53
Dr. Mowry is taken to another room. He fights it at first, but eventually, his head drops and he goes along quietly. I can barely stand to look at the utter defeat on his face.
“He’s been a prisoner for years,” I say. “And now . . .”
“It won’t be forever,” Ada says. “But we can’t release him yet. It’s too risky. He could run to The Shield and tell them about the Fog. Then all of this has been for nothing.”
“But they’re the ones who locked him up,” I argue. “Why would he do that?”
“We can’t assume anything he said is true, Poet.” Ada’s smile is gentle. “You are young, and you still believe people are inherently good. And while that is a wonderful quality to possess, we haven’t lasted this long by accepting anything at face value.”
“You think he’s lying?”
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think he’s lying, but we must confirm his story. Trust but verify.”
“Poet,” Henry says. “Don’t worry. We won’t let anything happen to him, okay?”
“I know you won’t. I’m just . . . I’m out of sorts.”
“We heard about Rook,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
“He’s innocent,” I say, reading the question in their expressions. “He didn’t kill anyone. They’re lying. We were in the Veil when several of those murders happened.”
I haven’t told them what my father said—or didn’t say—but it’s just a hunch, and I’m not sure they’ll believe me. If I tell them now, they’ll think I’m just trying to protect Rook.
Henry runs a hand down his face, clearing away the skepticism in his eyes. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. None of that sounds like Rook.”
“Sol was there yesterday,” I say. “She was screaming at her Guards to arrest him.”
“She was?” Henry asks. “That’s . . . troubling.”
“But then she sent me a message telling me she had a plan and everything would be fine.”
Ada sighs and folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t think we should assume anything either way,” she answers. “Sol might be compromised. Or she could be telling you the truth, and she really does have a plan.”
I huff. “Or she was lying to us all along. Just like you said.”
She tips her head, offering me a sympathetic look. “Dr. Mowry’s story corroborates a lot of what she claimed, so there must have been some truth to it.”
“I suppose, but until we know for sure, we have to find him,” I say. “He’s hiding somewhere.”
“Or he left,” Henry says, voicing the thoughts I’ve been having trouble acknowledging too closely.
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t leave me.” My eyes burn. “He wouldn’t.”
Henry peers at me. “I know you care for him, and it’s obvious he cares for you, too.” He takes my hand carefully, almost as if he’s afraid I might break. “But he never belonged here. This isn’t his world. This isn’t his life.”
“I know all that, but he wouldn’t just leave me,” I insist. “He wouldn’t.” I tug my hand away, not in the mood to be soothed. “Will you help me look for him?”
“Poet,” Ada says. “Our priority right now is the cure and exposing The Shield. Rook is more than capable of taking care of himself.”
“That’s it?”
“We will do what we can, but we’re working with limited resources,” Ada says.
I want to keep arguing, but part of me sees her point. That doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Sure,” I say, then without another word, I leave the room to find Domino seated on a chair, talking with some other members of the Fog.
“Is everything okay?” she asks when she notices me.
“They won’t help me find Rook.”
She stands up and walks over. “We’ll find him. I promise.”
I sniff and wipe an errant tear from the corner of my eye with the heel of my hand.
“It’s almost five. We need to get back for curfew,” Domino says, so we head back to Amery.
We aren’t questioned as we enter; they just let us pass, marking our names on a list.
The screens in the main hall are playing another news broadcast. Rook’s face flashes across them all, and it makes my chest hurt. He’s staring at the camera with that dark intensity I love so much.
The newscaster is saying there have been no sightings, and I wonder if Henry is right.
Is he gone? Did he leave me? I don’t want to believe it, but I also want him to be safe.
I can’t stand the idea of never marveling at the green and gold of his eyes.
At never tracing my fingertips over his freckles.
At never being held or feeling his warmth again. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.
The next days pass in a haze of classes and training, with Dean Withers determined to pretend everything at Amery is business as usual.
I go through the motions, but my heart isn’t in it.
Henry is quiet but sympathetic. In a low voice, he tells me they’re searching the tunnels for evidence of Rook, hoping to offer him a safe place to hide if he needs it, but he says they’ve found nothing to suggest he’s still in New Manhattan.
I start texting his phone. I know he can’t reply. He turned off his location tracking months ago, but I’m sure they’re monitoring his phone for messages.
Probably mine, too.
So I pretend that I’m writing him a letter.
me: I miss you.
me: I hope you’re safe.
I toss in a few lines to throw off anyone who might be reading.
me: Come back to me.
me: You’ll be fine if you just come home.
He won’t buy any of it. If he’s reading these, I hope he understands.
I talk about the birthday cake he bought me and how I can still taste it. I recall our night at Sogno when we danced and he took such tender care of me. I talk about his music and his books, carefully skirting around anything that reveals too much of the Veil.
If he left the city, these notes aren’t going anywhere. Just pinging into the ether, lost to nothing.
The thought of that splits my heart into a thousand little fragments.
I start telling him about my day. Just the mundane details of what I learned in class and what’s happening in training. What I had for lunch. It’s silly, but it makes me feel like I have a connection to him, even if it’s entirely one-sided.
Journey is also constantly on my mind. Domino has been in contact with her parents, who are obviously worried sick. The Shield is promising trials for the accused, and Journey’s family is trying to find out when she’ll go before a tribunal, but details aren’t forthcoming.
It’s the middle of the night, and I’m tossing and turning in bed when I decide I need some fresh air. It’s stifling in here, and I’m restless. A storm is rolling in, and it’s making me antsy.
I take the stairs, locating the eighth-floor balcony where Edward and I found Trinity last year after she’d failed her first initiation test.
Pulling my jacket tight, I approach the edge and peer up at the sky tumbling with amethyst clouds. I escaped to the outskirts on my own about a week ago, so I’m not desperate for a hit, but the Spark calls to me nonetheless.
Is Rook looking at this same sky right now? Is he thinking about me?
The clouds flash as the wind picks up, tossing my hair and clothing. I should move inside. I’m too exposed out here, but I’m feeling defiant tonight. I’m so sick of hiding. So tired of lying about what I am. I just want to be free. But maybe freedom was always an illusion for me.
A cloudburst explodes overhead, bolts of Spark spreading in every direction. Sometimes I forget how beautiful it really is.
Gripping the railing, I scan the buildings surrounding me. Everything is dark, so maybe I’m safe enough. I reach out my hand and look up, calling to it.
It doesn’t take long.
A jagged spear of light breaks off from the next cloudburst, and it strikes me.
I back up, concealing myself in the shadows as agony rips through me. It breaks apart inside me, tearing me up. My fist squeezes. My eyes close, and I let it take me away. It consumes me in waves, shredding through my limbs, then shifts into euphoria.
My bones become air. My thoughts float into puffs.
I wish he were here with me.
I was alone with this for so long, and then I met Rook and everything changed.
Now he’s been taken from me again, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
I douse the Sparks and then watch the storm for another minute.
I’m desperate to feel closer to Rook, so I head for the basement and our dorm room. It’s cold and dark without someone to start the fire, and I don’t bother as I crawl into his bed, put my face into his pillow, and inhale his scent.
Green apples. Fresh grass. The wind and trees and that raw wildness that has always been him.
I pull the blanket over me, tuck my knees up, and stare into the dark.
At some point, I must drift off, only to be startled awake by a high-pitched ringtone. I check my phone, but it isn’t mine.
I follow the sound to Rook’s desk, open the drawer, and find the other phone he had with him when he returned from the Veil.
“Hello?” I ask as I press the accept button.
“Rook?” comes the deep voice on the other end.
“High Commander,” I say.
“Who’s this? Where’s Rook?”
“It’s Poet,” I answer. I’d completely forgotten Rook had this phone. I should have contacted his parents as soon as he disappeared. “Rook’s gone.”
“What happened? Where is he?” I can practically feel the heat of the high commander’s fury through the line.
I tell Summit what happened and that it’s been almost two weeks since anyone has heard from his son.
“And you have no idea where he is?” Summit asks. “None at all?”
“We can’t communicate,” I say. “Everyone’s been looking for him, but he’s hiding himself well.” I pause and then add, “I thought he might have gone home. He might be on his way to you.”
“It’s possible,” High Commander Athira agrees, and his confirmation feels like a steel fist tearing through my chest. “I’ll ask the others to keep an eye out for him on their way to the city.”
It takes me a moment to process those words.
“The city?”
“That’s why I’ve been calling,” Summit says. “There was another attack on the Veil. Only this time, they hit one of the Whisper Sanctums. They killed everyone.”
My mouth opens on a silent scream.
“All of them?” I whisper.
“Yes. My son . . . Beckett . . .”
I cover my mouth, my stomach pitching, rolling in waves. “Skies, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” he says, and while I doubt the high commander is given to strong expressions of emotion, I sense him barely keeping it together.
“I still don’t understand what you mean, though. Who’s coming to the city?”
“The Veil must answer this attack,” Summit says. “We’ve put up with The Shield’s abuse for long enough. We cannot let this slide without delivering a message of our own.”
“You’re attacking us,” I say, my voice dropping.
“I’m sorry. I understand New Manhattan is your home, but they killed over a hundred innocent people who were unable to defend themselves.”
I shake my head, but he can’t see me. “No. I . . . understand. I’d want justice, too.” I swallow. “You should know that we . . . found the cure.”
“What?” Summit asks. “Really?”
I explain everything we learned from Dr. Mowry, and when I’m done speaking, he’s silent for several seconds.
“We need it, Poet,” he says, impassioned. “We need that information.”
“I know,” I say.
“I understand I have no right to ask this of you, but . . .”
“You want me to bring it to you.”
“You’re our only hope unless we can find Rook.”
“I’ll find him,” I say. “If he’s still here. I’ll find him.”
“Navy and Justin will help you. They’re on the way with Lieutenant General Rey.”
I remember the blond woman from the day she fought Fisher at Cloudspire.
“Okay,” I say, suddenly conflicted. I should tell someone that an invasion is imminent, but I don’t really know whose side I’m on. “Will your army hurt people?”
“That is what war is about,” Summit says. “I cannot ask you not to warn them, but it won’t matter anyway. Even if they’re ready for us, we’re coming.”
“I understand,” I say, nodding.
“Find my son. If he returns here in the meantime, I will reach out to Justin.”
“Of course,” I reply. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
Then the line disconnects, and I stare at the phone.
Rook’s brother is dead.
The Shield attacked an entire sanctuary full of innocent Keepers and killed them in cold blood.
The Veil is coming for us.
How will I get a message to Rook?
Then I have an idea.
I know a place we can meet where no one will see us. A place only he knows about.
I send a message.
me: I often think about that night you first told me about Andromeda. Someone told me it means princess. Now I understand why you said it reminded you of someone. I wish we could go back.
There. Hopefully he understands that this is an emergency.
Now I just have to wait for the next storm to arrive.