A lump sits heavy in my throat. For months, I’d witnessed teams dismantling parts of this city. A small but beautiful ruin in the center of Newage, the Waterfall, was removed piece by piece, its bones groaning as workers toppled it sideways. I’d watched, numb. When I was first accepted into the Striker recruits and paired with Corian, I’d gone to the Waterfall to give my own thanks. Mara doesn’t believe in gods, but we have always held up the Early Ones with a degree of supernatural awe. So I used to kneel there and wish for good fortune to guide me in the Strikers, to make it as a recruit, and to support my mother in the Outer City. I can still remember the cool breeze filtering between the structure’s gaps, the cold ground seeping through the fabric against my knees.

All that’s left is a field of churned dirt and mud and grass. The Waterfall is now sitting on the train to be taken back to Cardinia. Another trophy for their collection.

They’d taken the lintel from the Striker arena’s front entrance too, the most obvious symbol of Newage, along with two columns from the gate of Newage’s outer wall. Mara is like all these other bleeding territories, another spoil of Constantine’s war. These relics of our nation will be installed in the Federation’s capital for all to admire.

My mind is pulled from my grief by the twinge in my link that I’d felt earlier in the day. Red had been out there, the tug between us unmistakable. Where is he? Is he with other Strikers? I swallow, trying to still my mind so the Premier doesn’t sense the emotions that the thought awakens in me. My eyes stay on the scarlet staining the entire map.

How long before our paths will be forced to cross? If he’s close enough for me to sense through our weakened bond, then our reunion will be sooner than I’d like. And then what will happen?

“Talin.”

At Constantine’s command, I turn and walk toward his bedside. A servant is massaging his knees, while Mayor Elland of Cardinia is seated beside the head of the bed, still writing down some notes into her notebook. She peers up at me as I arrive.

“Ah!” she says, looking at Constantine. “Your Skyhunter.”

Her silks drape easily against her, and her hair is silver-gray, but it’s thick and luscious, piled high on her head in a series of curls. When I bow my head to her, I hear her snort. “Barely a Karensan citizen for a year, and already lowering your head to any Cardinian you meet. Eh?” When I look up again, she smirks and looks back at the Premier. Unlike the others, there’s no hint of fear in her face. Nothing about my Skyhunter status seems to intimidate her.

“She knows her place,” Constantine replies as he accepts a bowl of medicinal soup from his food tester. It’s a recipe from the Chief Architect herself, designed to clear his head and soothe his muscles.