Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(11)

Mags sprints across the lawn toward the burning house. Black-O soldiers chase after her. Some of the creatures drop to all four limbs and hurtle across the lawn like maginots. It’s frightening, especially because they appear mostly human, save some chrome embellishments. The genetically modified soldiers close in on Mags. She reaches the stone walls of the house and leaps through a broken window. Flames engulf her. Her agonizing screams are the music she dances to before the heat melts her body. She crumples and disappears in the smoke.

I hold my breath, desperate to keep my emotions in check. My throat aches from having been strangled and from the effort to restrain my tears. Several Black-Os follow Mags inside the inferno—whether ordered to or not, I don’t know—and like Mags they become part of the ferocious destruction. Mags killed herself to protect Reykin, and possibly everyone in the Gates of Dawn. I bite my lip to keep from sobbing.

A howl of frustration tears the air. Agent Crow seizes my jaw and squeezes it hard, forcing me to look at him. “Tell me where he is! Where’s Reykin Winterstrom?”

I swallow back my tears of anguish and force a hollow laugh instead. “If you need to ask, then you don’t know. If you don’t know where he is, it’s because you can’t see inside my mind. That means I’m not, nor have I ever been, one of your Black-Os.” He slaps my cheek hard enough to turn my face. My focus snaps back to him in defiance. He snarls and punches me this time. My skin burns. The inside of my cheek bashes against my teeth. Tasting blood, I manage to grin anyway. “What’s wrong? Too much wicked disobedience?” I mutter.

Agent Crow grabs my upper arms, even as I’m still held back by the dragon-scaled Cherno. “Tell me who Winterstrom’s allies are,” he demands. “Who would he run to? Where would he hide?”

Trying not to wince, I simply stare back at him.

Someone clears his throat behind Agent Crow, but he keeps well back from us. The Census agent straightens and whirls on the man. The dark-haired newcomer wears a uniform similar to my own, except with an iridescent pin on his chest, in the shape of a slim rectangle through a triangle. His silver shooting-star moniker indicates that he’s a secondborn from the Fate of Stars.

“Come!” Agent Crow orders.

I sense reluctance in the other man’s body language as he moves toward us. I study his face and swallow against the bile rising in my throat. I think for a moment that it’s Reykin himself, but then he enters the light from the fire, and I know it isn’t the firstborn Star, but his secondborn brother, Ransom.

A new burst of fear wends through me. My heart, aching from Mags’s suicide, now thrums harder. I wonder if Agent Crow will make the connection between Ransom and Reykin—or maybe he already knows? Agent Crow’s superpower is observation. He cannot possibly miss the resemblance between the brothers. It’s so obvious—at least, it is to me.

Ransom appears to be thinking the same thing. The lines around his mouth tighten. He watches Crow straighten, and his Adam’s apple bobs in a deep gulp. He bows his head in a show of respect to the menacing Census agent. “You wanted to see me, Your Grace?” Ransom asks.

“Your Grace?” I repeat with a snort. “Is that what you make them call you?” My reaction is as much a distraction to divert Agent Crow’s attention from the newcomer’s face as it is a jab at his arrogance.

Agent Crow tenses. “As you can see, Roselle St. Sismode has awakened from our control. I’ve told you before that her implant is an utter failure. I still cannot access all her memories or one single relevant image from her dreams!”

A knot coils in my belly when I realize that there truly is something installed in my brain, and Ransom Winterstrom put it there. The betrayal I feel at the hands of Reykin’s brother is almost as bad as the heavy dread of knowing my body has been infiltrated. The only solace is that, for some reason, the technology malfunctioned. Agent Crow may be searching for Reykin Winterstrom, but it isn’t because he found out anything from me. Maybe he’s looking for Reykin because the firstborn Star was part of Grisholm’s advisory council? Or because Reykin managed to escape from the massacre at the Silver Halo? Whatever the case, I haven’t betrayed him . . . yet.

“You can’t pry your way into my memories,” I gloat, interrupting Agent Crow’s interrogation.

His mouth spreads in a grim line. “I don’t need to access your mind, Roselle, to know what you’ve been up to. You’re quite the little Fate traitor, aren’t you? At least, that’s what Hawthorne thinks of you.”

A spasm of fear sharpens my voice. “Where’s Hawthorne? Is he here?” I force back tears of rage.

“Hawthorne. Now there’s an interesting story. You think you know him, don’t you? I’d wager that you believe you’re the only person that Hawthorne Trugrave dreams about. As it turns out, he doesn’t dream of you at all. Do you know who fills his mind?” I can’t answer. If I do, my voice may crack and betray me. “He dreams about Agnes Moon. You remember her, don’t you? She was his lover before he met you—before I beat her to death for helping you escape me. Hawthorne obsesses over every shape she’s ever taken.” Agent Crow leans near my ear, whispering, “Every time he ever touched you, he thought of her, and it stopped him from wanting you. Are you sure he ever loved you?”

“I’m not surprised,” I lie, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Hawthorne cared about her. I promised him I’d help him kill you to avenge Agnes.”