Ember stammered an affirmative, and Mr. Gordon nodded. But his gaze met mine over her head, and in that dark glare, I could see the echo of his thoughts. This is what power is, Dante, it said. This is what you could have, if you do exactly what Talon wants. At the top, no one will tell you what to do, ever again.

At the top, you could be free.

Ember tried talking to me after we were dismissed, but I barely heard anything she said as we walked across the dusty yard to our rooms. My mind was spinning, and I suddenly didn’t care about the movie, or our ill-fated adventure, or anything but the upcoming test. I knew what I had to do now. I had a clear path, and I would not stray from it until I reached the end, at the very top. Even though the journey would be hard, and I would have to let some things go. It might be painful, but in the end, it would be worth it.

Sacrifice was necessary, but I would be free.

Chapter 8: RILEY

RILEY

“Riley,” said a voice out of the darkness.

I turned, shooting a bleary glance at the clock on the wall as the soldier appeared in the door frame of the cabin’s tiny kitchen—4:50 a.m. Apparently, I wasn’t the only early riser of the group. That, or St. George hadn’t gotten much sleep, either. Yesterday had been an exhausting, mind-numbingly long day of travel, the five of us—me, Ember, Wes, St. George and the Eastern dragon—stuffed into an old black Jeep that was not designed with comfort in mind. We’d taken shifts, both in driving and getting to sit in the front passenger seat, while the rest of us huddled in the back. A couple hours from our final destination, we’d pulled into one of the many small campgrounds scattered at the base of the Ozarks and had rented a cabin for the night. It had been a relief not to have to share space in a tiny hotel room, though my mind wouldn’t shut off long enough to let me sleep. Finally accepting that sleep was not an option, I’d risen and headed into the kitchen for the strongest black coffee I could make, when the soldier appeared in the doorway, wide awake, as well.

I ignored him, reaching for the coffeemaker. Well, what do you know, someone—probably St. George—had already made a pot. I poured myself a mug and took a swallow. Black and strong enough to strip paint from the wall—perfect. “What?” I mumbled.

A pause, then he took a quiet breath. “I never got the chance to thank you.”