Page 5 of Stormbreaker

Every time I do this, it strips a little piece of me.

I can’t explain it, but I sense it slowly chipping away at some fundamental part.

It’s wrong to embrace this.

But resisting it would be like deciding not to breathe.

I wish I could share this with someone. But I can’t.

In fact, it will be a few hours before I’m ready to show myself to anyone at all, so I settle back at the window, checking on the sparks every few seconds.

While I wait, I gaze outside to watch our leader and her awesome strength.

The truth is, General Nyxia Sol isn’t New Manhattan’s only living Spark Keeper.

But that’s a secret no one can ever know.

2

The next morning, I lie in bed, staring up at my hands, flipping them back and forth. I’ve returned to normal again, relatively speaking. The storm’s charge has ebbed, and I’m no longer glowing with Spark. I can extinguish the energy by smothering the points of light with a pinch of my fingers like embers from a fire, but I prefer to let them linger, hanging on to the bliss as long as I can.

Otherwise, they dissipate on their own after a few hours.

The clouds have cleared, and bright light filters through my window. Slowly, I sit up, rolling my shoulders with the phantom sensation of Spark dancing under my skin. It takes a moment to orient myself to the present, as my thoughts remain muddled and fuzzy.

I’ve discovered that if I go too long without a “hit,” I grow anxious and itchy, like my skin is too tight, and I have no choice but to give in to it. But I can never be seen, so I’ve had to get creative.

My stomach twists. Being at Amery Academy, where I’ll be surrounded by people at all hours of the day, will make my secrets harder to keep.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stare around my little-girl room, even brighter and frillier in the morning light. I don’t know why I’ve never updated the decor. Maybe a part of me thought I’d never have to grow up if I was always surrounded by my little-girl things.

But as my gaze snags on the Amery uniform hanging in the open closet, I understand everything moves forward whether I want it to or not. Today, I will embark on the next chapter of my life.

It’s not like my childhood was anything to cherish anyway.

After heaving myself up, I approach the window and peer at the plaza below. Whoever was blitzed last night was already cleared away by the sweepers after the storm.

Sometimes, we’re given a warning, and sometimes, the storm comes from nothing. We’re well-protected in our Society apartments thanks to the fully manned Storm Towers strategically placed on the roofs of our neighbor­hood. However, even that isn’t guaranteed, as evidenced by someone’s blitzing at the party last night.

More Storm Towers surround the city’s perimeter, each one manned by a group of Storm Breakers who have undergone years of intense training. When an Empire Storm hits, they help deflect whatever Spark General Sol can’t use for the generators with specialized wands that direct the energy away from the city and into the Towers, which safely ground the charge into the earth.

My phone lights up with an early-morning message from The Shield, our triumvirate government made up of two chancellors and General Sol. Their round emblem features a shield in the center, depicting four different quadrants—one for each House—and is surrounded by the curved, scripted font of New Manhattan’s motto: Protect. Preserve. Prosper.

Every device in the city is temporarily overridden for exactly seventy-six seconds at precisely eight thirty each day, while we’re reminded of the four Houses and their role in maintaining the peace and prosperity of New Manhattan.

Technically, we’re supposed to stop whatever we’re doing and give the message our full attention, so I sit and dutifully wait for the missive to end, only partly paying attention.

Once it’s over, my phone buzzes, and I see a notification from my friend group chat that includes Trinity, Silver Sato, and Hazel Chopra.

I skim through the messages, mostly about who made out with whom last night, until I see one that makes my heart freeze.

hazel: so surreal that Bethany got blitzed

As more rapid-fire texts fly across the screen, I clutch my phone, staring at it. I think back to the charred body on the floor of Knox’s apartment with a shudder. I want to feel bad for her, but a vindictive part of me is struggling to feel much remorse. We grew up together, and yet I can’t recall a single time she said something nice to me.

I skim the rest of the texts, but it’s just more chatter about Bethany and her faults. I may not care that she’s dead, but I won’t revel in someone else’s pain. Something my father loves to point out as a weakness of mine.

I sigh and flip back to my main list of texts.