The Sowing

Next thing I know, I’m rolling in a heap of tangled limbs, banging against trash bins, spinning in garbage. When we come to a stop, I’m straddling the figure beneath me.

It’s a girl around my age. Fair-skinned, with brown hair strangled into a long braid. She’s clutching something in her hand and I snatch it from her.

It’s a cluster of fake IDs. I’ve seen this before—she’s a Worm. Someone so desperate they’ll assume the identity of potential Recruits’ loved ones and risk dying as an Incentive, just to have enough money to survive. I’ll never forget the screams of the last Worm I encountered, begging for his life as that slobbering Canid tore him apart limb from limb.

I turn away from the girl and look back at Arrah. “Are you okay?”

Arrah’s face is rigid. “She came out of nowhere. I never saw…”

The girl’s face brims with desperation and fear. Her body is trembling.

I can’t turn her in. The punishment for being a Worm is public execution. But if I let her go, Arrah will know.

Cassius’s words taunt me. You’re no better than anyone else. No better than I am.

“What’s your name?” I ask the girl.

“Dru-s-illa,” she manages through quavering lips.

I squeeze her shoulder. “You’re going to be all right, Drusilla.” I move off of her and help her to her feet.

As much as it pains me, now all I can do is sneak up behind Arrah and knock her out. Incapacitate her long enough for the girl to get away. Then take my chances and blame it on a phantom attacker.

We turn toward Arrah. “We’ll have to take her in,” I say, hating the thought of what I’m about to do to my fellow trainee.

“Right,” Arrah responds, her face colder than the snowflakes in the gap between us.

The girl tenses.

“I’m sorry,” I say to her.

She rips free and lunges toward Arrah—

—who gathers her into her arms. The next thing I know, they’re cupping each other’s faces tenderly, kissing each other passionately.

Arrah looks at me. “I’m sorry too.”

I have just enough time to register the gleam of her firearm pointing at me before a loud blast rips through the air, flinging me backwards.

The pain’s intense—

Then nothing.

EIGHT

Voices drift in and out of the smothering blackness.

Why did you bring him here?… I panicked. Didn’t have much of a choice… Too bad you didn’t finish the job… Will he live?… It’s too late. He’s seen. He knows too much… He has to die…

My eyes spring open. Harsh lights overload my vision, intensifying the throbbing in my head. I’m lying on a table of cold steel, each of my limbs manacled to its surface. Ignoring the aches, I struggle to pull free, but it’s no use and I slump back against the slab. The head of the table is elevated, and the glare of lights is making it difficult to distinguish my surroundings.

From what I can see, the room I’m in is small and cramped. Low ceilings. Brick walls. A single arched door, iron by the look of it, lined with bolts and rivets. There’s a head-sized opening cut into it at eye level, complete with bars.

A prison cell.

Nothing as sleek or high-tech as those in the Citadel of Truth.

A draft blows through the opening, carrying cool air and the echo of murmuring voices. My head’s spinning, and not just from dizziness and pain.

The loud clang of the bolt unlatching knifes through my senses, followed by a drawn-out creak of hinges as the door swings inward. I see her familiar silhouette imprinted on the door’s surface a moment before she enters.

Arrah.

She walks up to me but doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, expression unreadable but with the occasional tell of a twitch on her lips.

I break the silence. “Come to make sure I was dead? Sorry to disappoint.”

The resolve in her face fractures. “Lucian. It’s not like that.”

I can’t help but let out a hollow laugh. “It certainly looks like that from where I’m lying.”

She sighs, more like her old self again, whoever that really is. “If I’d wanted you dead we wouldn’t be having this discussion now. I purposely aimed at the awning right behind you, which collapsed and sent you smacking into the wall. Just some bruises, contusions, and a minor concussion. I’m a pretty decent shot. You’re the Fifth Tier, remember?”

“Where am I?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s… complicated.”

I pull against the cuffs for her benefit. “It looks like I have the time.”

The expression on her face turns grave. “Actually, you don’t. Not much, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

She leans in closer and lowers her voice. “They’ll be coming to take you for questioning in a few minutes. Your fate depends on what you know—or don’t know.” She turns away. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into all of this, but I didn’t have a choice.”

There’s always a choice.