breaker and then the Hollows. Everyone flies several feet.
I squeak out a shocked gasp as we all wait with our hearts in our throats.
It takes a minute for the dust to clear, revealing a coughing Breaker clutching his chest and three blitzed Hollows.
The Breaker struggles to his feet, hacking, struggling to breathe. But he’s alive.
The Hollows, however . . .
They’re nothing but ash and smoke, their bodies charred to husks.
I cover my mouth, horrified.
“Excellent,” Dr. Cummings says with a definitive nod. “Excellent.”