16
When my eyes open, I’m not sure how long I’ve been out.
Eventually, I drifted off, and I’ve lost all sense of time without daylight.
Rook is curled around me in the tiny bed, his big body warming me up from the inside out.
I snuggle deeper into him. We might not be in the same place we were the night of the graduation ball, but wherever we are feels right.
He didn’t know about Raine. He didn’t lie about that.
It was all just an unfortunate coincidence.
Knowing that softens the hard-edged worry that’s been lodged in my gut.
It’s relief. A chance to come back.
“Morning,” he murmurs, and I look up to find him watching me.
“Hi,” I say. “How did you sleep?”
“Amazing,” he answers. “One of the most formative things I learned at Amery is how much better I sleep with you beside me.”
My cheeks flush at the sincerity in his tone. “Same,” I reply, and he smiles. “How are you feeling?”
“A bit sore,” he says, stretching his neck. “But I’ll live.”
“Glad to hear it,” comes a voice from the door, where both of Rook’s parents stand. I let out a sharp squeak and try to scramble off the bed, but Rook’s strong arm holds me in place. His mom is beaming, while his dad gauges me with a wary eye.
“How are you doing?” Faroe asks, crossing the room and touching Rook’s cheek.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he says, finally releasing his hold on my waist. I sit up, feeling sheepish as I stuff my feet into my boots to avoid making eye contact.
“What’s going on?” Rook asks. “What is General Sol doing here?”
Summit places his hands on his hips. “She wants to see you both.”
“How did she find us? Do you know her?”
His parents exchange a meaningful look.
“You might say that,” Summit answers.
“What haven’t you told me?” Rook demands.
“You know what you need to know. You understand how this works. Not everything is for your ears.”
“Right,” Rook says, jaw clenching. “And now?”
Summit dips his chin. “Get dressed. She’s waiting for you.”
Then he turns on his heel and walks away.
Faroe leans down and kisses Rook on the forehead. “We’ll see you in a few minutes. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “Starving, actually.”
“We’ll get something sent over,” she says and then turns to me. “What about you, Poet?”
“Sure,” I say. “I guess.”
It’s been a while since I’ve eaten, so I must be hungry, but I’m also so nervous that food is the last thing on my mind.
Faroe walks over and takes my hand, squeezing it with a watery smile. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”
As she leaves, I glance over at Rook, taking in his grin. “What are you smiling at?” I ask.
“My family likes you.”
“Your dad does not like me.”
“He’ll come around.”
Rook tosses off his blanket and swings his legs to the floor with a groan. Then he sits up, stretching his back and arms. He’s wearing only his boxer briefs, and despite being covered in bandages and bruises, he looks good.
“Navy brought clothes for you,” I say, pointing to a pile in the corner. “I’ll let you get dressed.”
Ten minutes later, Rook and I are escorted through the base flanked by the general’s Circle Guards.
We approach a set of wide doors that hiss open, admitting us into a dark-blue hallway, then into a large study.
Wooden bookcases painted in the same blue as the walls line one side, while the other boasts a floor-to-ceiling window stretching at least twenty feet high.
It looks out onto a barren field of nothing, and I briefly wonder why anyone would bother with a view as depressing as this, but the clouds are sparse today, and the sun is nice.
An unlit fireplace sits on one wall, surrounded by a gathering of dark-blue sofas. On them are High Commander Summit Athira, Commander Faroe Athira, and General Nyxia Sol.
She stands as we approach, a flutter of apprehension crossing her expression.
“I believe you’ve met,” Summit says to me before gesturing to Sol.
“Yes,” I say, recalling the conversation we had standing in the rain, when she reminded me that it was my duty to marry Knox and keep him in line. I’ve broken so many of New Manhattan’s rules that a part of me wonders how I’m still alive at all.
“And my son,” Summit says. “First Lieutenant Rook Athira.”
The way Summit offers up Rook’s title is a pointed reminder. While he might have been masquerading as a mere Amery student, that isn’t really who he is. Rook is someone to be respected and never underestimated.
“We haven’t had the formal pleasure,” Sol says. “Though I understand you’ve had quite the time at Amery this year.”
Rook nods and dips at the waist. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. It’s polite, but I sense an uncertain edge. Neither of us understands what’s happening, and worry is gnawing holes through my stomach.
“Please come and sit,” General Sol says. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.”
I share a glance with Rook. It doesn’t seem like we’re in trouble, but she might just be trying to ease us toward our inevitable capture and death.
We drop onto a love seat side by side, our thighs touching. General Sol sits across from us, next to Rook’s mom, while his dad takes up the armchair at the end.
“What’s going on?” Rook says when no one speaks.
General Sol and Summit exchange a look. “Do you want to begin?” she asks, a dark brow arched.
Summit sits forward in his seat with his hands clasped.
“No one but the people in this room knows that General Sol and I have been in communication for many years,” he says.
“We have a common goal in protecting Whispers from their unjust treatment and putting an end to what happens to them in New Manhattan.”
I feel Rook react to that statement with a slight shift in his posture.
“Okay,” he says. “And?”
General Sol answers. “When you fled the city that night, I suspected this was where you’d run. And that you’d taken her with you.” She levels me with a look. “I know what you are, Poet Graves.”
“What am I?” I ask, wondering what she’s referring to specifically.
“Your father confided in me many years ago,” General Sol says, and I stiffen, recalling my conversation in the tunnels with my nanny’s daughter, Greta. “He was worried about you. About anyone finding out that you were . . . different.”
“A Keeper?” I ask.
“At first, yes, but he began to suspect you were something else.”
“What else?”
I think I know what she means, but I want to hear it from her.
“A Storm Caller,” she says. “Like me.”
Rook already suspected this, but hearing it confirmed becomes a shock to my already taxed system.
All this time, she was something else entirely.
I release a tense breath. “How did my father know?”
“He noticed how you reacted to the storms,” she says.
“He wondered if it was normal, and that’s when I began to suspect.
He followed you when you left the city. Then there was the purple hair.
As I’m sure you’ve already surmised, it is a trait among people like us.
I didn’t intend for it to become a trend, but I encouraged it, hoping it would hide anyone else who might find themselves in the same position. ”
I blink furiously as tears prick my eyes. I would never have suspected my father of noticing much about me, but for all his faults, he’s never been a fool.
Then her gaze finds Rook. “And after speaking with the high commander today, I understand Poet isn’t the only one.”
Rook’s expression darkens, and I wonder if he’s angry with his father for revealing this.
“Don’t blame him,” she says, perhaps picking up on it. “When you hear what I have to say, I hope you’ll understand why he told me.”
Sol runs a palm down her leather-clad thigh.
“The Shield doesn’t know,” she continues, “that I am different. They assume I’m a Keeper like the others.
They’ve allowed me to live and perform my duty as head of the Storm Guard only out of necessity.
I convinced them a long time ago that I don’t pose a threat because I’ve learned to control the mind deterioration that happens in Keepers. ”
“Is that true?” Rook asks. “Does it affect us the same way? Is there a need to control it? Will we . . . lose our minds?”
Sol shakes her head. “So little is known about Callers. I’ve only met two others in my lifetime. From what I’ve determined, we don’t have the same risk of developing the sickness that plagues our thoughts.”
“Really?” I ask. “But I feel so strange after I touch it. Like my mind is stretched.”
“A normal side effect,” she says. “A harmless one.”
Her words are a balm, easing the terrified knot that I’ve been carrying in my chest for years.
“Why are you lying about what you are?” I ask. “To what end?”
“Chancellors Marks and Orsen do not appreciate the position I hold,” she says.
“I am not one of them. I came from the underground, a Hollow. Even worse, a Scavenger. The order of New Manhattan was never designed to benefit someone like me. But I made myself useful. Without my ability to capture Spark and fuel the city, we wouldn’t have made so many advances over the past decades.
We wouldn’t have become self-sufficient.
“They are threatened by me and, by extension, they fear all Keepers. It’s no secret that without my abilities, the city would fall.
They’ve spent years trying to undermine me, and when Marks created the Extinguishers, it was a warning to me and anyone like me.
They hunt down Keepers to ensure they are controlled and eliminated, so that no one else might wield the same influence I’ve managed to cultivate. ”
General Sol stops speaking, her gaze landing on the fireplace and then returning to us. “And while my mind is intact, my body is not,” she says, her tone weighed down with iron chains.
I exhale a small gasp.
“Last year, the doctors gave me a prognosis that I wouldn’t live much longer. A year or two at most. That was sixteen months ago.”
Her words settle around us as I study her face. She appears healthy—in the prime of her life—but I suppose looks can be deceiving.
“I need someone to take my place,” she says. “And you are the only ones who can do it.”