“They’ll surrender . . . to whoever . . . wears . . .” His head tips back, eyes falling shut.

“Reed? Reed!”

I press two fingers to his throat. The kick of life pumps back against my skin. He’s just passed out.

I sprint to the window and grab the horn. Below, a portion of the crop fields are burning, and I wonder, briefly, if the General was right. If ruthlessness is needed to keep these wastes from imploding. If all we’ve done is destroy this paradise.

But crops can be regrown.

Powder Town’s flags fly on the dam, and their gunshots echo through Bedrock. It’s over. We’ve won, and the Prime will kill every last Loyalist if she has to. But if they surrender, if they stand down . . .

Maybe they don’t deserve mercy, but maybe, as Asher said, they were just trying to survive, like the rest of us. Maybe, with limited privileges and a close watch, they too can do more than just survive.

I raise the horn to my mouth and produce the call as Reed instructed. The noise sails over Bedrock, and the General’s falcon—circling above the fields—echoes my call with shrill cries.

I blow the horn again, repeating the call until the small, dark shapes of Loyalists below cease their fighting and turn toward the Backbone, raising their faces toward the General’s chambers. There’s shouting when they don’t find him standing on the balcony. The air grows taut, the tension as sharp as the metallic scent that fills the air. They don’t believe the surrender call.

They’ll surrender to whoever wears . . .

I dart for the General, put a hand behind his head, and lift the star chain free. It is heavier than I imagined.

Returning to the balcony, I hoist it high, letting the chips glint in the sun. When I lower it over my head, the Loyalists drop their weapons and raise their hands, their surrender spreading across the fields like a storm.

And just like that, with all that remains of my ancestors resting against my heart, it’s over.

Chapter Forty-Four

I stagger away from the window, rip the chain off. I don’t want it on me, don’t want it anywhere near me.

“You’re alive,” a familiar voice says, and I freeze. This isn’t real. I’m imaging him, my brain conjuring him into the world so that I don’t have to be without him.

“Delta.”

I turn.