been anywhere since Irabelle, but that was always base. And while the soldiers there are the closest thing I have to family, I never could see the cold concrete and mazelike passages as anything more than a way station. A place to train and wait for the next assignment.
Not so with the ruin on the doorstep of the killing grounds, in the shadow of a grave city.
âThatâs it,â I tell Cara, and lean back against the closet wall.
She nods and folds away the broadcaster. âNice to see you all chatting again.â
Before I can laugh, Tristanâs neat knock jars the shuttered excuse for a door. âGot company.â
Barrow .
âDuty calls,â I grumble as I scoot past Cara, bumping her in the closed space. Wrenching open the door, Iâm surprised to find Tristan standing so close, his usual nervous energy on overdrive.
âSpotters got him this time, finally,â he says. On another day, he might be proud, but something about this sets him off. I know why. We never see Barrow coming. So why today? âSignaled itâs importantââ
Behind him, the farmhouse door bangs open, revealing a red-faced Barrow flanked by Cris and Little Coop.
One look at his terrified face is enough.
âScatter,â I snap.
They know what it means. They know where to go.
A hurricane moves through the farmhouse, taking home with it. The guns, the provisions, our gear disappears in a practiced heartbeat, shoved into bags and packs. Cris and Little Coop are already gone, into the trees, to get as high as they can. Their mirrors and birdcalls willcarry the message to the others in the woods. Tristan supervises the rest, all while loading his long rifle.
âThere isnât time , theyâre coming now!â Barrow hisses, suddenly at my side. He takes my elbow and not gently. âYou have to go!â
Two snaps of my fingers. The team obeys, dropping whatever isnât packed away. I guess weâll have to steal some more tents down the line, but itâs the least of my worries. Another snap, and they fly like bullets from a gun. Cara, Tye, Rasha, and the rest going through the door and the collapsed wall, in all directions with all speed. The woods swallow them whole.
Tristan waits for me because itâs his job. Barrow waits becauseâbecause I donât know.
âFarley,â he hisses. Another tug at my arm.
I cast one last glance, making sure we have everything, before making my own escape into the tree line. The men follow, keeping pace with my sprint through tangled roots and brush. My heart pounds in my ears, beating a harried drum. Weâve had worse. Weâve had worse .
Then I hear the dogs.
Animos-controlled hounds. Theyâll smell us, theyâll follow, and the swifts will run us down. If weâre lucky theyâll think weâre deserters and kill us in the forest. If notâI donât want to think about what horrors the black city of Corvium holds.
âGet to water,â I force out. âTheyâll lose the scent!â
But the river is a half mile on.
I only hope they take the time to search the farmhouse, giving us the window we need to escape. At least the others are farther on, spread wide. No pack can follow us all. But me, us, the freshest, closest scent? Easy prey.
Despite the protest in my muscles, I push harder and run faster thanI ever have before. But after only a minute, only a minute , I start to tire. If only I could run as fast as my thundering heart.
Tristan slows with me, though he doesnât need to. âThereâs a creek,â he hisses, pointing south. âShoots off the river, closer. You head for it.â
âWhat are you talking about?â
âI can make it to the river. You canât. And they canât follow us both.â
My eyes widen. I almost trip in my confusion, but Barrow catches me before I can, sternly helping me over a gnarled root. âTristanââ
My