23
At first, she doesn’t look at me.
She keeps her eyes on her feet as she’s marched across the room. She’s free of makeup and dressed in the burgundy shirt and black pants of an E-squad recruit, her red hair tied into a high ponytail that brushes her shoulders.
I wondered what it would feel like to see her again. Would I feel rage? Hurt? Disappointment? I’m not surprised to discover it’s a combination of all three. What I didn’t expect to feel was pity. There’s something small and pathetic about the curve of her shoulders and the swoop of her back.
Finally, she looks up, finding the courage to acknowledge me. Dark circles ring her eyes, and she’s paler than usual, her freckles standing out starkly against her skin. She’s always had such a love-hate relationship with those freckles.
I offer her nothing but a cold glare. She blinks and swallows, her throat bobbing heavily.
For a moment, she doesn’t move—just watches me as if preparing for an attack.
I tip my head and arch an eyebrow, daring her to say or do something to set me off.
I remind myself that if I ever get out of here, the plan is to befriend her.
Find out her secrets. I must learn to deal with my anger.
I will never, ever forgive her for what she did. However, I do need to find a way to convince her that I’m over it. Somehow.
“Robins,” comes a sharp voice. Major Birch draws her focus toward him. “You will answer The Shield’s questions.”
I hate that I can’t see her face. I want to look into her eyes when she explains why she betrayed me.
“Recruit Robins,” Chancellor Marks says. “Please tell us how you know the accused.”
“We’ve been best friends since the second grade,” she says slowly. “Were best friends, I guess.”
“And you were both House Fiama? Yes?”
She nods. Of course, everyone in the room already knows this. “We were.”
“And what decisions led you to select a rival house?”
She inhales deeply, then tells an abridged version of the events that led her to this spot.
Her failed first test. Her desperation. Her desire to be with me, believing I’d choose to join Aria.
I watch my parents’ faces, wondering what they’re thinking.
They’ve never heard this part of my story—mostly because they refused to listen.
My mother looks at me a lot, while my father studiously avoids my gaze, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
When Trinity is finished, Marks asks, “Can you please tell us what you saw in the Central Park Tree Farm the day of the Storm Guard cadet final exam?”
At this, it feels like everyone in the room tips forward. I do the same, leaning on my toes, every distraction forgotten, even the itching from the gathering storm.
“I was told to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. “Look out for suspicious activity.”
Her voice is small, uncertain. She twists her fingers together, and I wonder if it’s out of guilt or nerves.
“Cadet Graves was clearing an obstacle. It required her to lie on her stomach and shimmy beneath a net of Spark.”
“And then?” Marks prompts. “What happened?”
“The net would discharge every so often. I guess they said it builds up energy or something. Well, I saw it happen. She was under it, and it . . .” She lifts her hands and spreads her fingers. “It hit her. I saw the sparks climb up her leg, and she . . . snuffed them out.”
“I see,” Marks says. “And why was that noteworthy to you?”
“Well, she should’ve been dead, right? Blitzed? It touched her.”
No one responds as she looks around, seeking agreement from the audience.
“Why did it take you a week to report what you saw?” Chancellor Orsen asks. “It wasn’t until the masquerade that you made your accusation public.”
Trinity chokes on a sob, still wringing her hands.
“She’s my friend,” she whispers. “I wasn’t sure at first. I . . .”
“You allowed your loyalty to cloud your judgment and the potential safety of everyone at Amery,” Marks says. “Is that correct?”
Trinity opens her mouth and closes it. Then she nods. I hear her sniffle. She’s crying, and that, more than anything, makes me want to walk over and choke her. Maybe punch her in the face. How fucking dare she?
She’s the one who did this, and she has the nerve to stand there and cry?
She might get reprimanded, maybe serve a light sentence, but she’ll probably be fine. It’s my life on the line.
“What made you decide to speak up?” Sol asks, folding her hands.
Trinity sniffles and wipes the corner of her eye. “Lieutenant Dire. I confided to him what I’d seen, and he understood the truth. He told me I had to bring the accusation to everyone. That it was my duty not only as a citizen of New Manhattan but as a future Extinguisher.”
“You’ve known the accused a long time. Was there anything in your shared history to suggest she was different?” Orsen asks. “Before that day, had you ever had . . . suspicions?”
Trinity doesn’t say anything for a long time, and I hold my breath.
She cries harder, her shoulders shaking. Then I scoff. I can’t help myself. She glances at me with her bloodshot eyes, tears tracking down her face, her nose bubbling with snot. She’s never looked more pathetic.
“She was always . . . weird,” Trinity whispers, and those words knife straight through my chest with another sharp stab of betrayal. “Always twitchy whenever a storm came. I couldn’t say for certain, but something was different about her.”
We regard each other. Did she really feel this way? Among her many transgressions against me, this one might hurt the most. Was she ever my friend at all?
Then she turns away. “I don’t know if I suspected anything, but she wasn’t . . . isn’t . . . normal.”
Then she breaks down, crying so hard that she doubles over, barely able to catch her breath. My hands ball into fists, and I bite my lip until I taste blood.
“We’re finished with her,” Marks says with a wave, his mouth curling into a sneer. Lieutenant Dire and his partner walk over and drag Trinity to the corner, where she tries to pull herself together.
“Next witness,” says Marks, and the door opens again to reveal the same redheaded Storm Guard who was also present during my test. She’s dressed in tactical gear, including her purple harness.
“Lieutenant Danica Stephens,” General Sol says. “Did you witness Cadet Graves the day of the exam in question?”
“Yes,” she says. “I was instructed to keep an eye on the students to ensure everyone was safe.”
“Do you recall seeing the accused at the moment described by Recruit Robins?”
Danica nods, and I perk up. Was she close by, too?
“I do,” she says. “I believe Cadet Graves was struck as Robins suggests.”
My heart plummets to my feet.
“However,” she continues, “due to the nature of Storm Guard training, this is a normal occurrence. Sometimes we are hit with very light charges, but given that we’ve spent time building up a tolerance, it doesn’t affect us the same way it does an average civilian.”
“And was this dose a light charge?”
“I believe so,” Danica says with a confident nod. “I saw it hit her shoe, but she was wearing rubber-soled boots designed to ground charges into other surfaces. In this case, the wooden platform. Combine all those factors, and I saw nothing unusual. The Sparks dissipated immediately.”
“Did she put them out?” General Sol asks, leaning forward. “As attested by Recruit Robins?”
Danica shrugs. “It’s a natural reaction when Spark touches you to try and tamp them out as you might with fire, but they were already gone before she even tried. It all lasted less than a second.”
Everyone turns silent, contemplating Danica’s testimony.
“Bring in the doctor,” Chancellor Orsen says. “I’d like to speak with her again.”
Dr. Eze returns, and she confirms everything Danica claimed.
Once that’s done, the sky has grown dark, and the clouds are still gathering. A storm is imminent, and it’s obvious that fact is also on Sol’s mind. I watch her itch a spot on her wrist before she snatches her hands apart. It makes me feel a little less alone.
“I think I have all the information I need to make a decision,” she announces. “I must excuse myself due to the storm.”
Both Marks and Orsen share a glance across the table. I recall what Sol said about their desire to whittle her out of the city’s leadership and her position of power. She catches their exchange, her shoulders tensing.
“Very well,” Chancellor Marks says. “I agree. I think we’ve heard enough.”
Chancellor Orsen nods. “Please return her to her cell while she awaits our judgment.”
Lieutenant Dire and his partner immediately step away from the wall. Trinity has stopped crying, even though she’s still sniffling.
The Extinguishers approach and take me by the arms, and I look over at my parents.
“Poet,” my mother sobs while my dad draws her against him. It’s not affectionate per se, but it does seem like he’s trying to comfort her.
I’m marched out of the room, feeling every eye on my back.
I haven’t really allowed myself to indulge in pity since the moment they captured me in the market square. I’ve tried to remain strong and have faith in this plan. People are counting on me. Navy. Beckett. And most importantly, Rook.
But as the doors close behind me, tears burn hotly in my eyes, and I can’t help but feel a little sorry for myself.
After all, I might not live to see another sunrise.