One of the Guardians pushed a gun under his jaw, yelling at Aria. “You shoot, I shoot!”

Perry was still yelling for her to leave but she never would. Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t.

Behind her, the red-haired girl, Kirra, stood by the exit. She’d gotten hold of the stocky grenade launcher Soren had taken earlier. Smiling, she pressed it to his temple while he stood helpless with Cinder in his arms.

A crackling, static sound made Aria whirl back. A Guardian tugged Perry to his knees, twisting his arm behind him. Another man jammed a stun-baton into his ribs.

Perry’s eyes rolled back, and he thudded to the floor.

The man turned the baton on Roar, who jolted and slumped against the wall, then collapsed next to Perry.

All the shouting in the corridor quieted. Aria heard nothing as she stared at Roar and Perry, both lying motionless. Deathly still. She was overcome by the urge to fraction. To leap into the dark frigid waters of the Snake River. Anything that would take her someplace that wasn’t here.

“It’s over, Aria,” Soren said. “They got us. It’s over.”

His voice startled her. She came back to herself, aware she still stood there, her pistol trained on the man with the baton.

How long had she been that way? A while, she realized. Long enough for Guardians to be pressed together on their knees and stomachs, all pointing guns at her.

Waiting.

She uncurled her fingers and let the weapon fall.

16. Peregrine

16

PEREGRINE

Perry woke to the sound of Kirra’s voice.

“Pere-grine . . .” She drew his name out in a singsong.

He struggled to clear his vision. To figure out where he was.

“Can you see me?” Kirra leaned down. Close. Closer, until her face was the only thing Perry saw. She smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here. I hated the way we parted.”

He had hated everything before that—every second he’d spent with her. He wanted to tell her so, but he couldn’t speak.

Everything seemed slow and loud, and like he was seeing it through warped glass. Kirra’s lips looked too thin. Her face too long. The freckles on her cheeks and nose drifted over her skin. Then they spread across her face and over her scalp, darkening, turning deep red, and suddenly she wasn’t Kirra anymore.

She was a fox with black shining eyes and needle-sharp teeth.

Panic surged through him. He tried to lift his head, his arms, but his body wouldn’t respond. His limbs were leaden. He couldn’t even blink.

“You knew I was at the Tides on orders, didn’t you?”

It was Kirra’s voice, from the fox. From the animal’s flashing eyes.