Page 55 of Stormbreaker

As if they’d ever reveal themselves.

My earlier euphoria is doused under an icy shock of reality. This was reckless and impulsive. I’ve gotten away with it before, but perhaps I’ve grown too confident.

My gaze focuses on the tunnel entrance, lost in the distance of the craggy shadows. Maybe I just imagined it, and my stretched mind is playing tricks on me. Who would be out here? And if they were planning to accuse me of something, surely they would have done so?

I check the time and realize I need to get moving if I want to make it back to Amery before curfew. With a huff, I pinch at my hair and clothing, snuffing out the remaining sparks, like I’m flipping a switch. I wish I could bask for hours in the sensation of this energy moving across my skin, but there’s no more time.

I jump down from my perch, cross to the far side of the rock wall, and enter the ruins, my gaze checking left and right.

Still, I can’t shake the sensation of a presence creeping up the back of my neck.

I move quickly, guided by the lights of the storm, attempting to cast off the lingering sensation of my mind folding itself in half.

When I reach the train station, I inhale deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. I hop onto a waiting car just as it lurches to life and lumbers into the heart of the city, muttering a quiet curse to myself when we stop at the station nearest to Sogno. I should have anticipated this.

About a dozen House Fiama kids are making a scene on the platform, where other passengers have formed a ring of distance around them. I pray they opt for a different car, but the doors slide open, and they stumble in, their chatter cranked to full volume.

The group laughs and giggles as they shove into one another, not the least bit aware of the people around them. I tuck farther into my corner and pull my hood up, keeping my eyes averted.

On the other side of the platform, a night market is crammed with people sorting through piles of clothing. I notice the Patrol doling out rations of drybars to Hollows. The packaged bars are condensed with nutrients and intended as a filling substitute when fresh food is scarce.

I stare out the window at the faces, my gaze snagging on a woman who sits against the wall, dressed in gray and black clothing, her knees tucked up and her head tipped back.

There’s something familiar about her that I can’t put my finger on.

My eyes narrow as I study her intently, trying to decide if she’s real or just a product of my post-storm confusion. But I don’t get the chance to examine her further as the train starts to move and picks up speed, once again hurtling us closer to Amery.

After a few minutes, raised voices and shouts signal that a fight has broken out in the middle of the car. I stretch onto my tiptoes to see what’s happening. The train slides to another stop, and a mass of people spills onto the platform, clashing with the group that’s already waiting.

At the center of the mess is an Aria kid fighting with a Hollow.

I recognize Todd Henly and a Hollow about our age. The latter is lean and wiry, while Todd has a firm, athletic frame.

The Aria kids have formed a barrier around them, chanting and shouting, egging Todd on.

Todd and the Hollow clash, wrestling as they wrap their arms around each other’s waists. The train won’t move due to a gridlock of bodies jamming the door.

I can’t look away as the boys scrabble and fight, their faces turning red. Todd lifts the Hollow and slams him onto his back, to a chorus of cheers, before raising his arms and spinning in a circle of triumph. More and more people gather at the edges as they catch wind of what’s happening.

The wiry boy lies on the ground, winded and gasping for breath, while Todd celebrates his victory before taunting him again.

But the Hollow isn’t afraid. I see it in the determined set of his jaw. He rolls over onto his hands and knees, struggling to his feet, then sprints, ramming into a surprised Todd, knocking him back. They go tumbling together, punches wailing, as they slam into a door on the other side of the car.

Suddenly, the door where Todd and the Hollow are still struggling hisses open. Someone must have pulled the emergency release. Todd and the Hollow go tumbling off the edge, landing on the tracks. The crowd condenses, some following the fight onto the tracks while others push their way toward the platform in the other direction.

I’m shoved left and right, squeezed into my corner. I need to move.

That’s when a hand closes around my wrist. I shake it off, but it holds me firmly and pulls me against a warm, hard body.

“You need to get out of here,” someone says in my ear.

A voice I recognize immediately.

Rook.

Where did he come from?

I’m too surprised to reply as he shoves through the crowd, dragging me behind him. He’s much bigger and taller and divides the seething bodies in a way I couldn’t on my own.