From the corner of my eye, I see Jeran ushering some of the prisoners toward the woods. A few of them have broken past the train station and are heading straight into the forest. Jeran whirls as some of the Ghosts lunge toward them. He switches one of his blades for a gun in the same fluid movement.

Then he freezes in his path. His eyes are fixed on the first Ghost hurtling toward him. All the color has drained from his face.

My eyes flicker to the beast that has caught his attention. It was clearly transformed recently—still bearing some resemblance to the old man it once was, though its lips are already ripped and bleeding from the larger, jagged teeth growing in its mouth. Its skin has begun cracking in places, all the way down to the red muscle.

It looks familiar. And an instant later, I realize who it is.

This was once Jeran’s father.

My head whips back to Jeran. “No!” I shout. “Move!” I crouch as if to rush to him, but I know I’m too far away to reach him in time. In my panic, I switch to Karenese. “It’s not your father!”

But Jeran doesn’t move. His face is locked on his father’s, and his body is frozen in terror.

In that expression, you see the boy he must have once been, cowering under the cruelty of the Senator, bearing the abuse quietly. You see the same fear on his face that you’d seen in the Grid.

Jeran takes a hesitant step backward. All his Striker training seems to have left him. He drops his gun and remaining blade and raises his hands toward his face as if in self-defense. His father—the Ghost—lunges at him with jaws open.

Adena comes out of nowhere. She barrels hard into Jeran, knocking him out of the Ghost’s path and clear to the ground.

At the same time, Aramin jumps down from the top of the train to land in a crouch before Jeran and Adena. His teeth are bared in a snarl; a blade shines in each of his hands.

He gives the charging Ghost a grim smile before rushing at it.

I’m forced to tear my gaze away as more soldiers try to fence me in. But even from the corner of my eye, I see blood spray. I don’t know whether it’s from the Ghost or from Aramin. From the top of the train shoots a net. I dart out of the way barely in time and turn toward the others again in another attempt to join them.

That is when the shadow falls over me. I know in the pit of my stomach who it is before I raise my eyes.

Talin has arrived.

7

RED

Talin’s figure soars above us and lands a dozen yards in front of me, blocking my path to the others. I freeze, transfixed by the crouched figure before me.

She is breathtaking—I can’t help but think it. Her black wings extend fully from her back, seeming to block out the sky and everything else behind her. Every line of her exudes power. She lifts her eyes to meet mine.