I look back to see the healer ease Kilorn into a sitting position.

Cameron helps gingerly, putting a hand to the bare skin on his back. Suddenly I feel like I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t. With the back of my hand, I quickly swipe away the blood, sweat, and tears dirtying my face.

“I’m going to find out what’s going on,” I mumble, getting to my feet before anyone can protest.

My boots crunch through the debris as I beeline for the electricons. Rafe offers a weak grin. He rips the covering off his head and runs a hand over his closely cropped green hair.

“Looks like he’ll be okay?” he says, jutting his chin back at Kilorn.

I exhale slowly. “Looks like it. What about you all?”

Ella puts an arm around me, lithe as a sapphire cat. “Had less trouble than you, that’s for sure. I think we brought a bit more firepower than anyone might expect for a place like this.”

“The Nortans here were outnumbered and unprepared.” Tyton spits at the street. “Silver kings don’t expect anyone to care, let alone fight, for a Red slum.”

I blink at the implication, surprised. “So we won?”

“They’re certainly acting like we did,” Tyton replies. He gestures with a hand, pointing to the Montfort and Guard soldiers now holding the street. They could be Red techies, if not for the machine guns hanging off them. A few seem to be laughing, exchanging pleasantries with the premier as he walks among them.

“Wonder how they’re doing in Harbor Bay,” Ella says, kicking up a puff of dust.

I lower my eyes. My heart still thunders in my chest, pumping adrenaline through my veins. It makes it hard to think about anything beyond the street. Let alone the people I love, fighting and perhaps dying a few miles away. For a second, I try to forget. Collect myself. Breathe deep and easy. It doesn’t work.

“Premier,” I bark, crossing to him with force.

He looks back, smiling, and even waves a hand to motion me over. Like I need an invitation. “Barrow,” he says. “Congratulations on a job well done.”

It’s hard to feel celebratory with Kilorn lying a few feet away, even with a healer patching him up. That was far too close.

“What about the city? Any word from Farley?”

His smile freezes in place. “Some.”

Something tightens in my chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand. “Is she alive?”

Davidson indicates one of his soldiers, her pack a mess of wires and radio equipment. “As of a few minutes ago, yes. I spoke to the general myself.”

And Tiberias? I bite back the urge to ask about him, at least by name. “Did everything go to plan?” I force out, my mind flying over the many facets of the Harbor Bay invasion.

The premier’s face tightens. “Did you expect it to?” he murmurs.

I almost snarl in frustration. Another round of artillery thunders miles away.

As the adrenaline in me ebbs, a cold takes over, threatening to numb my body. I look back for a moment, watching Cameron as she kneels with Kilorn. They aren’t talking. Both of them are wide-eyed, nearly pinned down by exhaustion and the aftertaste of fear. Then I glance to the electricons. All three of them stare back, resolute.

Ready to follow. Ready to protect their own.

My decision only takes a split second.

“Get me a transport.”

NINETEEN

Evangeline

I’ve never liked Harbor Bay. It stinks of fish and salt water, even in the Silver districts. Soon it will smell only of blood.

The two weeks of rest in the Rift flew by, each minute passing faster than the last. Only last night I was home, nestled against Elane, whispering my good-byes. I wasn’t afraid then. I believed Father wouldn’t let his heirs anywhere close to true danger. Ptolemus and I would be safe, held in reserve to watch the siege and wade in when the fighting ebbed.

I was wrong.

His hunger is deeper than I ever imagined.

He put us on the front lines without a thought.

Now our boats race over the ocean waves, skimming along the stormy blue, cresting with each flash of white foam. I narrow my eyes against the spray, even behind my goggles. The wind tears at my hair with the damp chill of seawater. It would knock me over if my boots weren’t fused to the steel deck below my feet. My ability courses, a low pulse in time with my boat skipping over the water.

We ride with the fog, hidden for now. Montfort’s storm soldiers are talented and powerful. I note ours at the corner of my eye, tall and willowy in her green uniform tightened by ballistic armor. She is helmeted too, only her hands bare, fingers splayed at her sides to drag the fog. No more coveralls or training outfits for anyone. This is real.

House Samos leads the assault from the water, pushing on our metal crafts at high speed. Father is willing to risk our house for victory. Three cousins form the diamond wedge of our frontal assault, their crafts slicing ahead of us. Behind me in my boat, Ptolemus stands firm, his body weighed down with mirrored armor and weaponry. Gun belts crisscross my hips, snug against my muscles. I have a pistol, though I prefer to throw the bullets myself if need be. My cousins of House Samos vary, carrying rifles as well as shard explosives. I picture the seawalls of Fort Patriot, high against the waves. Our first obstacle. My focus sharpens as we approach, narrowing to this place and our objective.

Win the city.

Survive.

Go home.

They will see us coming. Or at least they’ll see the fog rolling off the water. It’s early morning, though, when the air is still heavy and gray. A natural fog wouldn’t seem out of place. It could give us cover longer than anything else. And when Cal strikes from the land, and House Laris from the air, the city guards and the Patriot garrison won’t know where to turn. Which front to fight.

Everything is well coordinated, from the grander assault to each individual boat. Our ranks are well organized. Two magnetrons, one storm, one gravitron at least to each craft, supplemented by trained Red soldiers or other newbloods of Montfort. As well as a few healers sprinkled through each battalion.

Everyone has their job, and if we’re all going to survive, we’re going to do them well.

Fort Patriot looms, a hazy shadow darkening as our fog pushes on. The seawall rises from a breaking rush of white waves. No land below. No foothold. No matter.

For all my anger and rage, I wish my father were here. There is no safer place than his side.

My concentration breaks for a moment as my focus shifts to my brother. I can sense him behind me, and easily trace the shape of his armor. We each carry a small but solid disk of copper tucked into our belts. An odd metal for an attack. Easy to distinguish and feel. Easy to track. I hold on to the sensation of his and mine, memorizing it. If things go wrong, I want to be able to find Tolly as quickly as I can.

The fog outstrips us, easing against the fast-approaching seawall. Whatever clock ticks inside me grows louder, more insistent. It’s time.

Shivering, I turn with a jolt and wrap my arms around Tolly’s shoulders. The hug is quick, sharp, and not gentle. The clang of metal on metal as our armor meets is swallowed by the roaring waves and the rising thunder of my heartbeat.

“Stay alive,” he whispers. I can only nod as I turn back around.

No movement on the seawall, either above or below. Just the waves. Maybe the fog has worked.

“Ready?” I hiss over the din, looking to the barrel-chested Montfort gravitron.

He dips his chin in assertion before crouching against the boat, putting his hand to each side. His palms go flat. Ready to lift.

In the other boats, the other gravitons do the same.

The soldiers behind me kneel. The storm, our two oblivions of Lerolan, and Ptolemus brace for the leap. No Reds in my boat. I want to survive this, and do it without relying on the weakness of red blood, no matter how trained they might be.

I bend down with the rest, my muscles tensing, dreading the chance of impact, if the gravitron isn’t up to snuff. At this speed, I might not be able to stop the boat from slamming into the seawall.

Waves break along the base of the wall, steel gray beneath the fog. They lap high, higher than the crusted saltwater line worn against the wall. Higher than any high tide.

My heart drops in my chest.

“Nymph strike!” I manage to scream as another towering wave crashes—backward.