Page 75 of Stormbreaker

27

The next two weeks pass in a blur of classes and cadet training. I’m up with the sun daily, working out in the gym before any of my roommates rise, and meeting with Dr. Eze and her team for more tests and conditioning after classes.

I’m adapting quickly to the charge, and she praises my ability. I wonder if this rapid acclimatization is related to being a Keeper, but as far as I can tell, the doctor doesn’t appear to notice anything different about me.

Winter and Lacey continue to act like Trinity and I don’t exist, and we haven’t heard much from Silver or Hazel, so I bury my head in schoolwork. When she isn’t with me, Trin spends most of her free time with Edward. I wish we had more time together, but my schedule is beyond intense right now.

I’ve noticed some positive changes, though. She’s smiling again and says she’s feeling better about her future. I’m relieved she’s coming out of her funk, and I’m determined to find time for us to have a real chat about it soon.

As the days pass, more and more people are pulled aside for their next rounds of initiation. The morning after his second test, Knox appears with a black eye and numerous scrapes on his arms, legs, and face. But to no one’s surprise, he passed with flying colors.

I dread to think what he was asked to do.

Through it all, I exist in a state of constant nervousness, waiting for my turn to arrive. Trinity and I share a quiet moment almost every night, anticipating the inevitable. Our tests will change both our lives, one way or another. I can’t help but bring up Rook, probably a bit too much. Trinity must notice my ill-advised fascination with him, but she doesn’t call attention to it.

Another week later, I’m on my way to class when a group of masked figures steps into my path and surrounds me.

I don’t even have it in me to be scared; I’m just relieved we’re getting this over with. I can’t live with the uncertainty any longer.

My only reservation is the storm that’s been brewing on the city’s northern horizon all afternoon. I’m long past due to absorb a cloud burst, meaning I’ve been itchy and restless and not as focused as I’d like.

“Come with us,” a mask to my left says, and then we’re walking. I wonder if we’re returning to the tunnels.

But instead of going down, we exit out through the main doors and around a corner to arrive at the gated entrance of the Central Park Tree Farm. During the day, it’s open to the public to enjoy as one of the many green spaces curated throughout the city.

Unlike the others, this one is carefully monitored and guarded, and harming the trees in any way is a crime punishable with severe consequences. This park represents the sum total of the usable construction wood left in the world. Trees in the Wastes are sparse and spindly, made of wood too soft to do much with.

My escort leads me through the gates, where another masked person stands to admit us. Under a canopy of leaves, I’m led down a path lined with softly glowing lanterns anchored into the earth. They’re rarely lit at night to conserve energy, but they must have received special permission tonight. Lucky me.

I hear the soft clicks and whirs of insects and the hoot of an owl in the distance. Without much wildlife left in the world, the city’s green spaces are carefully curated with flowers and shrubs to foster stable ecosystems, offering sustenance and a suitable environment for a handful of species necessary for us to sustain life. Bees and butterflies, especially.

I’ve always loved looking at images from the Warming Age of huge wild animals with fur and stripes and spots. Giant white bears that lived on ice floes and birds with massive tails shimmering in a variety of colors.

The sounds from the city grow muted as we weave deeper into the gardens. Finally, we come to a stop inside a stone plaza with a fountain supporting three statues of The Shield. General Sol is wearing her Storm Guard uniform, one foot propped up, her face cast skyward, a hand reaching toward the clouds. Chancellor Marks wears a long robe and holds a tablet, his finger raised and his mouth open as though he’s mid-speech, and Chancellor Orsen wears a three-piece suit with his hands in his pockets as he stares into the middle distance.

In front of the fountain stand two more masked figures who wait for me to approach. I scratch at the back of my neck as the clouds tumble overhead.

“Poet Graves,” says the left voice, who I recognize as Devon. “Welcome to your second initiation test.”

“Normally, you’d be given the option to either stay with your first test’s House or switch to another,” comes the other mask. This one is Stevie.

“I choose House Fiama,” I say quickly. It’s where I belong. And from the way Stevie keeps looking at me, she agrees and doesn’t want me, either.

Devon raises a hand. “Not so fast. As Stevie said, normally that’s how it would be. But we’ve been asked to do things a little differently for you.”

“Asked by who?”

“Our instructions came from The Shield,” Devon says.

“Okay . . .” I trail off, my heart starting to accelerate as it pounds in my ears. Why won’t they let me choose now? What’s about to happen? I scan our surroundings, hoping for a clue.

“We’ve hidden two people in this park,” Devon says, sweeping out an arm. “They’re both in situations that will kill them. One is a person who’s been accused of several crimes . . .”

“And one is a Keeper,” Stevie finishes for him.

My eyes widen, and I start to feel sick. Oh Skies, I might be sick.

“You have a decision to make,” Devon says. “You can only save one. Your choice will determine whether you can pledge to Fiama or Aria.”