“You don’t know what it took just to get these other soldiers to agree to this meeting,” said Shon, gesturing behind him. His link data was growing more and more exasperated. “The slightest sign of treachery from you could destroy this peace in seconds, and that’s just us. That’s the people I trust. What if we make an alliance and join together, and then one of your humans cracks a joke about Partial labor, or the old work programs that helped spark the revolution in the first place?”

“Don’t assume the humans will be the ones to ruin this,” Kira insisted, feeling her anger rise. “What happens when one of your Partials calls it the revolution, or says something about winning your freedom, standing next to a human who lost his wife and his children and his parents and everything else he ever loved—” She froze, listening. “Wait.”

“I hear it too,” said Shon, and looked up. The entire Partial line had gone tense, listening intently to the deep, rhythmic hum. Kira didn’t dare to look behind her, too worried Shon would see it as a signal to her companions. The general’s link data flooded out in frustrated confusion.

“That’s a rotor,” said Kira, turning south to scan the sky. The snow had come in more thickly, and she could barely see more than half a mile.

“It’s not ours,” said Shon, and then jabbed a finger toward the clouds. “There!” He backed away, shouting to his men. “Fall back!”

“It’s an ambush!” shouted another Partial, and Kira surged forward, trying to warn them.

“Take cover!” she shouted. She heard Marcus shouting for everyone to get back, to find safe positions, but she knew it was too late for that. She was out in the open, weaponless and defenseless, and there was nothing she could do to stop Armin from killing her. Her only priority was to save the treaty, to keep this from destroying the already-too-fragile peace between the humans and the Partials. Shon and his men were taking cover in the trees, but Samm ran toward her, his chained ankles shuffling painfully across the iced road. Kira shouted to Shon, trying to explain what was happening, when suddenly the rotor burst out of the clouds in front of her, snow swirling through the massive blades in the wings. It banked toward her, swooping low over her head and knocking her and Samm to the ground with the force of its downdraft; it tilted back and dove toward her other friends, sending them sprawling. The craft set down in front of them, cutting off Kira’s retreat, and the side door hissed open. Ivies poured out, rifles up and ready, and behind them came Armin: his carving knife in one hand, an empty jar in the other.

“Kira,” said Armin.