Page 108 of Stormbreaker

Did he leave a girlfriend behind in the Wastes? Does he miss her?

And why does the thought of some nameless stranger burn like acid in my chest?

“Found another good place to stand?” I ask, and he snorts a laugh that echoes against the stone. He looks so shocked that I cover my mouth and giggle.

“Yeah, Trouble,” he says a moment later, an almost playful look in his eyes. “It was a great place to stand.”

I fold my arms and cock my hip. “Oh, I’m so glad you found a new nickname. Tired of calling me a Society princess?”

He winks. “I think this might suit you better.”

I roll my eyes as he gestures toward the hole at his feet and the ladder leading down. I peer into it and wrinkle my nose.

“Scared?” he asks in a taunting way that kind of makes me want to punch him in the throat. So much for my admiration.

“I don’t love the tunnels,” I admit.

“Of course. No Society princess wants to be seen—”

“It’s not that,” I snap. “Stop assuming you know everything about me. And please stop calling me that. I’m not . . . That isn’t who I am anymore.”

He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

I huff and grab the ladder before climbing down and landing in a crouch on the ground below. It’s a cramped spot, dimly lit, and I swallow the shiver of apprehension already clinging to my skin.

Rook drops next to me a moment later and stops to stare at me for a second. He opens his mouth, and I think he’s about to say something before he turns and gestures for me to follow.

With my hand pressed to the wall, I attempt to keep up with his long, confident strides, but the floor is uneven, and I can’t see very well. I do my best to pick over the rocks littering the floor as I lag farther and farther behind. I’m tempted to reach for my phone light, but I don’t want Rook thinking I’m even less capable than he already believes.

Finally, he looks back. I can barely make him out in the dim light, and I wait for whatever scathing words are coming my way. But he says nothing. He waits for me to catch up, then tempers his pace until we reach our destination.

Another ladder deposits us near the entrance of a train station.

“Can we skip the train?” I ask, my voice a whisper. The images from that night still plague my dreams. If I was nervous on the train before, now I’m scared I might descend into full-blown panic. I’m not sure I can handle him judging me again, but he nods.

“Of course.”

We head up the stairs and into the fresh air. I inhale deeply and shake out my hair, relieved to escape the cloying heaviness of the underground. The city is alive for the evening, as people traverse the sidewalks beneath the gathering clouds, a tang of worry hanging in the atmosphere. It’ll soon be time to hurry home. Hide from the storm. Hope they survive till morning.

I often wonder what it was like during the Warming Age before the storms shifted. I imagine people sitting by open windows and enjoying the sound of the rain. Did they listen to the pitter-patter against the roof as it lulled them to sleep?

No one sleeps during the storms now.

We pass down a busy street lined with restaurants. Large windows are thrown open to the evening air, where people are beginning to clear out. We find a dock and step onto a passenger ferry with a wide platform and perimeter guardrail, accommodating a few dozen people. We head to a corner, where Rook leans his elbows on the railing, peering out at the city as the boat drifts down the canal.

“Is it because of that scar on your cheek?” Rook asks. His arm brushes against mine, releasing a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. “That’s why you don’t like going underground?”

“Yeah,” I say, surprised he noticed it. “Something like that.”

He studies me carefully, something nameless passing over his expression. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

I nod, and we travel in companionable silence through New Manhattan. Most of the original buildings were destroyed during the wars and turmoil of the Warming Age. There are photos and images, and people have tried to re-create some of what once stood here, as though trying to capture past glories. Despite all their mistakes, there’s also a sense of loss from a time when the world was so much bigger and more diverse. When a hundred different countries and cultures and languages existed together, even if it wasn’t always in perfect harmony.

We pass a busy square where music plays and hundreds of people mill about a night market, strings of lights dangling overhead. Vendors are beginning to close up shop as people quickly gather what they need. We pass more restaurants and nightclubs, music pulsing, lights flashing, filled with people who presumably like to live closer to the edge of danger.

I’ve always been fascinated with the power of collective positivity. That even in the face of constant danger, this city finds a way to laugh. Maybe it’s just denial. A refusal to acknowledge that, while we’ve found a way to exist in a world that’s always trying to kill us, surely we’ll lose to nature eventually.

The clouds gather above, the rumble of thunder booming far in the distance.