“What’s next?” he asked, grinning.
Sophia examined the street they’d ended up on. “Don’t you live near here?” She laughed at the expression on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. It was a question, not an invitation.”
“But you’ve known where I live for ‘weeks.’” He mimicked the pitying way she’d spoken earlier.
“You’re right. I know you live three blocks down. Sometimes I like to play coy.”
Nevertheless, when they began walking, theydidwalk in the direction of his apartment. Jac came close to asking if she was following him—and why—when he realized she’d only been heading in the direction of a dumpster.
“You don’t want what’s under these clothes, anyway,” she said casually. Then she pulled a half-rotted rabbit’s foot from beneath her shirt and threw it in the trash. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”
But Jac was no longer listening, distracted by a sudden idea. This entire time, he’d been balancing his wager between Charles and Delia.
But there was a third Torren.
If Sophia entered the feud and won, she could control the empire long enough to give Harrison his votes, then destroy it after the election.
Jac muttered a goodbye so he could mull over the possibility, and continued toward his apartment.
To his surprised, he found one of the Irons sitting on his front stoop—a runner named Stella. She stood up with a groan. “Finally,” she complained. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”
Jac’s eyes widened as Stella relayed the message from Levi. “All the Irons are invited, of course,” she added. “Pup says he’ll really do it. And there’s a great view of Revolution Bridge from—”
Jac didn’t wait for her to finish. Normally, he’d be furious at Levi for devising something so reckless. But, now, a impulsive plan began to form in his mind, pushing all other thoughts aside.
Jac sprinted and caught up to Sophia along the sidewalk of Tropps Street.
“Todd,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Miss me already?”
“You got me—I’m smitten,” Jac huffed, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “So do you want to go to a party?”
LEVI
Levi stood on a rooftop porch above the museum, gazing at Revolution Bridge ahead. It hadn’t always been the magnificent structure it was now. The statues of famous rebels had been added after the Revolution, their polished bases glinting in the sunlight. It was one of only three bridges in the city wide enough to accommodate motorcar traffic, and sidewalks and benches lined the sides for tourists to sit and take pictures.
Soon it would be gone.
Tock stood behind him, clad in a skintight black party dress.
“Is everything arranged?” Levi asked.
“Yes, I bought plenty of hooch.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He should’ve been excited, he knew. He should’ve been hearing explosions in his mind like music. After all, he’d envisioned this plan a thousand times over the past two weeks—but in none of those visions had he painted himself a murderer.
“There’s nothingtoarrange,” Tock said impatiently. “You just tell me what to blow up, and I’ll do it.”
“I’d still rather go with you.” At least if he was present, he’d feel more in control.
“We talked about this. The whole area will be crawling with whiteboots after the bridge goes down, and you’re still too recognizable.”
Levi hated that she was right. He hated even more that sitting out meant he’d need to wait here with the Irons, who stared at him as though Chez’s blood still stained his clothes.
“And you’re sure your explosion will be enough?” Levi had never witnessed Tock’s blood talent in action.
“I’m positive,” she assured him. “I just need to run fast.”
According to Tock, her power worked with touch and time. With a touch, she could lay down a “line,” as she called them, and then she fled the initial drop point. The farther she traveled, the more taut the line grew. When she let go... Well, the bigger the snap, the bigger the explosion.
