She was staring at the slowly brightening sky, blooming with pinks and oranges and blues that brought the smallest measure of peace to her chaotic heart. Her thoughts, her emotions, her everything had been straying too often of late. She’d come to the roof for that very reason, hoping to knit herself whole before doing what had to be done today.

Then movement down the street caught her eye, and she ducked behind the roof’s ledge, a gasp lodging in her throat as a group of soldiers came into view in the dawning light. She reached for her hair on instinct, and despite finding it covered, her heart still raced uncomfortably. Her heart did not simply beat anymore, not since that night in the desert. Rather, it rolled through her like thunder, and she felt the erratic streak of skyfire all the way down to her fingers. Sometimes she felt as if she had no blood left, only skyfire sizzling in streams beneath her skin, and she wondered if she would even bleed the same. If anything would ever be the same …

A deep, emphatic voice from below cut through her thoughts, bringing her to the very real and potentially dangerous present.

The sun had barely cracked open the sky, and soldiers were patrolling in the neighborhood where she and the others happened to have found lodgings. Could it be a coincidence? Was this happening all over the city? Or were they here for her?

She rose up on her knees, peering over the roof’s ledge at the men in blue prowling below her. One tall, dark figure spoke to the rest, sending them off in pairs in various directions. They fanned out through the streets, moving at a leisurely pace, stopping to peek in windows and doorways. When the leader was left alone, he turned his head up toward the new sky, and Roar’s stomach plummeted.

She knew that face—the short, nearly shaved hair, warm brown skin, and prominent brow combined with the perpetual frown. He had been her teacher, her guard, and something very near a friend. And yet, despite being certain of the man’s identity, her brain still struggled to comprehend. Taven, the man who’d taught her how to throw a knife, was wearing Locke blue.

She took a sharp, painful breath. This did not make any sense. Out of everyone, she would have trusted Taven the most to be loyal to her and her mother. Was it possible there was something she was not understanding? Were things not as bad as they seemed?