Legend

The commander stops in front of my chair, then leans down close to my face. “My dear boy,” she says. I can hear the amusement in her voice. “I was so excited when they told me you were awake. I just had to come and see you myself. You should feel pretty lucky—the medics say you’re plague-free, even after spending time with that infected lot you call a family.”

I jerk back and spit at her. Even this movement is enough to make my leg tremble from white-hot pain.

“What a beautiful boy you are.” She gives me a smile laced with poison. “A pity you chose the life of a criminal. You could have become a celebrity in your own right, you know, with a face like that. Free plague vaccinations every year. Wouldn’t that have been nice?”

I could tear the skin off her face right now if I weren’t tied up. “Where are my brothers?” My voice comes out as a hoarse croak. “What have you done with Eden?”

The commander just smiles again and snaps her fingers at the soldiers behind her. “Believe me when I say I would love to stay and chat with you, but I have a training session to lead. There’s also a person much more eager to see you than I am. I’ll let her take it from here.” The commander exits without another word.

Then I see someone else—someone smaller, with a more delicate frame—enter the cell with the swoosh of a black cape. It takes me a minute to recognize her. No more torn trousers or muddy boots; no dirt on her face. The Girl is clean and polished, her dark hair pulled back into a high, glossy ponytail. She wears a fancy uniform: gold epaulettes shine from the top of her cloaked military robe, white ropes loop around her shoulders, and a double- arrow insignia is printed on both sleeves. Her cape hangs all the way to her feet, swathing her in gold-trimmed black. An elaborate Canto knot holds the top of her robe firmly in place. I’m surprised at how young she looks, even younger than when I first met her. Surely the Republic wouldn’t give a girl my age such a high rank. I look at her mouth—the same lips I kissed are now coated in a light sheen of gloss. A cracked thought hits me and I want to laugh. If she had not led to the death of my mother and my capture, if I did not wish she were dead, I would find her absolutely breathtaking.

She must’ve seen the recognition on my face. “You must be as thrilled as I am to meet again. Call it an act of extreme kindness that I requested your leg be bandaged up,” she snaps. “I want to see you stand for your execution, and I won’t have you dying from infection before I’m through with you.”

“Thanks. You’re very kind.”

She ignores my sarcasm. “So. You’re Day, then.”

I stay silent.

The Girl crosses her arms and regards me with a penetrating glare. “I suppose I should call you Daniel, though. Daniel Altan Wing. I managed to get that much out of your brother John.”

At the mention of John’s name, I lean forward and instantly regret it as my leg explodes in pain. “Tell me where my brothers are.”

Her expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t even blink. “They are no longer your concern.” She takes several steps forward. Here she has a precise, deliberate step, unmistakably that of the Republic’s elite. She disguised it surprisingly well on the streets. It only makes me angrier.

“Here’s how it works, Mr. Wing. I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to give me an answer. Let’s start with an easy one. How old are you?”

I meet her gaze. “I should’ve never saved you from that Skiz fight. I should’ve left you to die.”

The Girl looks down, then takes a gun from her belt and strikes me hard across the face. For a second I can see only blinding white light—the taste of blood fills my mouth. I hear something click, then feel cold metal against my temple. “Wrong answer. Let me be clear. You give me another wrong answer, and I’ll make sure you can hear your brother John’s screams all the way from here. You give me a third wrong answer, and your little brother, Eden, can share the same fate.”

John and Eden. At least they’re both still alive. Then I realize from the hollow sound of her gun’s click that her gun isn’t loaded. Apparently she just wants to slap me around with it.

The Girl doesn’t move her gun away. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“That’s better.” The Girl lowers her gun a little. “Time for a few confessions. Were you responsible for the break-in at the Arcadia bank?”

The ten-second place. “Yes.”

“Then you must be responsible for stealing sixteen thousand five hundred Notes from there as well.”

“You got that right.”

“Were you responsible for vandalizing the Department of Intra-Defense two years ago, and destroying the engines of two warfront airships?”

“Yes.”

“Did you set fire to a series of ten F-472 fighter jets parked at the Burbank air force base right before they were to head out to the warfront?”

“I’m kinda proud of that one.”

“Did you assault a cadet standing guard at the edge of the Alta sector’s quarantine zone?”

“I tied him up and delivered food to some quarantined families. Bite me.”

The Girl rattles off a few more past offenses, some of which I can barely remember. Then she names one more crime, my latest.

“Were you responsible for the death of a city patrol captain during a raid on the Los Angeles Central Hospital? Did you steal medical supplies and break into floor three?”

I lift my chin. “The captain named Metias.”