As a last-ditch effort, the government on our continent sent all they had left—a team of young, inexperienced soldiers and a handful of geologists—down into the bowels of the earth to seal our beast back into its lair. The team, led by Commander Chase, failed, and when the surviving members returned to the surface, there was no government. No law and order. Nothing but panic, fire, and one surviving monster systematically killing the survivors.
The Commander and his team took charge, organizing food and relief efforts, and proving repeatedly that, for reasons they refused to share, the remaining Cursed One never attacked them or anyone around them. It didn’t take long for the survivors to rally behind the protected men and proclaim them their new leaders. Within a decade, nine city-states led by the Commander and the other members of his team stretched across our continent, offering citizens shelter and protection in exchange for swearing allegiance to the leader of that city.
Leaving the protection of Baalboden behind meant risking an encounter with the beast, especially since the Commander built his city-state closer to the creature’s den than any of the other leaders. One wrong move, and I’ll never be heard from again.
Which means I can’t make a mistake. My hands shake as I rehearse my plan.
Run out the doorway. Grab the edge of the Wall. Vault over. Slam my hands against the steel ribbing as I fall. Slide down and escape into the vast, treacherous darkness of the Wasteland with nothing but my wits and my knife.
It can work. It has to work.
I take a deep breath and sprint out the door.
I haven’t gone more than three yards before I slam into a hard, unyielding obstacle. Strong fingers reach out to grab my arms, and I look up.
Commander Chase.
Terror rips a white-hot path through my body, and I can barely breathe.
I’m dead.
He stares at me for an excruciating moment, then shoves me through the turret’s arched doorway, two members of his Brute Squad on his heels. One of them strikes flint at the lantern resting on the room’s table, and the sudden light stings. Fury burns in the Commander’s dark eyes, and my knees threaten to collapse beneath me.
We take three steps into the room before he lets go of me with a shove that propels me backward toward the table. I stumble over the edge of my cloak and crumple to the floor, twisting my body in midair so I land with my back to him.
I need a second to tug Logan’s magnetic hand grips off my palms and shove them into my inner cloak pocket. I might be going down, but I don’t need to take Logan with me. Covering my actions by struggling to stand again, I feel a tiny rush of relief when the grips slide into my pocket without incident.
“You’ve been keeping secrets from me.” There’s no room in his tone for avoiding the inevitable. The two guards with him move to flank me, their hands already wrapped around the hilts of their swords.
I shake my head, my blood roaring in my ears.
He whips his right hand into the air, palm facing me, and the guards draw their swords.
“Tell me the truth, girl, or die. I don’t care which you choose.”
“I was trying to sneak over the Wall,” I say in a voice that’s parchment thin. “I want to find my father.”
He nods once, and the guard beside me lays the edge of his sword against my neck. I raise my chin as the silver bites into my skin, but I refuse to beg for mercy. He should’ve sent a tracker when my father failed to return from his last mission. If he didn’t have mercy for his best courier, he isn’t going to find any to spare for me.
“I knew it.” He spits the words at me. “On the day his will was read, I could see that you knew something about his whereabouts.” The smile he gives me makes me feel sick. “It’s nice to know the extra effort I’ve taken to have you followed since then is about to pay off. Now, where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
His smile stretches until it strains against the thick rope of scar tissue marring his face. “Of course you know where he is. He’s probably supposed to meet you on the other side of the Wall. A girl doesn’t go out into the Wasteland alone.” His tone is full of contempt, his hand still raised as if at any moment he might fold it into a fist, giving the guard permission to kill me.
“Why not?” I ask, proud that my voice only shakes a little.
His smile dies slowly. “You’re in desperate need of someone to teach you your proper place.”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling, and try to ignore the way the silver blade at my throat scrapes my skin raw.
“Where is he?” the Commander asks.
“I don’t know.”
He draws his own sword and steps close. The guard withdraws his blade from my neck but doesn’t sheath it.
I can smell the warm, wet wool of the Commander’s military jacket mixed with the dank, foul scent of his breath. My knees feel like liquid, and I have to clamp my teeth together to keep them from chattering as his dark eyes devour me.
“You’re lying.” His lip curls around the words as they fall like stones between us. “If you don’t know where he is, how did you expect to find him?”
“I was going to track him.”
“Track him?” The Commander steps back and turns to the guard beside me. “She was going to track him.” They both laugh.
Anger straightens my spine. “I can do it.”
“Look at you.” The Commander flicks his sword at me, and I flinch as the tip slices the air beside my face. “Nothing but a girl who thinks she can track one of my best couriers into the Wasteland with only pants and a cloak for protection. Women like you are the entire reason we need the Protectorship protocol. We save ourselves from your foolishness.”
The Commander and his team took charge, organizing food and relief efforts, and proving repeatedly that, for reasons they refused to share, the remaining Cursed One never attacked them or anyone around them. It didn’t take long for the survivors to rally behind the protected men and proclaim them their new leaders. Within a decade, nine city-states led by the Commander and the other members of his team stretched across our continent, offering citizens shelter and protection in exchange for swearing allegiance to the leader of that city.
Leaving the protection of Baalboden behind meant risking an encounter with the beast, especially since the Commander built his city-state closer to the creature’s den than any of the other leaders. One wrong move, and I’ll never be heard from again.
Which means I can’t make a mistake. My hands shake as I rehearse my plan.
Run out the doorway. Grab the edge of the Wall. Vault over. Slam my hands against the steel ribbing as I fall. Slide down and escape into the vast, treacherous darkness of the Wasteland with nothing but my wits and my knife.
It can work. It has to work.
I take a deep breath and sprint out the door.
I haven’t gone more than three yards before I slam into a hard, unyielding obstacle. Strong fingers reach out to grab my arms, and I look up.
Commander Chase.
Terror rips a white-hot path through my body, and I can barely breathe.
I’m dead.
He stares at me for an excruciating moment, then shoves me through the turret’s arched doorway, two members of his Brute Squad on his heels. One of them strikes flint at the lantern resting on the room’s table, and the sudden light stings. Fury burns in the Commander’s dark eyes, and my knees threaten to collapse beneath me.
We take three steps into the room before he lets go of me with a shove that propels me backward toward the table. I stumble over the edge of my cloak and crumple to the floor, twisting my body in midair so I land with my back to him.
I need a second to tug Logan’s magnetic hand grips off my palms and shove them into my inner cloak pocket. I might be going down, but I don’t need to take Logan with me. Covering my actions by struggling to stand again, I feel a tiny rush of relief when the grips slide into my pocket without incident.
“You’ve been keeping secrets from me.” There’s no room in his tone for avoiding the inevitable. The two guards with him move to flank me, their hands already wrapped around the hilts of their swords.
I shake my head, my blood roaring in my ears.
He whips his right hand into the air, palm facing me, and the guards draw their swords.
“Tell me the truth, girl, or die. I don’t care which you choose.”
“I was trying to sneak over the Wall,” I say in a voice that’s parchment thin. “I want to find my father.”
He nods once, and the guard beside me lays the edge of his sword against my neck. I raise my chin as the silver bites into my skin, but I refuse to beg for mercy. He should’ve sent a tracker when my father failed to return from his last mission. If he didn’t have mercy for his best courier, he isn’t going to find any to spare for me.
“I knew it.” He spits the words at me. “On the day his will was read, I could see that you knew something about his whereabouts.” The smile he gives me makes me feel sick. “It’s nice to know the extra effort I’ve taken to have you followed since then is about to pay off. Now, where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
His smile stretches until it strains against the thick rope of scar tissue marring his face. “Of course you know where he is. He’s probably supposed to meet you on the other side of the Wall. A girl doesn’t go out into the Wasteland alone.” His tone is full of contempt, his hand still raised as if at any moment he might fold it into a fist, giving the guard permission to kill me.
“Why not?” I ask, proud that my voice only shakes a little.
His smile dies slowly. “You’re in desperate need of someone to teach you your proper place.”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling, and try to ignore the way the silver blade at my throat scrapes my skin raw.
“Where is he?” the Commander asks.
“I don’t know.”
He draws his own sword and steps close. The guard withdraws his blade from my neck but doesn’t sheath it.
I can smell the warm, wet wool of the Commander’s military jacket mixed with the dank, foul scent of his breath. My knees feel like liquid, and I have to clamp my teeth together to keep them from chattering as his dark eyes devour me.
“You’re lying.” His lip curls around the words as they fall like stones between us. “If you don’t know where he is, how did you expect to find him?”
“I was going to track him.”
“Track him?” The Commander steps back and turns to the guard beside me. “She was going to track him.” They both laugh.
Anger straightens my spine. “I can do it.”
“Look at you.” The Commander flicks his sword at me, and I flinch as the tip slices the air beside my face. “Nothing but a girl who thinks she can track one of my best couriers into the Wasteland with only pants and a cloak for protection. Women like you are the entire reason we need the Protectorship protocol. We save ourselves from your foolishness.”
