22
A door to my left opens, revealing my parents escorted by two Extinguishers. My mom offers me a helpless little wave, and I jerk my bound hands in an approximation of a greeting. My father pins me with a grim look before turning to The Shield, pressing a hand to his chest, and dipping at the waist.
“Protect. Preserve. Prosper,” he mumbles before he joins my mother in a row of chairs lined up against the wall. Then several more people enter. Dean Withers. Some of my professors. A few other people I don’t recognize.
Scion Beaufort arrives next. She doesn’t look at me as she settles into a seat as far away from my parents as possible.
I can’t help but remember her threats the day I was sworn in as a member of House Aria.
She warned me about stepping out of line, though I doubt she understood just how far I’d fall.
She’s probably here to make sure I’m banished from her House for good.
Another Extinguisher comes next. I’ve seen him before, but only at a distance.
Major Jenson Birch is the epitome of the brutal squad he leads.
He’s of medium height, with pale skin and a tanklike build.
His short neck is choked off with a band of muscle, and his bald head reflects the lights.
A lowered brow shields small, dead eyes and a wide nose with a bump, suggesting it’s been broken at least once.
He stops and salutes The Shield while clutching an object in one of his meaty hands. Then he spins on a heel and approaches. It takes all of my willpower not to scurry back.
He scans me up and down and reveals the same blood test monitor they used during our Storm Guard evaluations.
“You know what this is?” he asks. His voice is higher than I expected, given his appearance. Almost cartoonish. In any other instance, it might be funny, but given the way he’s looking at me right now—like he wants to slice me open and dig out secrets from the meat of my organs—it definitely isn’t.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Turn around. Give me your hand.”
I do as he asks, slowly facing away, while I try to control the trembling in my fingers. I passed the test once, but was that a fluke? General Sol assured me it wouldn’t be a problem, but how far can I trust her word?
The captain grips my wrist, and I grimace.
His skin is hot, searing. Unpleasant. Without ceremony, he jabs the device’s tip into my finger, and I gasp.
Both from the shock and the bright flash of pain.
The room is silent while he draws my blood, and the machine whirs and beeps like it’s a deadly insect hiding between the sheets, waiting until I’m tucked into bed to strike.
When he’s finished, he releases me and steps away. I turn back around to find every eye in the room focused on the machine as it decides my fate. I hold perfectly still, reminding myself to breathe, but it’s of little use. I grow lightheaded, and my stomach cramps.
A moment later, the light flashes . . . green.
The air whooshes out of me along with the collective tension around the room. I glance at my father, who offers me the slightest nod before looking away.
Major Birch turns to The Shield. “She’s clear.”
“Thank you,” Chancellor Marks says as the Extinguishers all take up positions against the wall.
Another door to my right opens, revealing three more people, including two enormous Extinguishers flanking Dr. Eze, who’s wearing a lab coat with her long dark braids gathered at her nape. She looks so tiny compared to these hulking beasts. What do they feed these guys?
Her gaze flicks to me, and a hard pellet relaxes in my chest. She told me I could trust her that day we visited the Tempestade and witnessed the callous demonstration where they killed those Hollows.
The Extinguishers bring her to a stop near the front of the room, planting her before the members of The Shield. A moment later, she’s left alone, standing with her hands behind her back and her shoulders squared.
“Dr. Ada Eze,” Chancellor Marks says. “Thank you for joining us.”
“Of course,” she says. She’s angled slightly away, so I can’t read the expression on her face. “Anything to clear this matter up.”
“You’ve tested the accused and her levels of resistance to Spark?” Marks continues as the doctor nods.
“As we do with all Storm Guard cadets.”
“And you noticed nothing unusual?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing at all. She does possess a higher-than-average ability to withstand and ground Spark, but it’s well within the usual parameters.”
“Why would she be higher than average?” The question comes from Chancellor Orsen this time.
He must know the answer, but it feels like he’s asking for the benefit of the crowd.
The doctor shrugs. “It’s like any innate ability. A combination of genetics and luck.”
“Did you test her beyond the initial round?” General Sol asks.
Again, I’m sure she knows the answer but is clarifying for the audience.
I notice someone in the corner frantically scribbling notes on a tablet, and I wonder if my trial’s details will make it to the newsfeed.
I can’t decide if that will help or hinder my case.
“Of course,” Dr. Eze says. “As Storm Guard cadets continue their training, we keep a careful eye on how they react to increasingly strong doses of galvanic energy. In most cases, the students will develop increasing immunity as time goes on.”
“And in other cases?”
“In other cases, they simply do not progress. Some people do not have the evolutionary requirements to do so. As you well know, General, when that happens, they are offered other positions in the Tempestade beyond the front line.”
“And what happened in Poet’s case?” Sol asks.
“She made the typical progress we see in a promising Storm Guard cadet.”
“What about for a Breaker?” Sol asks.
“Yes,” Dr. Eze says with a nod. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she eventually qualified for Breaker training.”
I stand very still as they pepper her with more and more questions. Dr. Eze is lying. I’m sure of it. Under oath. To the entire Shield. She’s lying for me, and it must be due to General Sol. How many people are in on this?
While they interrogate her about the science behind the evolutionary process that results in Keepers, I do my best to ignore the brewing storm. It’s gathering strength, the clouds billowing and tumbling. I wonder if General Sol will have to excuse herself, leaving me without an ally.
I notice her glance out the window, worry furrowing her brow. She checks something on her watch, then returns her attention to the trial.
Finally, The Shield finishes with Dr. Eze, and she’s escorted away. I wish I could catch her eye, but she doesn’t look over.
Next to appear is Henry, and I nearly collapse in relief. I don’t know if he’s here to speak on my behalf, but his presence is always reassuring. He nods at me, his mouth pressed into a hard line, before he’s positioned in front of The Shield.
“Lieutenant Henry Crawford,” Marks says. “Tell us your relationship to the accused.”
Henry links his hands behind his back, spreading his stance. “I was her Storm Guard trainer at Amery Academy.”
“Anything else?”
“I was in a relationship with her brother before he died.”
His voice dips on the last word, and I look over at my parents. My mom is clutching her throat, while my dad sits with an arm draped across the back of her chair, his legs crossed as he stares at Henry without expression.
“Do you know her well?”
“Not really,” Henry says. “We didn’t engage much on a personal level prior to her brother’s death, and our interactions were strictly academic during her training.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about her?”
“Not at all, Chancellor. She was a talented and dedicated cadet, much like her brother.”
My throat knots at those words, tears threatening to rise.
I’ve become so good at repressing the emotions that always surface at the mention of Raine.
But now they return, bubbling under my skin, reminding me of what I lost. I watch Henry’s shoulders twitch, almost as though he wants to turn my way.
“During the cadet simulations, you didn’t see anything that might have been cause for concern?” General Sol asks.
Again, Henry defends me, assuring The Shield that I’m not a freak.
He continues for the next ten minutes as they try to find a way to get him to accuse me of something. Throughout it all, he remains stoic. Calm. In control. I want to scream, but no one seems to be paying me any attention. It’s probably better that way.
When Henry is taken away, he’s replaced by a few more people from the cadet program, including our other trainers, Brooklyn and Chandler.
Everyone’s answers are some version of Henry’s—I was a good cadet, promising, totally normal.
While my trial goes on, I shift from foot to foot.
It’s not even the storm that’s making me uncomfortable anymore.
I’m just getting tired of standing here. Couldn’t they have offered me a chair?
When the last of the trainers is taken away, the door opens again, and my breath condenses in my lungs when I see who’s next.
This was inevitable, and our time has come.
Trinity.