Page 48 of Storm Caller

The way Summit offers up Rook’s title is a pointed reminder. While he might have been masquerading as a mere Amery student, that isn’t really who he is. Rook is someone to be respected and never underestimated.

“We haven’t had the formal pleasure,” Sol says. “Though I understand you’ve had quite the time at Amery this year.”

Rook nods and dips at the waist. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. It’s polite, but I sense an uncertain edge. Neither of us understands what’s happening, and worry is gnawing holes through my stomach.

“Please come and sit,” General Sol says. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.”

I share a glance with Rook. It doesn’t seem like we’re in trouble, but she might just be trying to ease us toward our inevitable capture and death.

We drop onto a love seat side by side, our thighs touching. General Sol sits across from us, next to Rook’s mom, while his dad takes up the armchair at the end.

“What’s going on?” Rook says when no one speaks.

General Sol and Summit exchange a look. “Do you want to begin?” she asks, a dark brow arched.

Summit sits forward in his seat with his hands clasped. “No one but the people in this room knows that General Sol and I have been in communication for many years,” he says. “We have a common goal in protecting Whispers from their unjust treatment and putting an end to what happens to them in New Manhattan.”

I feel Rook react to that statement with a slight shift in his posture.

“Okay,” he says. “And?”

General Sol answers. “When you fled the city that night, I suspected this was where you’d run. And that you’d taken her with you.” She levels me with a look. “I know what you are, Poet Graves.”

“What am I?” I ask, wondering what she’s referring to specifically.

“Your father confided in me many years ago,” General Sol says, and I stiffen, recalling my conversation in the tunnels with my nanny’s daughter, Greta. “He was worried about you. About anyone finding out that you were . . . different.”

“A Keeper?” I ask.

“At first, yes, but he began to suspect you were something else.”

“What else?”

I think I know what she means, but I want to hear it from her.

“A Storm Caller,” she says. “Like me.”

Rook already suspected this, but hearing it confirmed becomes a shock to my already taxed system.

All this time, she was something else entirely.

I release a tense breath. “How did my father know?”

“He noticed how you reacted to the storms,” she says. “He wondered if it was normal, and that’s when I began to suspect. He followed you when you left the city. Then there was the purple hair. As I’m sure you’ve already surmised, it is a trait among people like us. I didn’t intend for it to become a trend, but I encouraged it, hoping it would hide anyone else who might find themselves in the same position.”

I blink furiously as tears prick my eyes. I would never have suspected my father of noticing much about me, but for all his faults, he’s never been a fool.

Then her gaze finds Rook. “And after speaking with the high commander today, I understand Poet isn’t the only one.”

Rook’s expression darkens, and I wonder if he’s angry with his father for revealing this.

“Don’t blame him,” she says, perhaps picking up on it. “When you hear what I have to say, I hope you’ll understand why he told me.”

Sol runs a palm down her leather-clad thigh. “The Shield doesn’t know,” she continues, “that I am different. They assume I’m a Keeper like the others. They’ve allowed me to live and perform my duty as head of the Storm Guard only out of necessity. I convinced them a long time ago that I don’t pose a threat because I’ve learned to control the mind deterioration that happens in Keepers.”

“Is that true?” Rook asks. “Does it affect us the same way? Is there a need to control it? Will we . . . lose our minds?”

Sol shakes her head. “So little is known about Callers. I’ve only met two others in my lifetime. From what I’ve determined, we don’t have the same risk of developing the sickness that plagues our thoughts.”