Page 167 of Stormbreaker

He sighs and straightens his legs before running his hands down his face. “I can’t say for sure, but I think there’s at least one other person like us.”

I frown. “Who?”

“General Sol.”

The air gusts from my chest, like I’ve been kicked. “General Sol. You think she isn’t really a Keeper?”

“Doesn’t it stand to reason? Why is she the only one who hasn’t succumbed to the . . . infection?”

“Because she’s trained against it,” I argue. “She learned how to . . .” I trail off as Rook watches me, waiting for me to put it together. “And this might be another lie.”

He tips his head. “Very possibly.”

My breath comes out in a shaky, frustrated huff.

“It’s only a hunch,” he says. “But I want to find out. I just don’t know how.” He sighs. “It was a fool’s hope, really. I’ve spent months trying to learn more about the Tempestade’s research, but it’s locked within The Shield’s computers, which I could never hope to access. I thought joining the Storm Guard might make it easier, but that was naive. I’d have to move much higher up their ranks, which will take years.”

We both fall silent, listening to the crackle of the burning logs.

“Do you think if we could prove to the world that we’re something else, it might protect us from the Extinguishers?”

“It might,” he says.

“And you really think it’s possible we’re immune to the infection.”

“I’m surer of it every day. But we need proof. No one would believe us otherwise.”

“And The Shield could be concealing this information.”

“Someone must know, and that seems the most likely place to start.”

I consider everything he’s saying. I’ve lived in fear for most of my life. Hating what I am. Hating myself for not being brave enough to turn myself in.

But what if I only seem like the thing they all fear? What if I could escape this curse?

“Anyway,” Rook says. “I have no clue how to access The Shield’s computers, so it’s likely impossible.”

“The Shield’s computers. That’s what we need?”

“Yes, but . . .”

I jump up and head for the door.

“Where are you going?” Rook asks.

“I’ll be back soon. I have an idea.”

. . .

The first thing I do is text Edward. We’ve been messaging, while I’ve been checking on him a few times a week to ensure he’s okay. I feel terrible that we haven’t spent more time together. He was Trinity’s boyfriend, but we were friends, too. I don’t think Trinity was obligated to stay with him if she was no longer interested, but I also think she owed him more than cutting him off without a second thought.

Or maybe I’m just bitter about the way she abandoned me, too.

I find him sitting in a quiet corner of the cafeteria with his shoulders hunched as he picks at his food. He still looks terrible—thin and tired and pale—and I sit down across from him as he peers up.

“Hey,” he says sullenly, stirring his noodles with a listless motion.

“Hi,” I answer. “How are you doing?”