Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(46)

The thought of escaping this existence is a tempting one. I have no idea where I’d go, but anywhere seems better than here, within reach of Agent Crow. “Why would detention be any easier to escape than your air-barracks?”

“It isn’t, but I needed a place to hide.”

“From whom?”

“Monsters in black coats.”

“You’re hiding from Census? In here?” I gesture to our cell.

“That’s right,” she whispers. “They’re changing out monikers. Mine is cloned—they’ll be able to tell when they extract it. I must find a way off this Base without getting caught. They’re working on the Tritium 101 monikers right now because we’re scheduled to ship out soon to the Twilight Forest, and from there, the front line. I just have to avoid them until we do.”

I’m shocked. “You’re in my air-barracks?”

“Aye. It was me who put your leather jacket in your locker for you. I never felt leather that nice before. It’s contraband, mind you, and if they catch you with it, you’ll do time in here again. You’re in Section Black, same as me, except I’m in the underdeck, where they put all Stones who assist Swords.”

My eyebrows lower in confusion. “I didn’t see my leather jacket in my locker.”

“Oh, I hid it for you. It’s there, in the false bottom that I created for you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“I can find a buyer for you, if you’re interested. You can get quite a few merits for it, if you go through me.”

“Are you thirdborn?” I ask, on a hunch.

She wrings her hands, the first sign of fear I’ve seen from her. “No. I’m secondborn. I just don’t come from the Fate of Stones.”

“You’re from Stars.”

“Aye.” She points to her tattoos. “I got these beauties before I became a privateer.”

“Why would you change your moniker?”

“Stone-Fates don’t have many advantages. It’s probably the worst Fate to be born into if you have ambition, but it’s the best Fate if you want to become invisible. No one sees us, even in our orange uniforms. We’re beneath notice. Being invisible is an advantage for someone in my profession.”

“What will happen if you’re caught?”

Her face pales, and she looks away from me. “They may think I’m a good-for-nothin’ thirdborn, but even if they do believe that I’m secondborn, they’ll want to know how I came by my cloned moniker, and that I can’t tell ’em. If I do, people will die. So they’ll torture me until I talk, or until they kill me. Either way, it’s not worth livin’ for. I have this.” She holds up a small white capsule. “Cyanide. It’s a better death.”

I rub my forehead. The stress of the day has brought on a headache. “Listen, I’ll help you avoid Census. Please get rid of that.”

“I promise you that I will pay you back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Why would you help me and not expect payment in return?” She’s studying me.

I lower my chin, unable to meet her hazel eyes. “I’m responsible for Census’s getting someone who tried to help me—a Moon-Fated advocate. An agent named Crow killed her. In a way, I owe a debt.”

“Then, you’ll help me . . . for real.” She expels a pent-up sigh.

“I’ll help you. What’s your plan?”



A little more than thirty-two hours later, at around midnight, I’m writhing on my bed, pretending to be ill, watching as Flannigan tries to get the attention of the MP on duty. It takes a lot of door-banging, jumping up and down, and hand-waving, but she finally gets a detention guard to come into the cell.

“Oi, are you sick?” the guard asks, twisting his mustache like he doesn’t believe a word.

I groan. “I’ll be okay,” I reply, holding my hand to my stomach, lying on my bunk in the fetal position. “Stomach problems. I ate the porridge.”

He’s not unsympathetic and calls an Atom-Fated medic for me. The medic dispenses a couple of antacids and tells me to drink water. Before the guard leaves, Flannigan rests her hand on his arm and thanks him. The guard sees the doctor out and closes the cell door behind them.

When he’s gone, I sit up, drinking water to wash away the taste of the chalky antacids. “Did you get it?” I ask.

“Aye.” She sits beside me on the bunk, showing me her moniker, which has changed from a brown mountain-range symbol to a silver sword-shaped symbol.

“How did you do that?” I ask.

“’Tis my processor. They call it a copycat. It cost me a fortune, and by tomorrow, it’ll be absolutely worthless. The new monikers repel its ability to infiltrate the technology. Until someone comes up with a way to beat the new moniker processors, I’m in serious trouble.”

“Do you still have your old moniker?”

“I do, but it’s not here. It’s back in Stars. I couldn’t let it be found on me when I crossed fatedoms.”

I lift her hand and admire the sword hologram. “Have you been many places?” I ask.

“I’ve been everywhere. I’ve had thousands of lives that were not my own.” She doesn’t look much older than twenty as she stands and crooks her finger at me. “And now, whenever you’re ready, I’ll have one more to share with you. Follow me, and we’ll be Holcomb Sword for a while.” She giggles, like this is a game, but it’s a deadly game, and I’m just waking up to the fact that I’m ready to play it.