61.6 km from flash curtain
I WATCH PEOPLE enter and exit the building until I know how to mimic their confidence, the ease with which they stride through doors that have never been closed to them. The woman in front of me tilts her head so that sunlight glints off the delicate metal links woven over her hair. I suppress the urge to snatch them off and shove my Radband scar in her face.
Naturals wear pretty reminders that they are safe—while Subpars wear tech that displays the depth of their radiation sickness. None of what I’m feeling shows on my face. I know it’s true because the woman smiles serenely at me, and my lips part in a matching smile.
“Lovely day,” she says.
My teeth are gritted, so I just nod in response. Then I angle my chin so light winks off my hair adornment and stroll past her through the open door.
* * *
There’s a spot of blood on my dress. Dram’s blood. I cover it with my hand and make my way to the council’s chambers. My mind is a tangle of thoughts—most of them clouded with grief.
How could he do this?
The thought simmers, and I clamp onto it, like the anger is a lifeline, pulling me from the sorrow I’m drowning in. We had a plan. He lied to me, put into motion plans of his own, at a cost he knew I would never agree to.
Dram sacrificed his life to protect me, but I can’t stay here.
Not at the expense of everyone living beyond the shield. If the SAMM isn’t delivered in time to the eludial seam, the flash curtain will continue to expand, and with Dram gone—
I’m the only one who can do it.
“Miss?” A woman is staring at me with wide eyes. “Your glove is on fire.”
I gasp and pat the smoldering cloth.
“That’s a sure way for them to take your hands, Conjuror,” she whispers.
My delicate glove is scorched where I conjured fire. I’ve been here less than a day, and already I’m giving myself away.
“Here.” She pulls off her gloves and shoves them into my hands. “Whoever you are, you need these more than I do.”
“You’re not afraid of me?” I ask.
“Should I be?”
In her response I see what it feels like to have grown up here. Protected. She has only ever known control, order, and security. Like the Tempered Conjie on the street, she doesn’t wear the innate fear, the readiness to fight like all of us beyond the shield. She knows there’s a flash curtain, but she’s not felt it scorch her skin or watched it turn someone she loved to dust.
“Thank you.” I hand her back the gloves. “But I actually need you to turn me in.” The girl’s eyes widen. “Inform the Prime Commissary that Orion Denman is here and that I’m conjuring in the lobby.”
* * *
They question me for days.
At first, they’re gentle about it. I stick as closely to the truth as possible when I tell them why Dram and I tried to escape into Alara. I assume they have tech that can determine if I’m lying, so I weave a tale about a girl who is terrified of the Box.
After this, they employ tactics less kind to get at the truth. I don’t have to convince them of my story after that. I simply let them see my terror. In the times I’m present—in mind and body—I convince them of our mutual need. With Dram gone—
* * *
I lose myself when they speak his name—fire, if I even think it—but I must. I am the only other person trained to deploy the SAMM. With solar storms approaching, there isn’t time to properly train another Delver—not one who could find her way to the seam.
I swim up through pain and make them believe that my resentment is not for them, but the flash curtain. They test me with equipment designed for Naturals, but I am not natural. Like any creature of the flashfall, I adapt.
I tell them that I don’t hate the Congress—only the flashfall.
And they believe me.