head lolling against the velocity couch, eyes closed as if she was sleeping.
But she is well, I realize.
All is well.
“Is everyone okay? Tyler asks, his voice rasping from my blow to his throat.
Slow nods in response.
“Kal, you told me you had a handle on this!” he says, glaring at me.
“I am sorry,” I say. I am aghast at what I have done. To have lost myself so completely. “I … I did not mean … I did not know the weapon was set to incapacitate. And seeing Aurora in danger …”
I shake my head. Trying to find the words. But how can I describe what it is to fly to those who have never even seen the sky?
“I am sorry,” I say again, looking at Zila. “De’sai. I am shamed.”
“Legionnaire Madran, explain yourself,” Tyler demands, turning on the girl.
Zila blinks, takes a moment to focus. “It occurred to me that Aurora has mostly manifested hidden gifts when asleep or unconscious. I thought—”
“You thought shooting her without warning would be a good idea?”
“It was a calculated risk, sir,” Zila says. “If I warned Aurora, the probability of a calamitous defensive reaction increased dramatically.”
The squad exchange looks, unsure who poses the greatest threat to them—Zila or myself. It may be inexcusable, but at least I have a reason for the violence of my reaction. Zila … It is as though she simply does not fit here. As if she is simply incapable of understanding what is done and what should not be.
Tyler closes his eyes, rubs at his temples.
“Zila, you’re the smartest person on this ship,” he says. “You might be one of the smartest people in the whole Legion. Do you know what your problem is?”
“I … would be happy to hear your feedback, sir,” she replies.
“Your problem is that you know how everything works except other people.”
She blinks at that.
I think I see tears gleaming in her eyes.
“I am—”
Cat curses and scrambles back as Aurora stands bolt upright. Her muscles are tense, her whole body rigid as steel. Her eyes are open, her right iris burning white. Her hair is blowing as if in a breeze, a faint nimbus of dark light traces her body. This close to her, I can feel current crackling off her skin. Taste sodium on my tongue. Feel a force thrumming in the air and in my chest.
“Well, well.” Finian raises one pale eyebrow at Zila. “You called it.”
“Aurora?” I ask.
She stretches out her arms, rising slowly off the floor.
“Nnnu-u-uuh,” she says.
“Auri, can you hear me?” Tyler asks, stepping forward.
The static pulses, I can feel the hair on my scalp rising. The Longbow is shaking, the power flickering, a faint screaming building in the air. Aurora turns those burning, mismatched eyes on Tyler, the light about her shimmering black.
Scarlett approaches slowly, apparently fearless, hands raised before her.
“Who are you?”
The ship trembles around us, the screaming grows louder and the light flares darker as Aurora struggles to speak.
“N-nnnotwho,” she replies. “Whatn-nnnotwhonotw-w-whoWHAT.”
“All right, what are you?” Scarlett asks.
“Eshvarennnnnn-n-nn,” she replies.
My pulse quickens at the word. The name of the Ancient Ones, extinguished hundreds of millennia ago. The first of us to find the Fold. The first of us to walk the stars. I look to Finian in triumph, watching the skepticism melt from his black eyes. Aurora tilts her head, and my heart lurches sideways as blood begins to spill from her nose, dribbling down her chin.
“What do you want?” Tyler demands, steadying himself as the ship shudders.
Aurora makes no reply, turning to the cabin around her. She spies the Trigger, laying where it rolled beneath the main console. She reaches toward it and the statue trembles in reply, rising up from the floor seemingly of its own accord. Her eyes narrow, she curls her fingers into a fist. Cracks appear on the Trigger’s surface, the sound of splintering metal echoes in the air.
I step forward, hand outstretched. We all risked our lives to attain that sculpture, we all—
“No!”
The Trigger shatters, shards of metal spraying across the bridge. A splinter cuts my cheek, another whistles past my throat, the screaming in my ears rising. And there, floating in the air before Aurora, is the diamond that once sat in the sculpture’s chest. It is larger than I first thought—its bulk was mostly hidden, like an iceberg beneath an ocean’s surface. It is glowing now, and its surface is carved with a complicated tracery of spirals.
Aurora beckons and the gemstone floats toward her, coming to rest in the