Page 2 of Storm Caller

“Okay,” I whisper, curling my hands into fists on my thighs.

“That’s a good girl,” Calliope says as Vess lifts Rook’s shirt to reveal the bandage I applied.

I recall the moment Knox swung at me. The flashing blade in his hand. I replay it in my head, trying to figure out when exactly Rook was hit.

All I know is that he tried to protect me.

And I’m not sure what to do with that.

Vess peels away the bandages, exposing the hastily stitched wound.

“Who did this?” she asks, obvious displeasure crumpling her expression.

“I did,” I admit.

She peers over, scanning me up and down.

I wait for her to laugh and tell me I’m a joke, but she turns away and sets to work, carefully snipping and then removing the crooked, bloodied threads.

Calliope makes a tutting sound, prompting me to look up. She’s glaring at Rook with a mixture of disdain and amusement.

“Looking a little rough, isn’t he?” she mocks, earning a laugh from the others. “Life among the Crusts not all you expected it to be, Rooky-dear?”

The Crusts?

Rook’s lashes flutter again, his bleary-eyed gaze landing on Calliope.

“Fuck . . . off,” he gasps as more laughter circles around the clearing.

Her eyes narrow as they shift to me. “And you brought one with you . . .”

I wince at the venom in her tone. It’s obvious she already hates me.

While Vess cleans up, re-stitches, and bandages Rook’s wound, I study the rest of the group. Their strange leather armor is draped with strategically placed pieces of cloth around their hips and shoulders, but I recognize some of what they’re wearing: a navy tactical vest just like the Patrol uses, a shiny purple Storm Guard harness.

They’ve been stealing from New Manhattan.

Exactly like The Shield always warned us.

When a tall man with a shaved head notices me staring, he gives me an icy look, his hand sliding down the length of the stunner gripped in his large hands. His finger curls around the trigger.

I wish Rook were in better shape. Not only because I’m terrified for him, but so he could tell me who the fuck these people are and what’s about to happen to us.

We’re obviously in danger.

But just how much?

Silence buzzes through the clearing while Vess finishes tending to Rook. His skin is still pale and slick with sweat, but at least he isn’t bleeding anymore. She opens a case filled with clear glass vials, draws a dose into an injection canister, and before I can object, stabs him in the pectoral.

Rook’s entire frame tenses before he relaxes with a soft woosh. His eyes open again, finding mine for a second before his head rolls back.

“Can he walk?” Calliope asks.

“This will help with the pain,” Vess answers. “Give him about thirty minutes.”

“He can’t walk! Look at him!” I object without entirely meaning to.

Every eye in the clearing swivels toward me, and I want to shrink into a tiny mote of dust.