“And those people who do the collapsing and killing are Gearbreakers, are they not?” Juniper adds.
Milo looks over all of them in disbelief. “So just like that, it’s got you all fooled? It comes from Godolia, fresh out of the Academy, with some unbelievable, ludicrous story, and … don’t you see it sitting there? For Gods’ sakes, it’s sharpening its blade—open your eyes! Are you really just going to wait until it kills us one by one in our sleep? After that stunt it tried to pull today with the Archangel, trying to lead us to a slaughter? Am I really the only one who sees what’s going on here? Nova? Xander?”
Nova shoves the toffee pop back in her mouth and crosses her arms. Xander looks back toward the window.
“Milo…,” Theo says warningly, rising from his seat. “You didn’t see her today. The guard was dead in an instant. She didn’t even blink.”
“You too?” Milo roars.
He starts for Theo, hands outstretched as if to throttle him. He changes his mind halfway, instead wheeling on me, shoving me into the plush back of the love seat.
“Look at it,” he shouts. I feel the heat of his skin, his fury ringing in my ears. “No fear, no emotion, and it’s still knotted up in your heads. What the hells is wrong with all of you?!”
“Fear would be wasted energy at this particular moment, Milo,” I say calmly, casting a meaningful glance down to my occupied hands. “If you are going to kill me, I would recommend doing it when I am defenseless.”
“Twin hells, Sona,” murmurs Nova. “You tryna provoke him?”
“He seems already provoked.”
“Pilots like it have killed our people for decades! Have all of you forgotten that?”
Eris hops down from the table. “And have you forgotten that I am your crew captain?” she barks, and at the sharp tone everyone else besides Milo stops their fidgeting. “That we trust each other implicitly, that if I jump off a cliff you sure as hells would do it, too, because my actions would tell you that there was a net at the bottom? I put my trust in a person that we are raised to hate and kill, and I did it for you. I risked everything to come back to you, Milo! I staked my life, because I knew, I knew you would do the same for me. But if you can’t even trust my word, maybe I’ve been wrong this entire time.”
“Eris,” Milo hisses, releasing me, his hand collapsing on Eris’s wrist and constricting. Collectively, the entire room takes in a quick breath, and dark flame flashes hot across her eyes. “It’s not human.”
“She’s,” Eris growls, breaking the grip. “Yes, she’s a Bot. Yes, she’s a Pilot. And I don’t give one shit about it. You know why? Because she’s a Gearbreaker through and through, and any other Gearbreaker worth the tattoos they wear would value that fact above whatever is underneath her skin or whatever color her eyes are, or hells, how many she has left.”
She shoves him backward, drilling a finger into his sternum before he can straighten.
“And if you don’t,” she snarls, “then I don’t want you on my crew.”
“You’re really choosing her over me?” Milo yells.
“No. I’m choosing her life over your fear.” Eris points toward the door. “Go cool off. I don’t want to see you again tonight. Find somewhere else to sleep.”
“I don’t believe this,” he mutters, and for a moment I believe he is going to raise his fist. But instead, he drops his gaze to me. “Wire-infested bitch.”
“Eris is better at pet names,” I say.
His footsteps echo up the hall, ending abruptly as the stairwell door crashes shut against its frame. Eris stays faced away from us.
Then she says, after the silence grows from a new thing into a cold thing, “Turn up that music, June.”
A beat. Juniper touches two fingers to her brow and flicks them out. “Captain.”
“Where do you want them, Sona?” Eris says breathlessly, whirling on me.
“Them?” I ask, bewildered, while she yanks a pair of disposable gloves from a box on the table, snaps them on with a flourish.
“A Valkyrie and an Argus!” Shouting, now, and I cannot help but smile at it, because even though she is hurting I can tell how much she loves this part, the good part, because she leans over me with her brow scar visible and brushed with the glow of the fireplace. The music bursts through the speakers, and the room roars to life again. Nova leaps from her spot to snatch Theo out of his stupor, twirling him around the dusty rug until he begins to dance on his own. Arsen hands Xander a chipped mug of champagne and taps their cups together, while June bubbles a laugh and plants a kiss on both their cheeks.
“Where?” she repeats, still hovering, and I am very aware this is why I forgot to answer.
I roll up my sleeves. “Here,” I whisper, pressing on my right forearm panel. “I want them here.”
Eris stares. “You just want to tell the Academy to bite you, huh, Glitch?”
My cheeks flush red. “Is that childish?”
The grin. The chill that trails after it. Eris tucks a hand under my arm, laying it gently against the armrest. “It’s a good thing we’re kids, then, isn’t it?”
Her head bent close to mine as she sprays the antiseptic, she smells like hot tea and toffee and the sweet champagne being passed around. Nothing like Godolia and everything that I did not know I liked. Overalls scuffing softly against the rug, Eris kneels in front of me, a sterile needle balanced in her fingers, like a silver thread between the black of her nails.
“Ready?”
“Okay.” Okay.
I do not feel it. I watch the ink bloom across my skin, guided by her careful hand, watch the little line form between her brows as she concentrates, and the others dancing around us, and the night leaned up against the window, and please remember it like this, just like this. The good part.
This part is so fucking good.
The paperback book Eris was reading sits abandoned, overturned on its pages, spine comfortably cracked. A line of tape borders the edge of the cover flap.
I look at her. “Did you paste over a different cover?”
Juniper flits by, arms in the air. “Eris likes us to pretend I’m the only one who reads the romance novels.”
“You can laugh,” Eris says, blushing. “But I’m holding the future of your skin hostage.”
I crane my neck to peek at the book again. “Romantic.”
“Dangerous.”
“Dramatic.”
“Glitch.”
“Frostbringer.”
“Done,” Eris says, drawing the needle back. “Thoughts?”
Two gears. Petite and perfect … and something more. Flags marking reclaimed land. Skin that has become a little less theirs and a little more mine.
“I think you are a better insulter than you are an artist,” I lie.
I wait for a scoff, for her to snap her grip away. But instead it tightens, and suddenly she leans in closer.
“And you are a better Gearbreaker than you are a Pilot,” Eris says quietly. “And that is something I truly mean.”
Something strange. An impossible, breathless feeling. I retract my arm from her touch before I forget myself. Before the want to move closer can throb any more intensely.
“I am a damn good Pilot,” I say.
“I know,” she says.
I have long learned to be cautious of pretty things.
But this. I did not account for this.
* * *
I am awake when he enters. I do not start. This is his room, after all. I do not question it. I know what he has come to do.
The only light is a small sliver of moon that has slipped through a space in the curtains. It falls in a slit down the right side of his face, igniting the pale eyes narrowed under the furrowed brow, the toss of fair hair, the bared teeth, and the black pistol held steadily. It lifts toward me. I drag the covers away and sit upright, spine pressing against the wood back of the bed. I will not die lying down.
“They will hear you after the first shot,” I say. “Best
make it count.”
“I don’t miss,” Milo responds evenly. The gun stays leveled. I pull my knees to my chest.
“Eris will not—”
“You don’t get to say her name!” Milo hisses, and suddenly he lunges forward. The gun drills into my temple, and I press a hand against the mattress to keep from falling sideways. “She may think you’re her little pet, or whatever bullshit, but I’m not going to let her get hurt again!”
“She did not get hurt. I made sure of that.”
“But all the other times, Bot,” he says. “Years and years before you came along. Broken bones and split lips and bruises that never disappear, just get replaced. It’s all because of you and the Academy and Godolia.”
“You just want to protect her.”
“From infestations like you.”
I pause. “Ah. But it is not only that. You wanted to protect her.”
“Wires in yours ears, Bot?” he growls.
I shake my head as best I can. “No. You do not hate me only because of what I am. It is because of what I did, for her. You wanted to be the one to save her from Godolia. You wanted to play the hero, for her to be grateful to you. And therein lies your selfishness. Your possessiveness.”
The way in which his gun drives farther into my temple tells me all I need to know. I mean to smile, play coy with my observation. But, unexpectedly, my voice comes out in a snarl.
“You believe I stole that opportunity from you. That I stole her from you. But Eris is not an item that can be exchanged between hands, Milo. She is not something to be fought over. She is something to fight for.”
Milo grins. “Don’t pretend you give a damn about her. I know you can’t feel. It’s pitiful. This can be a mercy killing, if you’d like.”
“Would that make you feel better? If I acted as if I did not know that your actions are driven by nothing but cold fear?”
“And love, Bot. You could never understand.”
“Give it time,” I say, words half snarl, half disbelieving laugh. “I’m beginning to.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ERIS
“Eris!”
I wake up knowing I shouldn’t have gone to sleep. I should have stayed up, listening for his footsteps against the carpet, the low growl, the cocking of a gun. Something, anything.
But I did sleep with my gloves on.
They’re raised before I even kick open the door, spilling the hallway light across Milo’s startled features and Sona’s strained expression. I get only fragments of the scene—one hand holding the pistol to her temple, the other wrapped around her mouth to silence her scream—before I dive for him.
I drive a hook into Milo’s cheekbone that sends him smashing against the back of the bed. The instant his grip loosens, Sona snatches the barrel of the gun and digs her other fingers around his wrist, snapping the firearm upward. It goes off, plaster powder exploding from the ceiling. I wrap my fist around Milo’s collar, hauling him off the mattress and dumping him at my feet.
“You idiot,” I hiss. “What planet do you think we’re on, that you can attack one of your crew members? Another Gearbreaker?”
“She’s not—”
I twist the collar deeper, forcing him closer. The glove of my free hand bursts to life. “Choose your words very carefully, Milo.”
“You’re really doing this?” he growls. “After everything we’ve been through together?”
I laugh drily. “Like I’ve said maybe a thousand times, if what we’ve been through meant jack shit to you, you would trust me.”
“I trust you,” Milo pleads. “I trust you with my life and everything else. But you’re corrupted, Eris, you’re—”
“The girl who’s about to break your nose.”
“Eris, please,” he begs. “I just want to protect you.”
“The fact that you think I need protection just shows how out of line you are,” I say.
I pause to draw a quaking breath. I’m fully aware of the heat behind my eyes and the quiver to my voice. I hate it. I hate that I don’t hate him.
“Get out,” I say, voice so choked that the words sound like they’ve been twisted from my throat by pliers. “You’re on suspension. Get the hells off my floor.”
“Eris—”
“You heard me!” I say, voice leaping to a scream. I yank him up and shove him through the door. His back hits the opposite wall. “Get out while I’m being nice.”
The stairwell blows cold air into the hallway as he leaves, spiking gooseflesh up my arms. For a few moments, everything is eerily silent.
Sona has skillfully disassembled the gun and is placing its pieces gently on the mattress. Her mouth is a tight line. Maybe the time of night has scraped away some of her guardedness.
“Your hair is a mess,” she says, placing the clip down.
I can’t help it. I start laughing.
Arsen and Juniper have their heads poked out of their rooms. Nova and Theo, still kicking around the common room at this ungodsly hour, crowd its doorway. They saw the whole thing, but knew it was best to stay out of my way.
“Is Sona alive?” Nova asks.
I look back toward Glitch. “Well, speak up.”
She trails a finger along the comforter. “I don’t much fancy sleeping now.”
I sigh, and gesture to her. She follows without another word, and we join Theo and Nova in the common room. Arsen and Juniper appear soon after, Juniper pausing a moment to pull a fraying quilt over Xander’s unconscious form, slumped over the couch cushions. It’s less likely that he slept through the gunshot than heard it, realized he literally couldn’t care less, and went right back to sleep. We all take our seats silently.
Theo is the first to speak. “Sorry, Sona.”
“That’s pathetic,” snaps Nova. Theo, rather than snap back, puts his head in his hands. Nova’s growl immediately softens, and she nudges him with her shoulder. “Not your fault, you know.”
“He’s just being … I think he sees himself in you. Sees us in you.”
“Oh?” murmurs Sona.
“We’re not all born Gearbreakers,” Nova chimes in, allowing him a moment to collect himself. She draws through the carpet with a fingertip, spewing a line of dust from the fibers. Her jade gaze flicks up, the look in her eyes so unlike the Nova we’re used to. “Theo, Milo, and … and I aren’t originally from the Hollows.”
“We’re like you,” Theo continues, gaze unmoving from his toes. “Our towns destroyed by Windups for missed quotas, or rebellion, or … Gods!” He throws his hands up. “I don’t know, take your pick. But we were lucky enough to get found by the Gearbreakers, and you, ending up in Godolia … I think Milo sees it like you made the choice to go there.”
His gaze finally lifts, eyes landing on me, hesitant.
“It’s not easy for any of us, Eris. Having the B—Having Sona here. But I … I’m not going to try to kill her or anything! Not unless you say.”
Not unless I say. I steal another quick glance to Sona, who has reclaimed her stoic expression. She sits cross-legged near the fireplace, hands folded neatly in her lap, the soft light of the embers rippling over her curls. She meets my gaze, and suddenly I know that she knows I’m pretending. Pretending it’s not hard for me, too, that every time I look at her there’s not that same jolt, the same millisecond flash of anger, of fear. Like the thoughts don’t still creep, that one night I’ll wake to find her standing over me, grinning as her blade presses to my throat.
“Milo cares about you differently from the others,” she says. “Loves you a bit differently from the rest of them, yes? And that type of love … it can make you do ridiculous things.”
She pauses.
“Not that killing me is a ridiculous concept.”
Nova huffs and leans forward. “You got some issues, don’t you, Glitch?”
Sona’s smile is almost wistful. “Acute ones.”
I bite my thumb, considering, then stand. “All right. To bed, all of you. Th
eo, can you carry Xander back to his room?”
“Got it,” Theo murmurs, picking the kid up with ease.
I stop him before he can make the hallway, brushing back Theo’s bangs and planting a kiss on his forehead.
“Milo will come around,” I tell him. “We’ll all be back together soon.”
“Night, Eris,” Theo says, looking like he wants to say more. Nova closes the door on the way out.
I turn back and cross my arms, watching as Sona ignores me, her head tilted toward the fire as she sifts the dying cinders with the iron poker. A tiny circular indent is implanted in her right temple from the barrel of Milo’s gun.
“How’d you learn to fight?” I ask. “Did you start before the Academy? Back in Silvertwin?”
She shakes her head, and for a moment, I think her knuckles flush white as she tightens her grip. “After Silvertwin and before the Academy, in Godolia’s streets. It came from necessity. What about you?”
“By Jenny’s wanting to knock me on my ass. To feed her ego.”
“Oh?”
There’s a pause. She stops fiddling with the cinders and glances over her shoulder at me, waiting for the other part of the story that she somehow, unnervingly, knows exists. I roll my neck around and sigh, suddenly exhausted, numb in the places where the anger has fizzled out. I sit on a nearby armrest and rub my temples.
“My dad,” I hear myself say. “We’re a Gearbreaker family, you know. Born to be fighters. He taught me how to shoot when I was seven, some basic hand-to-hand techniques not long after that. Apparently, I was a complete terror after my first few lessons, picking fights with everything that moved, thinking I could take on the world because I knew how to throw a left hook. Broke a few other kids’ noses. Got my own broken at least once, for that matter.”
“But he kept teaching you?”
“Yeah. I mean, I guess he thought at one point I’d grow out of looking for fights. Plus, he knew I’d have my hands full of giant robots at some point in the future, right, so I needed prep for that, too.”
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