Page 7 of Storm Caller

As we move deeper into the clearing, the jovial mood dims, and everyone falls silent. August and Calliope nod in greeting, but Rook and I have become the center of attention.

We approach a group standing in front of a larger tent that glows from within. Combined with the soft light from the flickering fence beyond, the scene is quietly beautiful in its own mysterious way.

The group shuffles aside, revealing a man with pale skin, sandy-brown hair, and bright blue eyes. He’s perhaps five years older than Rook, handsome in a hard-edged way, with a strong jaw and straight nose. He’s nearly as big as Rook, too. Tall and broad in black leather that molds to his form.

“Cal,” he says, almost as if he’s surprised to see her.

“Fisher,” she says, her voice a bit different from earlier. A little softer and higher. More deferent. Breathless.

Immediately, I wonder if she’s in love with him.

Fisher.

The same man who’s been mentioned a few times.

Commander Sterling.

“We found these two in the Wastes,” Calliope reports, her voice tuned to its more familiar snarl. “They used the east tunnel out of New Manhattan. It’s gone now.”

Everyone’s attention turns to us. From the pins and badges on their clothing, I can only assume this is a higher-level command group. They vary in age but share the same air of hardness. Of strength forged in the severity of their lives.

Commander Fisher Sterling cocks his head, his gaze finding me first. It slides over my face, my clothes, even my boots, before he looks up to meet my eyes.

“You found a Crust?” he asks, his tone less scathing than curious, like I’m an oddity to be puzzled out.

Calliope snorts. “Trust me, we were all shocked.”

Fisher’s attention shifts to my left and lands on Rook. He sighs, shaking his head. “Athira. Why doesn’t this surprise me at all? What the fuck are you doing here?”

It occurs to me that at least Rook told me his real name, and I derive way too much comfort from that.

Rook raises a brow and smiles. “You know how I just love dropping in.”

“You came from the city?” he asks.

Rook doesn’t answer, his jaw tight.

Fisher sighs. “Always with the secrets. Does your father know where you are?”

Rook just stands there, arms crossed, never breaking eye contact. It’s obvious he won’t answer. It seems I’m not the only one Rook keeps things from.

It’s pathetic, but that also makes me feel a little better.

“My business doesn’t concern you,” Rook answers after a long, awkward moment in which I swear no one around us breathes.

Fisher snorts, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops as he saunters closer. “Yet I find myself curious. That’s understandable, isn’t it?”

He stands toe-to-toe with Rook. Nearly matched in height and size, I notice other similarities around the eyes and mouth. In the shape of their noses. It isn’t immediately obvious due to their different coloring, but I’m sure I’m not imagining it.

Who are they to each other?

“Maybe I’ll torture the information out of you,” Fisher says casually, tipping his head. “Or maybe . . .” His gaze flicks to me. “I’ll squeeze it out of her? I bet she screams so nice.”

I’m too shocked to react.

A growl rumbles from Rook’s throat, and Fisher’s eyes widen before he bursts out laughing, slapping a hand across his chest.

“Oh, Rook,” he says, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Did you fall for a Crust? What will the mighty High Commander Athira say about that?”