“Tesla? Are you there?”
After months of hearing those same sniffles, Tesla knew it could only be Ming. She unbolted the door to find the boy sitting on her doorstep, a container of milk clenched tightly in his hands.
“What are you doing out after curfew?” she said, glancing over the boy’s head to see if anyone else lurked outside. “Where are your parents? Where’s Ren?”
The boy’s lip quivered, and he dissolved into tears. “They took him, Tessie. The doctors came and took Ren and everyone away. I d-didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
Oh stars, no. Tesla raised her eyes over the boy’s head and saw it: a bright yellow circle bisected by a single line. A quarantine mark. The same that had been drawn over her own door the last time she had ever seen her mother.
“Was Ren the one who got sick?” she asked, kneeling down to take the boy in her arms. Ming pressed his face against her neck, his small arms grasping her tightly. Tesla felt him nod, and her heart caved inward. “But if they took everyone into quarantine, why are you out here?”
A chubby finger pointed toward the milk. “Mama sent me out for it hours ago, because the baby was hungry,” he cried, wiping his running nose onto his stained sleeve. “We were careful, Tessie. Mama and Papa were so careful when Ren got sick. Said we couldn’t go near him at all.”
Tesla made a soothing sound as she felt Ming’s forehead with the back of her hand. No fever. He might still be sick, but his skin didn’t show signs of the telltale discoloration of Bruise Boil, evident even during the earliest stages. Her gut told her the boy would be alright, if only a bit shaken. “Okay, you’re going to stay with me tonight, and tomorrow we’ll figure out what to do,” she said.
If the security forces found out she was harboring a quarantined resident in her quarters, they would both be sent to the Dead Zone, a hospice area in the medical ward where station residents were sent to live out their final days.
As Ming shuffled into her apartment, she quickly left a message for Sav, asking him to check on the boy tomorrow when he brought Blitz downstation to analyze her bioNexus.
Just as she was about to punch the door closed, a silhouette filled the entryway. The light from her doorstep cast downward against the face, carving it into a thousand sharp shadows.
Tesla stilled.
Kiyo’s laughter sliced through the air, a haunting, emotionless sound that sent a chill through her. This wasn’t the Kiyo she knew. Gone was the laughter from the corners of his eyes, replaced by a look of spite and... something else. Something dangerous.
Desperation, she realized.
Tesla moved outside, closing Ming safely inside the apartment. “What do you want, Kiyo?” A sour smell hit her nostrils. He’d been drinking lunarshine. Barrels, she guessed, judging by the strength of the stench.
“Little Tesla all grown up,” slurred Kiyo, wobbling slightly on his feet. “How does it feel to be the most hated girl in the Gulch right now? You lost people a fortune in corpCredits tonight, including me.”
He’d bet against her. Of course he did. He’s a Skinner now, she reminded herself. The fact hurt more than she wanted to admit. Where had the boy she’d known all these years gone? The dragon tattoo along his neck looked fresh in the dim light. “Go home,” she said, backing toward the door, “before security forces finds you drunk and out after curfew.”
“So concerned for my welfare all of a sudden. How sweet.”
“You weren’t exactly worried about me when Radek tried to kill me tonight,” she retorted. “Tell me—did Yosef pay you to join the Skinners, or did you volunteer to be his lapdog just for the attention?”
Kiyo shoved her forward, pinning her against the wall before she could register the motion, one hand against her throat and the other caressing her hip. “You’d know all about attention, wouldn’t you, Tes? How much does the prince pay to screw you? Or does he just command your legs to spread?” He bit his lip, glancing over her body in a way that made her ill. “I saw the way he touched you tonight. I saw the way you were so... eager to please.”
The muscles in her throat tightened beneath his fingers. Stars lined her vision and her lungs burned for air. Even if she could scream, she knew no one in the Gulch would come running to help her. Given the outcome of the fight, most would probably pay to see her killed. Her voice rasped out. “Let—me—”
His wet lips crashed down on her own, cutting off her words as he enveloped her mouth in the taste of lunarshine and joori leaves. Her body shuddered in revulsion. The kiss was nothing like Daxton’s. The prince’s touch had been giving, gentle, kind. Kiyo’s kiss held the promise of pain.
Tesla lashed her knee out against Kiyo’s groin, but he twisted at the last moment, forcing her blow to land harmlessly against his thigh. He grunted, but the sound quickly turned to a sinister laugh.
“Don’t be so rude,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m just asking for a taste.”
Tears stung her cheeks, and she hated herself for crying. Hated that she couldn’t overpower him. Hated that she’d lost her parents and her best friend, leaving her with only violation and pain to fill the void. Something inside her broke, allowing the anger and hurt she’d felt for so many months to spill over.
“You were my family,” she choked out beneath his grip. “You were all I had left. And now you’re another one of Yosef’s thugs, like Naamah? How could you do this to me?” She pounded her fists against his chest, but Kiyo didn’t even flinch.
“Let me show you what I can do to you,” his lunarshine-infused breath whispered against her cheek. Kiyo’s hand traveled to her flat stomach, searching for the bottom of her shirt. His lips pressed against hers once more.
Tesla didn’t hesitate, biting down as hard as she could on his prying tongue.
He jerked backward. In a flash, his hand slapped her hard enough to send her staggering. But the moment was just enough to free her from his grasp. Just like she had in the match, she lowered her center of gravity into a deep crouch and leapt into the air, punching downward with all her strength.
He howled, stumbling backward against the walkway railing as something metal and heavy clattered in the darkness. Then she saw it—the flash of a chrome barrel sliding across the floor.
Kiyo tried reaching for the gun, but his fingers barely brushed the hilt of the pistol before Tesla raised it up, pressing it against his forehead with shaking hands.
“Go—Home—Kiyo.” Her throat felt dry and raspy like a steel sponge.
His eyes widened as he took in the situation. Tesla saw the exact moment he realized what he’d nearly done, a wave of horror shifting his features. “No, no, Tesla. I-I’m so sorry—”
She silenced him by grabbing his hair and shoving the barrel beneath his chin. “If you ever come near me again, I will end you,” she bit out, spitting on the ground near his shoes.
Kiyo nodded, his cheeks smudged from his own tears. As he rose, Tesla fought to steady her hands, aiming the pistol directly at his heart.
His shoulders shuddered as he let loose a thin, croaky whimper. His mouth opened to speak, and Tesla knew all the things he wanted to confess: that he’d loved her once, that he was sorry they’d become enemies, that he hated how he’d touched her just now. Instead, he choked back another sob, turned, and ran into the night.
Tesla’s knees buckled, and she collapsed against the wall, still clutching the gun in her palm. She wanted to scream, to shout after him all the ways he’d shattered her heart, but the words caught against the walls of her raw throat.
There was nothing left to say.
TWENTY-ONE
THE PANELS HISSED OPEN, and the operator’s eyebrows raised in surprise as Daxton entered Level Eight’s main lift, but if he wondered why the Prime Heir rubbed symotox out of his jaw, or why he was dressed to attend a botFight, the man was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. It was a good choice, the prince mused, given his current mood.
“Leave it be, Jasmeen,” he begged once mor
e. "I don't want to do this right now."
He shouldn’t have left Tesla there, bleeding on her doorstep. And leaning in for the kiss? What had he been thinking? Besides the truth that it would never work between them, and the fact that Cerise held his future in her claws, it hadn’t been fair to Tesla. She deserved better, and his guilt at having placed her in that position felt like razors slicing his chest.
No matter how much he wished it, Jasmeen didn’t relent. “I just don’t know what you were thinking, sir,” she said. The formality wasn’t merely a show put on in front of the station worker; it was her not-so-subtle way of making her displeasure known. Daxton hated the way the word made the air between them heavy and stiff. “None of us knew where you had gone. Blitz was convinced you had been crushed in the riot, and Sav was ready to tear the station apart. We were frantic while you ran off to play the hero.”
Daxton leaned over the lift operator’s shoulder and mashed the button to close the heavy steel doors, but Jasmeen squeezed through at the last minute. She stood beside him expectantly, hands on her hips, a look of fierce disapproval contorting her the lines of her tattoo. “With all due respect, Meen,” he said, “I don’t have to ask your permission to move about the station.”
“With all due respect, Your Highness, it’s my job to protect you. Isn’t that why you brought me on board in the first place?”
“You know damn well why I asked you to come.”
“What you did tonight was reckless. Carrying Tesla back through the Gulch painted a huge target on your back. Anyone could have seen you—or worse. The royal family isn’t exactly well-liked downstation.”
“It’s a good thing you’re around to mitigate my mistakes, then. And as for your hero comment, you can rest assured it won’t happen again.”
She frowned, eyeing him with something akin to suspicion. “What happened between you two?”
“Nothing.”
Jasmeen crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “Something happened. I know that look on your face. You didn’t get something you wanted, and you’re upset.” She paused, the harsh edges of her tone relaxing as she placed a hand on Daxton’s arm. “Look, don’t blame Tesla for guarding her heart. She’s had to survive on her own for a long time. It’s not easy to hand someone a piece of your life when you’ve spent all your waking moments trying to keep those pieces together. If anyone knows that, it’s me. I thought you would have learned as much when Liam—”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said a little too sharply. A curious look crept across the lift operator’s face, but Daxton silenced any further conversation with a small shake of his head. There are ears and eyes everywhere, he wanted to say. The lift chimed again, and they watched impatiently as the digital numbers counted up to Level Two. If Jasmeen had a retort, she thankfully kept the words behind her teeth.
Where had that come from? Her sudden change of topic left him feeling off-kilter and unbalanced. Of course he respected Tesla. Without a family, she’d learned to rely on only herself. He wouldn’t do her the disservice of pretending to know what that was like. But he’d been sure she felt something for him beyond simply needing his help to get off the station. Her abrupt dismissal left him feeling confused and frustrated.
And why was Jasmeen bringing Liam’s death into this? It was unfair. Though Daxton knew he’d never truly recover, he’d at least sutured the edges of that wound long ago. Freiter had made him promise he would move on and try to live a full life, and Daxton had—with the little freedom he was allowed. He owed Freiter that much for his sacrifice. The more he thought about it, the more he resented the current course of the conversation along with the hollow feeling it left in his core.
She was treating him like a child. Had she forgotten that they’d endured the same training, the same brutal hazing, the same field exercises in defense and threat assessment led by the barrel-fisted Colonel Tolson? He gnashed his teeth together, a habit he’d picked up to keep himself from talking back to his commanders at the Academy. He hated the way his friends sometimes handled him, as though he were made of hand-painted porcelain on display in the National Archives. It was times like these, when they coddled and shepherded him, that his position of Prime Heir felt as powerful as mist.
The doors opened, and he pushed past Jasmeen toward his room.
“Daxton,” she whispered. Her voice trembled, and he stilled at the hesitation in her eyes. “I hope you know that I care about you. I know you have to make a choice at the ball—a choice that will decide the future of your happiness—and I know Cerise has something on you. That’s the only explanation for why you’d marry a girl that horrible.” She took a deep breath full of apology. “Whatever you choose, I hope it’s you who decides... not Prince Tomasz.”
“That’s the difference between you and I, Jasmeen,” Daxton said, turning away. “You still believe the choice is mine to make.”
IF THE RIDE IN THE elevator was uncomfortable, Daxton now found himself squirming. Though he’d been looking forward to finally collapsing into the plush bed just a few feet away, it seemed he was in for a long night, indeed.
His uncle paced near the fireplace, backlit by the flickering of the digital flames, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “You mean to tell me that my nephew, my brother’s son, the crowned prince of the First World Union, spent his evening among bloodthirsty gangs down in the slums?”
“Sounds like you’ve got it about right. Now may I sleep? I’m exhausted and not in the mood for a second lecture tonight.”
His uncle held up a hand to cut him off. “Enough of your sarcasm, Tomasz. I heeded your concerns regarding the station’s level of safety, accommodated you by sending an entire army of Sec-Bots to the Atlas—when no one else would bother to take it seriously, I might add—and this is how you thank me? I came to your room tonight to discuss the itinerary for the next few days. Imagine my disbelief when I didn’t find you in your quarters.”
“I had a security team with me.”
Kyrartine counted under his breath to calm his anger, then said, “I understand you have close connections to your friends from the academy, but they are not your official bodyguards. Lieutenants Cardemore and Gifford—” he pointed to a severe-looking woman and a trim, lanky man flanking the door, “—are your real guards. And thanks to all the inventive ways you’ve chosen to ditch them, they are very close to losing their positions, possibly even being dismissed from service entirely if your father gets wind of this mess. Are you really so selfish that you would take away their livelihood?”
The woman stood up straighter, and Daxton felt yet another pang of guilt. He’d always viewed his appointed guards as more nuisance than necessity. But standing here now, with the firelight licking through the room in a dance of shadows and heat, it felt different. The guards were just people trying to do a job and earn a living, yet they’d been stuck with the impossible responsibility of guarding the only member of the royal family who wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
“Did anyone see you below the deimark? Did you speak to anyone? If so, Doyle will need to prepare a statement and schedule a press conference.”
The advisor stepped out from behind a large lamp, his usually crisp attire uncharacteristically disheveled, as though he’d been hastily yanked from bed. “T-that’s true,” he stammered. “I know the fights are viewed as entertainment by some of our more elite visitors. Did you happen to recognize anyone this evening? Or worse yet—did anyone recognize you?”
Kyrartine lifted a brow. “How do you know about the fights, Doyle?”
The advisor seemed almost insulted as he brushed a piece of lint from his coat. “It’s my job to know the interests of the other diplomats, Defense Minister. How can we predict what motivates our allies and enemies unless we understand them?”
“No one recognized me,” Daxton insisted, the irritation clear in his voice. Now was not the time to mention his interrogation of the smuggler, Eamon Faraday
. “Like I said before, I wore a disguise, and I didn’t make a scene. As for the riot—”
“The what?” Kyrartine snapped.
“It’s fine. I... got out safely. Everyone was far too busy dodging blows to notice anything else. The only person who could truly identify me is the lift operator, and who would believe him even if he talked? The important thing we learned is that Freiter’s information is trustworthy—”
“I don’t want to hear another damned thing about your secret message!” his uncle bellowed. “And tell me, where is this loyal informant now? Have you heard anything else?” The man didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “No, you haven’t, or else you would have said. Why would someone you consider such a good friend send you such a cryptic warning without giving you any additional facts?”
Daxton felt his anger grow. “You’re right, I haven’t heard from him since that first message. In fact, I’m worried that he’s hurt—or worse—and my intuition tells me it happened on the station. Which is why I need to keep searching.”
His uncle exhaled heavily. “He’s a former soldier. A disgraced former soldier. Who knows what Freiter is doing right now? He could simply be holed up in the arms of a high-society companion at a pleasure den for all you know.”
“You and my father are always urging me to take my place, assume responsibility, protect my kingdom. I’m trying to protect it by saving lives and preventing a war.”
Kyrartine rubbed his forehead. “I will take another look at the Sec-Bot patrol footage, but unless I find anything that gives Freiter credit, you’re confined to quarters until the ball.”
Doyle cleared his throat. “Er—His Highness will need to attend some of the negotiations and diplomatic proceedings. There's a press conference pending about the state of trade in Delhi Province...”
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