Page 64 of Storm Caller

So barely there, I would have missed it if I hadn’t been looking for it.

I study my father, suddenly wondering if I ever understood who he is at all.

He’s committing treason. They could lose everything.

“It will be fine, honey,” my mom says in a rush, and I wonder again if she’s in on this, too. “Nyxia will speak on your behalf, as will your instructors. We all know you aren’t infected. I never liked that girl. She was always jealous of you, Poet.”

Trinity.

My former best friend and the person I must now pretend to like again.

How much of the larger plan are my parents privy to? Clearly, they’ve spoken with the general, but what did she reveal?

“When?” I ask. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“I’m not sure,” my father says. “But until then, you’ll remain locked up. I tried to get you out, but . . .”

He trails off. Even his influence isn’t enough in this case.

“Can I see you again?”

He shakes his head. “I already had to pull a thousand strings to secure this meeting. You’ll see us at the trial.”

“What about Rook?” I ask. “Is he okay? Does the Patrol have him?”

At that, my parents exchange a look.

“The Solitude?” my mother asks, the color draining from her face. “Poet, he took you.”

“He will be dealt with,” my father says.

“Don’t you dare threaten him. He saved me. He protected me. I would be dead if he hadn’t taken me out of the city that night.”

My words burn with fury that he’s been taken from me. Anger that I wasted a single minute believing things about him that were never true.

My parents recoil at the vehemence in my voice.

“Make sure he’s okay,” I say to my father. “That he’s safe. I swear I will never speak to either of you again if you let anything happen to him.”

My hands wrap around the bars, squeezing them so hard my fingers ache. I mean it. I might not live past my trial, but I vow to keep this promise if I’m ever allowed to return to my normal life.

My father pauses, searches my face.

He must decide I’m serious, because he dips his head. “Very well. I’ll ensure the boy is . . . protected.”

“Good,” I say. “I know you don’t understand, and I know it must hurt because of Aunt Soren, but he’s only been kind to me. He’s given me more than I ever deserved. Nothing they’ve told us about the Tiera Fr—”

“Poet,” my father barks, startling me, cutting off whatever I was about to say next. His gaze flicks to the steady red light embedded in the ceiling, reminding me that someone is listening, preventing me from saying anything else about what I saw beyond New Manhattan.

I realize this is another thing I’ll probably have to lie about.

“I will do what I can. Okay?” he says.

I wish we could have a moment to talk without prying eyes. I wish I understood a single thing. I swallow down my words. They taste bitter. Coated with confusion and half-truths.

“Thank you,” I say.

He checks the time on his wrist. “We have to go, Sariah.”