The Sowing

“Not Crowley, too.” Drusilla whispers. Boaz looks stunned. Cage buries his face in his hands.

Of course. Before any of this, Crowley was their friend, their comrade. They were going to change the world together, make it a better place—until I came along.

“It’s not your fault,” Tristin whispers.

But I won’t look at her—can’t look at her. At anyone. Why couldn’t the Establishment have killed me before making this announcement?

Because it’s all about making us suffer to the bitter end. My body tenses.

And because—

As Recruit Crowley’s participation in these Trials has been concluded, his one remaining Incentive shall now be shelved alongside Lucian Spark.

They’re going to murder Dahlia, too.

In seconds, Tristin is released from her confines beside mine and hustled out of view. She’s screaming and turning, trying to get a look at me before she disappears.

The next few minutes are the longest, as Dahlia is brought in to take Tristin’s place. The sound of each of her restraints being clamped into place shatters through the fog in my brain.

“Dahlia. I didn’t mean for it to be like this… I tried so hard…” My voice breaks off. Going to my grave with two more deaths burdening my conscience is too much. It’s overload.

She shakes her head. “And just when I thought I might want to live again.” She smiles, but her face contorts as she chokes back tears. “Don’t blame yourself, Spark. You’ve done so much for everyone. So much for me. My mother loved you very much. I guess I started resenting you when I was taken away from her. You had something so precious, time with her that I only dreamed of having. I’m sorry.”

“This one’s ready!” Styles barks. He turns and gives us a smirk before slinking out of the chamber after the other Imposers.

Leaving Dahlia and me alone… for the last time.

“Just think of your mother,” I say to her.

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “My jealousy of you wasn’t why I shunned my mother after the Trials. I didn’t want her to go to Haven like the other surviving Incentives.” She fights a sob. “It’s not the paradise that everyone’s been led to believe. It’s—”

The hydraulics grind to life again.

“—Must stop this at once!” a familiar voice commands, out of my field of vision.

Cassius has left the control room he’s been hiding in and is here in the flesh, barreling in with a squadron of Imposers that includes Valerian and Sergeant Slade. His cloak whips behind him as he pushes his way toward us.

When our eyes meet, his face flinches for a moment, but he turns to address the nearest soldier, jabbing a finger in our direction. “We cannot shelve them before we extract useful information from them. Get them down at once!”

“Yes, Sir!” the officer responds, nearly toppling over his companion as they come forward to unlock Dahlia and me from our bonds.

We exchange confused looks as we’re released and dragged down to join the other Incentives. This time, Cassius doesn’t make any eye contact with me.

But Slade does. She reaches out a leather-gloved hand and grips my jaw, her cold fingers digging into my flesh. Stalactite eyes pierce right through me. “Don’t worry, Spark. This is only a brief reprieve. Once you’ve answered our questions, you’ll be shelved.” She leans in until our noses are practically touching. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be pulling the switch myself.”

She shoves me aside.

Styles comes bustling to the forefront with the rest of his squad. He salutes Cassius, Slade, and Valerian. “What’s going on, Sir?”

Cassius turns to him, still avoiding eye contact with me. “It appears we’ve located your companion, Renquist—dead. In one of the vent shafts. Along with a cache of weapons.”

“Renquist… is dead?” Styles’s stance falters. He looks confused.

But he can’t possibly be as confused as I am.

“I’m afraid it’s true, Styles.” Cassius pats him on the shoulder. “It would appear these Incentives have been busy, possibly working in tandem with the Recruits and a traitor in our midst, right under your noses, in fact.”

He finally turns to me, his eyes bitter with frost.

“And they’re going to provide us with some answers, before they are all executed.”

TWENTY-FOUR

My aching lungs revolt against the cold water flooding them, cutting off the air. My nails scrape against the metal armrests, cracking, tearing. Can’t take it in. Can’t spit it out. I flail in the chair I’m strapped to. My body convulses as if jolts of electricity are ripping through it. Drowning, struggling for a single breath… nothing but a big blur. Colors. Shapes. A dozen times already and the fear’s worse each time. It’s not going to stop this time—oh, shit. Fuck. No… .

Swoosh!

The water filling the face mask that covers my head is sucked out once again by the vacuum tube.

Dark shapes move into view, blocking out the hot glare of the floodlights trained on me.

Sergeant Slade and Captain Valerian.