Page 65 of Storm Caller

My mother nods and reaches for me again, tugging me into another long hug. I squeeze her back, and she kisses my forehead before pulling away.

“We’ll see you soon,” she says, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Be careful.”

Then she turns and walks away as though she can’t bear to look at me for another second longer. The rapid echo of her footsteps feels like a barrage of shots to my chest.

My father lingers. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks as we share a long look. We have things to say to each other. I don’t entirely understand what or why, but something has shifted. We are no longer father and daughter, but something else.

Coconspirators?

“Dad,” I whisper.

I feel like I’m eight years old again.

Before I knew the true depths of his fury.

Before I understood what he was truly capable of.

I feel like the small child who still believed in the power of her father’s love.

But he doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t acknowledge it.

After one more drawn-out look, he turns and walks away.

The worst part is knowing I may never learn the truth.

21

My trial arrives three days later.

It’s morning, and I’m given a full tray of food and clean clothes to change into. I’ve been fed adequately, but I could really use a shower. I pull on the black shirt and pants and stuff my feet into the same boots I arrived in.

Still, I’m grateful for it all. I understand that I’ve been afforded these privileges thanks to my father and maybe a few secret strings pulled by General Sol.

Then I try to smooth my hair back, running my fingers through it and knotting it into a braid to tame my frizzy locks. I stare at the ends, the bright amethyst streaks, and the deeper purple, so dark it’s nearly black.

A sign that my father knew what I was hiding.

General Sol encouraged a silly fashion trend to protect herself and people like me. I had no idea that she was saving my life before I even understood what I was. My respect for her and everything she’s tried to protect grows at that moment. All I’d ever seen was a distant leader, steady and unyielding, but I didn’t understand the burdens she was carrying.

I think about the first time I saw Rook and that deep flash of purple hair, and some instinctive part of me knew we were the same. Maybe it’s part of why we were so drawn to each other when everything was telling us to keep our distance.

Heavy footsteps mark the arrival of a pair of Extinguishers dressed in their bloodred uniforms. One is the infamous Lieutenant Dire. His dark hair is slicked back from his forehead, and he’s grown out his beard, making him appear older. I remember the furious look on his face as he dragged Trinity into the ballroom with his arm clamped around her throat. I’ll never forget it.

My other escort is a woman of average height with dyed purple hair twisted into two long braids. They both wear stunners strapped to their backs, and they stop outside my cell, expressionless. They look mean. They look like they’d much rather sentence me to death without the annoyance of a trial to prove my innocence.

“Morning, darling,” Lieutenant Dire sneers, all warmth and sunshine.

He waves a keycard against my cell’s lock, and it hisses open, sliding away on smooth tracks. I say nothing as they cuff my wrists behind my back with a bit more roughness than necessary.

I am resigned to this fate. There is no point in fighting it.

They march me down long, silent corridors. I’ve suspected I’m the only prisoner here, and that’s confirmed as we pass a dozen empty cells. I doubt it’s because I’m their only captive.

Sol said they’ve been rounding up people left and right.

But it’s obvious they wanted to keep me separated.

Because I’m a danger to them? Because they wanted to keep my presence quiet? Because of everything I know?