Page 20 of Stormbreaker

“Please,” I say so softly, I’m not even sure he can hear it.

But Rook’s hand opens, and he tosses a gasping, hacking Knox back into his seat so hard that it tips the entire row. Then Rook cracks his neck and walks back over the seats as everyone in his path leaps to clear the way.

He drops back into his chair in one smooth movement just as the door opens and our professor enters. She’s tall, her long brown hair swinging as she walks to the podium in the center. She pauses, scanning us over as though she can sense something just went down, further evidenced by the number of students now scrambling back to their seats.

Knox is clutching his throat and still gasping for breath. I can already see a net of bruises forming on his pale skin.

“Are you okay?” I ask as he shakes his head and continues rocking back and forth. Tears leak from his eyes, and I’d like to say that Knox has learned his lesson, but I know he’ll start going even harder for Rook now. If there’s anything Knox can’t tolerate, it’s public humiliation.

“Students!” shouts the professor as I share a wary look with Trinity, who lays a hand on my wrist to check that I’m okay. “Silence! Everyone, take your seats! Silence!”

It takes about twenty seconds for the classroom to settle down. During that time, Edward appears and slides into an open seat near the back. He looks tired, his eyes dull with dark shadows underneath. The brief sympathy I almost felt for Knox quickly evaporates.

“Welcome to Amery Academy,” she says, her voice carrying over us via loudspeaker and a small microphone clipped to her collar. She nudges her glasses higher on her nose, drawing my attention to her cheeks. Her complexion is a light mahogany, warm as polished wood, though a faint redness suggests she might be just as nervous as we are on our first day. “I’m Professor McCarthy, and I’m happy to welcome you to your first history class.”

I hear a few whispered groans, especially from Jackson and Sal. Knox isn’t paying attention. He’s staring at the back of Rook’s head with his hand still massaging his throat, wearing an icy glare.

“We’ll start with the basics,” Professor McCarthy is saying now. She picks up a remote and presses a button to dim the lights around us. Another press of a button and a screen illuminates at the front.

“The Warming Age ended in 2587 after a hundred years of war, where the last remaining world superpowers battled over water, land, and food, leading to their eventual downfall and near extinction. Today, we understand that water is our most precious and valuable asset. That we must contain the spread of our population before it overwhelms our resources.

“Never forget, the earth was once littered with the ruins of empires that believed they were eternal; thus, we don’t take anything for granted. Thanks to Society and the order we keep, ours will be the nation that endures.”

She clicks through a series of slides on the screen, detailing the fall of the Warming Age and the years between, when the world was plagued with howling winds and fire. How a group of survivors found one another on the shores of New Manhattan and, by using the remnants of the old world, began to form the last bastion of human civilization.

“Can anyone tell me where General Sol comes from?” McCarthy asks.

A hand shoots up. It’s the cog girl I remember from yesterday.

“She was a Hollow,” she says. “A scavenger.”

McCarthy gives her a pleased smile. “Very good . . . ?”

“Domino,” she says as several people in the classroom snicker. “Domino Parsons.” A snort of laughter sets off more malicious giggles as her expression crumples. “Most people call me Dom,” she adds quietly as McCarthy claps her hands and calls for silence.

I stare at Domino, wishing I could do something, but anything I say will only make things worse. She glances back, and my eye catches hers, only she doesn’t smile this time. She turns away and whispers to the girl she’s sitting with.

Professor McCarthy is speaking again as she delves further into the story of General Sol, who’s always been the most interesting of the three Shield members in my opinion. The chancellors both grew up as Society—Marks in House Aria and Orsen in House Asale—eventually earning their positions as voted by the scions and other high-ranking members of Society. But the general has a much more colorful past.

“General Sol left New Manhattan when she was just sixteen and wandered the Wastes for almost ten years,” Professor McCarthy says with obvious admiration. “While the land beyond our borders is extremely dangerous due to the storms and the lack of protection, she survived thanks to the immunity she developed.”

I scan the room, searching for a hint that those words affect anyone else. Is someone also like me, hiding in plain sight?

“Upon her return, she created a reliable method for capturing galvanic energy using herself as the conduit. While we had ways to siphon electricity before then, none were as consistent or effective. Thus, New Manhattan began to truly flourish.

“Those years also marked the era of the first Spark Keepers to evolve inside New Manhattan. Of course, we all know how dangerous it is to commune with the storms,” McCarthy goes on. “Very few have the mental capacity to withstand the madness that drives the infected into acts of depravity sooner or later. In the decade after General Sol’s return, the infected were responsible for more deaths than even the war with the Solitudes.”

Now my gaze falls on Rook and the back of his head. He sits completely still, like he’s either sleeping or absorbing every word. I swear he flinches ever so slightly as McCarthy glances his way.

“Because of that,” she continues, “the existence of any infected Keeper must now be reported to the Extinguishers. The ability will often manifest between eight and twelve years of age, though it can reveal itself in much younger children. Parents are responsible for delivering them to New Manhattan’s Tempestade, where their mental soundness is put through rigorous tests to determine if they have the capacity to withstand the madness.

“Unfortunately, few ever make it beyond the first round of checks, and for everyone’s safety, they must be . . . dealt with.”

Her head drops, and she clasps her hands as if taking a moment to honor these lost children.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

I was seven when my nanny and I were at the park and a surprise storm caught us.