The Eel maneuvers through the once-towering buildings. Lights from the sub sweep over an enormous multileveled bridge with giant towers that crisscross like an insect’s web. What a great civilization this must have been, to have built such a grand system of thoroughfares.
Next, we pass over what appears to be a huge coliseum. It must have seated at least fifty thousand people. But all those seats are empty now, barnacles clinging to them like a cancer, eating away at them until they’re barely recognizable.
Then we’re rising again. The lights grow brighter until I can make out the ramps and platforms of a docking bay looming all around the Eel.
We’ve arrived at Infiernos—the one place I’d hoped to never see again in my life.
I’m about to face them all. Flame Squad—Leander, Rodrigo, Dahlia, and worst of all Arrah. What can I possibly say to erase what I’ve done to them? And how am I going to look Cage and the other rebels I betrayed in the eye again?
The cabin door bursts open.
Two armed Imposers stand at attention on either side of the doorway. Can’t see how I’m much of a flight risk. Where the hell would I go on a sub?
Captain Valerian marches through the hatch and stands in front of me. The expression on her face is so cold, I feel like I’m getting hypothermia just looking at her. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I was arrested.
Though she’s always looked at all of us trainees with contempt, I’m surprised to see a ripple of something else in her expression now—is it disappointment? Pity?
Why should I even care? She’s one of them.
She sighs. “Despite my initial misgivings when you were recruited, I truly expected more from you, Spark. Even when you were a Fifth Tier, I could see in your training that your abilities far exceeded those of your elder trainees. I allowed myself to believe that you had what it takes to get things done. That you would come through under the most difficult of circumstances.” She shakes her head.
I lean in closer so that we’re practically nose to nose. “Begging your pardon, Sir, but torturing and dehumanizing people is more a measure of cowardice than it is strength.”
She smiles, but there doesn’t seem to be any pleasure in it. “Ah, an idealist. Not everything in life falls into neat little compartments labeled good and evil. Eventually everyone has to get their hands a little dirty to get things done.”
Before I can ask her what she means, she motions to the guards, who step inside. One of them hands her a familiar-looking duffel bag. Mine.
She begins to rummage through it. “When you were taken into custody, Spark, you certainly didn’t have that many items of interest among your personal effects. Just these.” She pulls out a set of shiny Recruit ID tags, Digory’s and mine, and lets them dangle in front of my eyes before shoving them back in the bag. “And this.” She holds out the holocam with Digory’s journal.
I feel sick. I knew they must have found it, but I’d hoped that somehow they’d bury it in some storage locker where I might one day get it back before they realized what it meant to me.
Valerian activates the recording, and Digory’s face appears between her and me.
“I’m leaving for the Recruitment Ceremony now,” Digory says. “I’m confident that before this day is over, I’ll be able to gather intel as to Lucian Spark’s true allegiances. I think I can get him to trust me…”
Again, that uneasy feeling grips me like a stranglehold. Why was I so important to Digory and the rebellion? No. I don’t want to know. All I want is to rip the holocam from Valerian’s hand before it can continue. But I’m paralyzed.
“I promise I won’t fail you,” Digory says, and for a crazy moment I think he’s talking to me. I wish he were.
The recording bleeps and a small window opens in the lower right corner of the screen, with the words Incoming Transmission flashing inside it.
Then it hits me. This whole time, I’d assumed Digory was chronicling his private thoughts, when in fact he was communicating with someone else. Probably Jeptha or another one of the rebel leaders, maybe even his husband, Rafé—
There’s a burst of static in the new transmission window, coalescing into the image of the mysterious second party.
The Trials may not have killed me, but at this moment, the image of Digory’s superior does.
It’s Cassius.
All the hurt, all the pain, the sorrow, the grief—all of it blends together in a molten avalanche.
It’s all been a lie.
“Excellent work, Tycho,” Cassius says. “I eagerly anticipate the filing of your next report. Your efforts to quell this insurrection from the inside will be duly rewarded.”
Digory nods and smiles. “It’s an honor, Prefect Thorn, Sir.”
The image freezes on Digory’s face, then begins to pixelate, obliterating any semblance of familiarity. But it’s still seared into my brain.
Valerian shuts off the holocam. I half-expect her to be gloating over the pain she’s inflicted. But she appears stern, like a parent who’s just administered a harsh lesson to their unruly child. She holds up the holo and the ID tags. “Maybe I can get them to let you keep these in your cell.”
I shake my head. “They’re garbage. Possessions of a dead man. Toss ’em.”
As she shoves the items back into the duffel bag, the two Imps shackle my hands together, shove the butt of their neurostim weapons into my lower back, and prod me out of the room.
At least I’m not shackled to false memories anymore. Digory Tycho is truly dead.
FOURTEEN
I follow Valerian through the bulkhead into the corridor. “Where are we going?”
“You’re an Incentive now,” she says without looking back. “Time to find out just who will be championing you this time.”
Considering that I’ve betrayed every single one of the Recruits, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already made a pact that whoever I’m paired with will lose the first round of the Trials deliberately, just so they can all watch me die as soon as possible.
That is, unless my former trainee companions—now fellow Incentives—don’t take me out first.
“Let’s go,” Valerian grunts.
After having been confined to that cramped berth for days, my limbs ache as I hurry to keep pace with her, the guards’ neurostims digging into my back every time I start to fall behind. We head forward, down the narrow passageway, until we reach the hatch leading to the nerve center of the entire craft: the Control and Attack Center. I pause for a moment just outside the CAC hatchway before following Valerian through.
The chamber is much wider than the corridor, running the full width of the Eel. A myriad of screens and equipment banks blink and flash with activity as crew members seated at the consoles monitor screens and gauges.
To my right, several Imps stand watch over a disheveled group of five people who are shackled just like I am. They must be the family members of the rebel Recruits. The only one I recognize is Corin. The poor kid. The fear on their faces sends ice caps bobbing through my blood. That look is engraved in my brain. I saw the same look on Gideon’s parents, the Warricks, and even on Ophelia’s mother, Mrs. Juniper. It’s the look of people who know they’re going to die and are just waiting, wondering which second it will strike.
To my left, Arrah, Dahlia, Leander, and Rodrigo stand shackled as well. They look exhausted, their eyes bloodshot, shoulders sagging. But the moment our eyes connect it’s like a wave of electricity courses through them, making them stand erect. It fills their eyes with crackling fire that burns right through me.