Page 173 of Storm Caller

More wires spiral up and spread across the high ceiling, each one connected back to each glowing tank.

The tanks holding sleeping, floating bodies.

At least . . . I hope they’re sleeping.

“What is this?” someone whispers. Justin. The first one of us to find his voice.

I turn around to find Mowry slowly walking backward, shuffling toward the door.

“Someone stop him!” I shout, and Fisher and Henry are on him in an instant, dragging him toward us.

“Please,” he’s begging. Pleading. His knees sag as we surround him. “I’m so sorry. They made me . . .”

“What is this?” I ask. “What is this?”

When Mowry hesitates, Fisher snags him by his collar and hoists him onto his tiptoes. The doctor’s feet scrabble against the floor, and he looks so pathetic that I almost feel bad. Clearly, Fisher harbors no such remorse as he shoves Mowry against a wall and braces an arm across the doctor’s throat.

Having an asshole on your side really can be useful.

“Start talking,” Fisher says, increasing the pressure on Mowry’s windpipe.

Mowry opens his mouth, but all he manages is a groan.

“Ease up!” Henry orders as Fisher tosses him a dirty look, but he backs away a moment later.

The doctor rubs his throat, his shoulders heaving. “This is what has kept Nyxia sane for the last thirty years,” he says. “It’s also how we power New Manhattan.”

“What are you talking about? General Sol powers New Manhattan,” Henry says, though I can hear the uncertainty in his words.

The truth, once immutable, is stretching, thinning, and tipping on its side.

“Yes and no,” Mowry says. “It wasn’t just the cure we studied all those years ago. We also developed a method for gathering Spark to use as a fuel source. When she left me, she took that research, too, though without a Storm Caller, it was useless to us anyway.”

As he speaks, he grits out each word like it’s causing him great pain.

“Armed with the knowledge, she was able to power the city. At first.”

“At first?” Henry asks.

Mowry grunts. “Once she demonstrated what she could do, the chancellors made plans to shift the entire city onto a new power grid, starting with the Citadel and other essential services like the greenhouses, hospitals, and factories. It was a miracle. No more relying on solar power, wind, or other inconsistent fuel. Quickly, New Manhattan grew dependent on it.”

Mowry stops, clutches his chest, and wheezes before he doubles over, like he might be having a heart attack.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Fisher says, once again grabbing Mowry by the collar and pressing him against the wall. “You’re not weaseling out of this, old man. Keep talking.”

Mowry glances up, annoyance flashing over his face.

“Unfortunately, it became too much for one woman to handle.” He gasps. “Please. I can’t breathe. I need some space.”

Henry touches Fisher’s arm. “Back up. He can’t go anywhere.”

Fisher arches a brow and then retreats a few steps as Mowry shuffles away and approaches one of the tanks, peering up at the woman floating inside. The water and glass distort her features a little, but I estimate that she’s about my age with long hair that billows around her in a purple-stained cloud.

“We needed . . . support,” Mowry whispers as he drops his head and presses a hand to the glass. “I’m not proud of it. I wish I’d never discovered this.”

I scan the room, taking in the slack faces and floating limbs as the picture clears in my mind.

“They’re Keepers,” I whisper, hot tears burning in my eyes.