Skyhunter. I can hear their whispers in my wake. That’s the Skyhunter.

Today, I’m assigned to visit the Laboratory. As we turn in the direction of the complex, my mother’s signed words run repeatedly through my mind.

Someone there is working actively against the Federation.

Did my mother tell me this as instructed by Mayor Elland, or against her wishes? If a lab worker is secretly part of some rebellion, what are their plans? Are they one of the victims currently slated to be transformed into a Ghost—or a Skyhunter? One of the workers or an assistant? And how are they keeping themselves from the ever-watchful eyes of the Chief Architect?

I take in a deep breath. It’s likely my mother would never tell me this directly—but maybe she is a part of the rebellion herself. She knows the slow torture I’m experiencing, doing the Premier’s bidding. She has seen the results of my awful transformation. She is as angry as I am, probably feels the fire churning in her chest just like I do.

If my mother’s in on it, then I am too.

So I turn my attention in the direction of the lab institute. To my guards, I just signal simple commands in Karenese sign language.

“You,” I sign, pointing at one of them, then another. “You. Come with me.” Then, to the others, I gesture to the multiple points around the estate’s gates, indicating for them to take up their typical shifts at the gates while they wait for me.

The guards don’t hesitate at all. They bow and move immediately toward their assigned positions, their obedience to me as unflinching as that of Ghosts.

One of the two guards chosen to stay with me bows her head and gives me a questioning look. “I’m not a scribe, Skyhunter,” she says to me in Karenese. “Is that all right?”

Sometimes the guards are tasked to record the conversations I have with the Chief Architect, or write down notes of interest about how specific victims are doing in the lab institute.

I shake my head. “It’s fine. No notes today.”

The soldiers don’t know Karenese sign language except the handful of commands they’ve been required to learn since I joined the Premier’s side. But it’s enough to convey our messages to each other. I think Constantine is also satisfied with how limited it keeps my control over them. There’s only so much I can say.

The soldier bows her head. “Of course, Skyhunter,” she replies.

During the celebrations, the lab institute’s gates have been draped almost entirely in festive red cloth. Rains from the night before have left them soggy. I stare at the line of water left beneath them as we step through to the front gate, where the institute’s guards bow low to me. Dread has begun a slow churn in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t matter how many times I set foot in this place. I always hate it.

The Chief Architect is already waiting for me at the entrance, shoulders perpetually tense. A young translator stands by her side.