Blood of a Thousand Stars (Empress of a Thousand Skies #2)(3)

Julian hadn’t exactly been thrilled when they landed on his doorstep looking for the Lancer. In fact, he got so intense that he’d caused a scene, calling them thieves and managing to get a jab in when Aly was trying to hold him down. But as soon as help came, all they did was scold Julian and apologize to Kara and Aly, who did their damnedest to keep their faces hidden. Apparently Julian had acted up after his dad died, and his being known as a hothead worked in their favor.

Since then, Aly, Kara, and Pavel had been trailing him, but they kept their distance. Julian was their only connecting thread to the Lancer and the information he should have given her before his death. Kara was sure it had to do with the location of the overwriter—the same technology that Lydia had used to hack into Kara’s cube and erase her memories of being Josselyn.

The same technology Lydia had told her about before she died. The technology that Kara wanted to destroy.

But first she had to find it, and they didn’t have a whole lot to go on. The three of them had combed all available information about the G-1K summits, where the galaxy’s scientists got together to develop the cube—but nothing concrete turned up in any of the policies, ethical standards, reports, or updates. Kara even did a deep dive into the conspiracy theories about the overwriter, and some suggested a kind of prototype had been developed in the Outer Belt, which functioned by deleting simple memories stored on people’s cubes via a giant shared network that rivaled UniForce’s. But Kara already knew that, since it was her memories that had once been removed—and it didn’t give her any new information. There had always been rumors. They needed something concrete. And their only lead was Julian.

Now, Kara waited for Julian to leave the dojo, like he did every afternoon. She squinted back down at the crowd. Today, she would finally get inside.

“If I could choose any superpower, I’d read your mind,” Aly said.

“You don’t want to be in there.” She shook her head. “It’s all messed up.”

“I want to see all of it. Even the messed-up parts,” Aly told her. He moved closer so that their shoulders were touching. “Especially the messed-up parts.”

Kara fought the urge to look over at him but gave in anyway.

“Your eyes,” he said softly, their lips a breath apart. She looked at that little spot at the center of his upper lip—where it dipped in just so. “They’re changing color again.”

Kara blinked. The rest of the world rushed back in; she felt like she’d woken up from a spell.

“Pavel!” she called back, and demanded his mirror when he rolled close, bringing it to her face.

“I didn’t mean anything . . .” Aly had started to say. But Kara shook her head. She saw it: the golden hue of her left iris, the tiny specks of green dotting the center.

“They haven’t changed that much,” Aly said, backtracking.

Kara’s tongue felt thick. They had changed. She was different. The faint headache suddenly became an intense throbbing behind her right eye. She fished the eye drops out of her pocket; they had quick-fix DNA-suppression properties to keep her eyes the same color. The liquid burned when she dropped it on her cornea.

“Hey,” Aly said, taking her hand again. “I don’t know why I even said anything. I can barely tell.”

She didn’t pull away this time, but looked down at the way their fingers interlaced—and how his knuckles were red and raw from everything he’d been through in the last few weeks. It felt like a lifetime had passed since they met on the zeppelin. The world was at war. Everything had changed, including her face.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she said.

“Four o’clock!” Pavel announced.

Aly squeezed her hand. “We’re done with the drills, P,” he called behind them.

“Not a drill. Target at four o’clock.”

Kara ripped the binoculars from Aly’s hand and looked in the direction Pavel had called. There was Julian, exiting a structure, with his telltale slouch. Kara locked eyes for a fleeting moment with Aly before they gathered their things and each threw their duhatj on.

“You know what to do, Pavel,” Aly called as he and Kara quickly made their way down the ladder. She was so nervous she was half sliding, half falling, and suddenly they had boots on the top floor and were flying down the steps to the street level. She burst out of the door, right into the crowded streets of the protest. Aly was by her side, pulling her back. “Slow it down,” he said, adjusting the fabric of her duhatj.

But urgency coursed through her limbs. They were going to break into someone’s spot. Julian was connected to the Lancer, their only lead—and he’d known Rhee, was friends with her even, judging by how defensive he’d gotten when he saw Kara’s matching coin. But they were also in the middle of a protest, surrounded by a whole lot of guards eager to use their stunners if you gave them a reason.

A light flashed again at four o’clock from the lookout point—Pavel’s signal of Julian’s location. Julian was headed home.

Kara dove into the crowd. Aly was right behind her. The mass pushed forward, chanting and hollering about fair pay and lower export taxes for goods to the moon. She followed with a singular purpose, pushing her way through the crowd as the light hopped from building to building, all in a row, moving farther and farther away. Finally they reached the dome-shaped threshold, and Kara looked up to confirm one last time that the light was far away. She reached behind her to find Aly’s hand.