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Chapter One
* * *
A chorus of shouts rippled through the room, sending a zing of energy up my spine. The warehouse’s old wooden floors creaked as the class launched into a jump kick. Not even the mats I’d scrounged from around Albuquerque could mask the noise of the battered floorboards.
The massive room was good enough for us to hold a class in and not much else. I’d created a little makeshift locker room in the back with a floral curtain and a few cubbies where the students could stash their stuff. A few industrial lights hung down from the ceiling. They weren’t very bright, but they also didn’t cost much to keep turned on, which was essential since I was on a budget. I’d shoved a small, battered desk I’d found abandoned in an alley in the corner and some outdated vidscreens hung on the wall. I didn’t watch much on them, but I liked to check the news and a selection of social channels—both legit and off the grid resistance sites—before leaving. It was dangerous out there, especially for halfers like me, but I was a girl who knew how to survive.
Except for the study area and the lockers, the warehouse was just one massive open space that looked like it could fall down on our heads at any second, but thankfully, it was studier than it appeared. My students didn’t care about aesthetics. The tiny fee they paid was barely enough to keep the lights on. My students came here to learn how to fight, and that was the only thing that mattered.
We finished the warm-up and the students bowed. I took in the twenty-three people standing in front of me. Their spines stiff. Most wore some type of active gear, but a few were in pajamas. I didn’t require white karate gis or hand out colored belts. None of that was important in here. My only goal was to make sure these Earther kids survived the walk home from school every day.
“Good job, everyone.” The girls relaxed their stance. This class was my beginner level. The students were only a few years younger than me—fourteen-ish, give or take a year—but they seemed like babies to me. Probably because none of them lived under constant mortal fear like I did. I was pretty sure that kind of danger had aged me faster than most, but rampant crime—especially personal assaults—were at an all-time high. If these kids wanted to make it through the next decade of their lives unscathed, they were going to have to toughen up.
“We’re sparring tonight.” That got me a few smiles. Most looked a little nervous, but no one looked particularly freaked out. “This is going to be fun. I promise.” I gave them a smile, hoping to put them at ease. “It’s important to try what we’ve learned on an opponent. Roan!” I yelled for my best friend to join us, and he waddled out from behind the curtain where he’d been putting on thick, head-to-toe padding.
“You all need to feel okay about beating the crap out of someone, so Roan’s going to be our punching bag.” Roan somehow managed to wrap an arm around me even with the constraining pads, and I nudged him softly. “Don’t be afraid to rip into this guy.”
“Hey,” Roan’s light green eyes filled with laughter, and he tugged on my braided hair. “Don’t listen to Maité. I have plans tonight. Don’t want to mess up my face.”
“That’s why you’re going to put on the mask I gave you,” I said.
“You didn’t tell me Yvette was in this class,” Roan murmured in my ear. “Been trying to get a date with her sister for years. Think she’ll put in a good word for me?”
“Roan.” The word was a warning, but he looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. I elbowed him in the stomach—this time harder. He let out an “oof.”
Roan wasn’t the least bit intimidating. At three inches shorter than me and a little too energetic to be anything but adorable, he was more like a speedy teddy bear than anything else. He could keep up with me and made me laugh constantly. Which is why he’d been my best friend for nearly a decade, but his timing needed work. “If anything happens to them because you were goofing off when—”
“Come on, Maité. I’ll do my job here. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make this fun, okay?”
“This is too important to mess up,” I whispered. The truth sat like a ball of molten lava in my stomach. Life was dangerous out there for all kids. They had to be able to defend themselves. “All right. Who wants to go—” A sharp burn ran through my finger and I couldn’t stop the curse from flying out as I shook my hand.
A couple of shocked gasps came from my students.
“Sorry. I…” I glanced to Roan, not sure how to fix this.
He looped his arm with mine. “One second. Gotta talk strategy with my girl before we start.” Roan dragged me toward the make-shift locker room.
“We’ll be right back,” I said looking over my shoulder at the class. “Try doing bunkai number eight to stay warm. Yvette? You help lead.”
Yvette nodded. “You got it.”
That gave us a second, and by the look on Roan’s face, I was about to get an earful.
“Jesus. You’re going to get us killed,” Roan whispered as soon as we were through the curtain. At least he wasn’t mad enough to forget that if anyone—even one of my students—found out I was a halfer, we’d both be as good as dead. “The implant still bothering you?”
“Bothering is too nice of a word.” I bit down on the tip of my finger for a second, feeling the microscopic chip beneath my skin. “It feels like a hot poker is stabbing my finger. The alerts from my contact lens were bad, but I turned them off and I’m still feeling the frequency shifts.”
“How often?”
“It feels like every other minute, but maybe more like every ten. I thought shutting down my email would help, but… I hate it.” I spat the words out. It was the truth. I hated every damned second that this piece of shit tech sat under my skin. “I have to get it removed or else I’ll end up cutting it out or—”
“No. You can’t. Not after everything we went through to get it in the first place. The fake ID. The sketchy doctor. And I could get in so much shit if they find out I was the one who replaced your blood sample. No fucking way, Maité.” He stepped closer to me, and I could almost feel the heat of Roan’s anger. “We’ve talked about this. You gotta start blending in better. Most people have their neural lace implanted straight onto their brain by now, and—”
“But I’m half alien.”
“Don’t say that word.” His tone was outraged, but for no good reason.
“It’s not a dirty word. It’s what I am. I’m half Aunare. And that side of me is stronger than the Earther side. My kind can’t have implanted tech. I’m too sensitive for it. This will kill me—or worse—drive me insane. There’s no way I’d survive lacing my brain, so don’t even start with that again.” A neural lace hardwired all of a person’s apps, calls, games, and everything else they wanted straight into their cerebral cortex for maximum convenience. Earthers loved it, but if a simple finger implant and AR contact lens nearly drove me crazy with jolts of fire-hot pain, that kind of tech would kill me for sure.
