on Terra, because a Syldrathi war cruiser just dropped in from the FoldGate. Fully armed. Wraith-class. They’re flying Unbroken colors. And they’re headed this way.”
Aedra looks at me across the cargo bay, her eyes growing wide.
“Um, totally unrelated question,” Scarlett Jones says. “But did anyone bring a spare pair of pants, perchance?”
“Yeah,” our Gearhead replies. “But I think I’m going to need mine.”
“Knock it off.” Our Alpha’s voice is hard with command. “Finian, I want those missiles hot. Zila, you’re on comms. Kal, I need you up here. Move!”
Adrenaline kicks me in the stomach, and I heft my crate of medical supplies, shuffle over to the perfect stack I’ve been building. We have perhaps ten minutes before that Unbroken ship is in range. A Wraith-class cruiser is small, with a crew of twenty-seven adepts. But still, with only our Longbow and this station’s crude defenses, we are outgunned and outmatched. The promise of violence tingles in my blood.
The Enemy Within, awakening.
Aedra is looking at me with fury in her eyes, fists clenched.
“This was your doing,” she spits.
I feel my lip curl. “What?”
“We have hidden here for six months, undiscovered. You arrive, and barely an hour later, the Unbroken follow?”
“Obviously others know you are here,” I say. “Legion Command, for one. But you immediately assume I betrayed you?”
“You are Warbreed,” she hisses.
I try to bite down on my reply, but the Enemy has the better of me now.
And you are a fool, I hear him say.
Aedra’s eyes widen, and with a snarl, she draws her psi-blade again. And though her form is swift, smooth, splendid, she was not born as I was.
I was born with the taste of blood in my mouth.
I was born with my hands in fists.
I was born for war.
The violence within me unfurls, full and hot and pounding. The thing I was raised to be takes hold. I step aside as she swings, thought and motion becoming one, stabbing her neck with outstretched fingers. Quick as silver. Hard as steel. All too easy. The nerve strike numbs her arm and she gasps, stumbles into my neat stack of medical crates. The containers topple to the deck, the latches on the largest springing open with the sharp song of snapping metal.
And out of it, spills a girl.
She is slender as a lias tree. Her hair is dark as midnight, with a streak as white as starlight running through it. Her skin is a light brown, and the freckles across her cheeks are perfect constellations. Her gasp is thin and pained as she tumbles along the deck, and still, it sounds like music to me. And as I look at her face, I feel a stabbing in my chest, bright and sharp and real as broken glass.
A feeling I thought I might never feel.
But …
But then I see she is …
Human?
“Um,” she says, looking at Aedra. “Hi.”
She pushes herself up on her elbows, and finally looks at me. And behind the pain and the shock and the surprise, I see another color in her eyes.
Her thoughts are a kaleidoscope.
Her voice is a whisper.
“I’ve seen you before. …”
8
Zila
The bad news is that the life-support system I have been trying to revive belongs in a museum. I’m certain the comms system is worse.
The good news is that their condition may not matter much longer.
Finian peers at me from inside the terminal he is fixing.
“You know what I don’t understand?” he asks.
“Probably,” I reply.
9
Auri
It’s the guy from my vision. Mr. Middle-Earth.
Only he’s real.
And he’s standing right here in front of me.
And I …
“Treachery,” a voice snaps behind me. “When were you going to tell us there were seven of you?”
I tear my eyes away from the guy from my vision, twisting around to check on the speaker. She’s the same species, tall and slender, with the same olive skin, the same long, silver hair. The small tattoo in the middle of her forehead is different, though—his is three crossed blades, but hers is an eye, crying five tears.
“I did not know.” The guy behind me sounds uncertain, but less like he wants to cut me open and see what’s inside, so I edge closer to him, sliding on my butt. My arms and legs are still cramping from the tight space of the cargo crate, my eyes aching from all the reading I’ve been doing on Magellan’s tiny screen. Also, I need a bathroom break. Why does that never come up in spy movies?
“She is Terran,” the girl says, gripping a slender