Deep down, even though I hated it, a part of me knew she was right. But still, this was my underground; for the past decade, I’d fought to keep it safe. I’d watched these kids from the beginning, watched them live and struggle and grow up...but that was the problem, wasn’t it? They had grown up. They knew the stakes, knew what they were getting into, and I couldn’t protect them any longer.

I sighed and looked at the ceiling. “All right,” I muttered. “Go on, then. I can’t stop you. If this is your choice, I won’t stand in your way. It’s not like I can ground every single one of you and expect you to not go out the window the second my back is turned.” That coaxed a smile from a few of them, though the rest remained unnaturally solemn. They did understand what was happening, I realized. They understood all too well.

Nettle stepped forward, seeking my gaze. “You’ll come with us, right, Cobalt?”

“I...yeah.” Slumping, I raked a hand over my scalp. “I think this is a mistake, but I’ll be damned if I stay here while the rest of you go out to fight with St. George.” Shaking my head, I glared at them all. “I’m probably going to get myself shot full of holes trying to save you ingrates, but...I’ll be there. And I’ll fight the bastards for as long as I can, I promise.”

I finally looked at Ember, standing at my shoulder, and forced a smirk. “Well, you got your army, Firebrand,” I said, watching her brow furrow. “We’re all going merrily off to war, it seems. Helping St. George fight Talon.” I shook my head in equal amounts disgust and disbelief. “I just hope that, when this is all over and the smoke clears, you’ll be able to live with yourself.”

Because I don’t know if I can.

Chapter 40: GARRET

GARRET

“What do our defenses look like?”

I gazed at the crudely sketched map in my hand as I walked beside Tristan down the narrow road that cut through the base. It was late afternoon, and around us, the base was eerily silent, though I knew no one was idle. A tense stillness hung over the chapterhouse, and soldiers went about their duties in full combat gear, myself included. For the first time in months, I was back in uniform, the black-and-gray combat armor of the Order of St. George. I knew I had to wear it to survive, that the suit designed for fighting dragons was my best shot at coming out of this alive, but I took no pride in it. It was just another reminder of what I had done, the years I had killed without a thought. Tonight, though, I would wear it to defend my former brothers and the dragons I had once driven toward extinction.