Page 51 of Storm of Stars
Bex slid off the cot, slow and careful. Briar and I instinctively reached out to steady her, but she waved us off. She was still pale, but color had started to return to her cheeks. She wasn’t trembling anymore.
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Lark without hesitation. He cried into her shoulder, the sound echoing through the sterile space. Raw and human in a place designed to strip that away.
We let the moment stand.
Then, overhead, a sudden crackle. The speaker system flickered to life, its mechanical hum slicing through the silence.
Our heads lifted in unison, breath caught in our throats.
“Congratulations, Challengers.” I expected Annalese’s voice. But it wasn’t. It was thicker. Darker. Carried something sharp beneath it. This was Archon Veritas.
“You are the lucky survivors of this year’s Reclamation Run.”
Relief hit me like a wave, then crashed just as fast.
If the Run was over, that meant…The real Reclamation was about to begin. Briar and Bex had left the breadcrumbs in the lyrics of their song. Tomorrow, the Runaways were supposed to meet us at the gates. That was the plan.Take Praxis down from the inside.
Suddenly the doors to the hospital swung open and about a dozen Praxis guards filed in. More than it would take to escort us out. My heart stuttered. Then sped. Why did they send so many?
“You’ve sacrificed and risked your lives for the Collectives. You’ve proven that Praxis rewards those deserving of it,” Veritas continued. And I felt my blood heat. Deserving?That word tasted like poison.
“Now, your time as Challengers has come to an end. So your Collectives thank you. Praxis thanks you. I thank you.” But there was nothing thankful in her voice. It was hollow. Mechanical. Like a script read before an execution. The guards moved infrom the corners of the room. Slow. Deliberate. Closing in like a net.
My blood ran cold. My skin prickled. Something wasn’t right.
“Your sacrifice for the greater good of Nexum will always be remembered.”
The speaker cut out. A sharp, unnatural silence followed. I glanced up at the corners of the room. The cameras. The red lights that always blinked, always watched… they were off. No one was watching anymore. Whatever came next wasn’t meant to be seen.
I heard a crackle coming from the radio on one of the guards belts. “Captain. You may proceed.”
“Time to go,” a guard said.
Lark stood slowly, cautiously, following the direction of the nearest guard. I watched their movements. Too stiff. Too ready. Not like escorts. Like hunters.
“Wait,” Bex said, stepping forward. “How are we supposed to transport Ezra? He needs to rest.”
She pointed to where he still lay slumped in the corner.
“We can come back for him,” the guard replied without hesitation.
“Um, no,” I cut in. Too fast. Too loud. “We’re not leaving him.”
“You’re going back to your respective Collectives now,” another guard said, stepping behind me, pressing a heavy hand onto my shoulder to steer me toward the door.
I twisted out of his grip.
“No,” I said, louder this time. “We’re not splitting up. Not until he’s awake. Not until he’s safe.”
“That’s not your concern,” the guard said flatly. And that was it. The moment I knew.
We weren’t going anywhere.
Not alive.
This wasn’t a transport mission. It was an execution. Archon was going to cut off the head of the rebellion before it began.
The guard near Lark moved faster than I could scream. Steel flashed. A line of red appeared across Lark’s throat. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened. But no sound came. Just blood. Thick and fast, pouring down his chest as he dropped to his knees, then the floor. Still
