Page 68 of Of Flame and Fury

Kel quietened her breath and unclenched her fists. She forced her feet to stay planted, even as the scientists bent down to inject the phoenixes and she heard muted whines of pain. They must have sedated the creatures. No grown phoenix would let this happen to them.

Kel knew they had to be cautious. They weren’t supposed to be here—seeing this. Storming in there would just get them into trouble. They’d probably be fired for sleeping inside a phoenix’s enclosure. They might take Savita from her.

The scientists filled their syringes with blood and placed them carefully in black bags. Then, with gloved hands, they reached for the phoenixes, and yanked.

Their hands came away with feathers.

Kel couldn’t stop her gasp. No onepluckedfeathers. Cendor was far from Salta’s religious heart, but most Cendorians clung tightly to superstitions about phoenixes and their magic. A firebird’s plumage was its last layer of protection. Even if there wasn’t a taboo, there was no reason to steal them. Everyone knew that phoenix feathers lost their magic if they were plucked.

So many questions soared through Kel’s mind as she watched the scientists stuff their bags, before carefully removing the muzzles and leaving the aviary. They left no trace of their presence.

Both Dira and Kel let out loud, hard breaths when the aviary’s door closed. Neither dared to leave Savita’s cage that night, and neither dared to feel anything but confusion and fear for what the morning might bring.

Every night that week, Kel and Dira snuck back into Savita’s enclosure with pillows, taking shifts to stay awake. They needed proof before going to Bekn or Rahn, who both revered Cristo as if he was an Alchemist himself. Or Coup—who needed to focus on his recovery, and who Kel still hadn’t been to see.

The guilt she felt for staying away kept her from eating, and still, she couldn’t bring herself to go.

Kel volunteered for most shifts throughout each night. She rarely slept, and when she did, her dreams were filled with dark, brown-speckled irises. They were Cristo’s eyes, but something about them was different. Familiar, yet alien, and entirelywrong.

When awake, Kel could rarely keep herself from thinking of Coup—in a bleached room, with no pulse—and so she tried to lettheir search for proof consume her. She avoided the world beyond Savita’s aviary, which seemed to have very strong opinions about their most recent race. Every broadcasted scene and magazine cover she glimpsed throughout the week seemed to focus back on one shot of Kel at Coup’s side.Heartbroken, the news had dubbed her. When she’d seen a celebrity psychologist post a video breaking down Kel’s red eyes and crumpled expression, she had shut off her own tele-comm.

Despite the nights spent in the aviary, no one returned. If not for Dira at her side, Kel might have thought she had imagined the whole thing. The pair hid inside Savita’s enclosure under the cover of night, and waited, sacrificing mattresses and clean sheets for dirt and smoke.

After a week had passed of their tiring new rhythm, Dira and Kel were almost out of momentum. They were no closer to the truth, but they knew they had to tell their team.

They trudged back toward their apartment the next morning, weary and short-tempered, ready to raid the precooked meals Bekn usually kept on his fridge shelf.

But when they opened the door to their unit, someone blocked their path to the kitchen, hobbling toward them on crutches.

Coup.

Kel’s throat thickened. She hadn’t seen Coup since the accident, hadn’t visited him, despite Dira’s pestering. Her worry for Savita had been a wonderful distraction, but now, Kel couldn’t swallow the startling relief she felt at the sight of him. Butterflies and guilt tangled in her stomach as he offered a gentle smile.

She should have spent every day at his bedside. She didn’t care if he hated her, or didn’t want to see her—she should have been there. Sheshouldn’t have run from whatever made her stomach flip at the sight of him.

Dira squealed, breaking the tension. She rushed forward as if to throw her arms around Coup but paused an inch away, settling instead for awkwardly ruffling his hair, careful not to put any weight on him.

Coup’s shoulders bunched the fabric of his dark gray shirt as he held his arms over the crutches. Other than a lack of riding leathers and faded burns creeping his neck, he looked exactly as he usually did. His chestnut curls crept down his neck in untamed waves, almost reaching his shirt collar. There were no tired lines pinching his face, no fatigue slumping his posture. Even with crutches and red, tender skin ringing his neck, he looked ready to race.

Kel couldn’t look away from the remaining burns at his throat. “They let you out so soon?” she breathed.

Her heart thudded in her ears.Thosewere her first words to him? An accusation instead of an apology? Why couldn’t she do at leastthisright?

Coup merely shrugged. “Cristo’s tech is unbelievable. They only kept me so long to monitor my physical therapy. I’m feeling great. Invincible, actually.”

Both Kel and Dira rolled their eyes. The accident might have left him burned and injured—but he was stillCoup.

He stepped out of Dira’s hold, toward Kel. “Can we talk?”

Dira looked between them and moved into the kitchen.

Kel tried to clear her throat. “We all need to. But not here.”

Not where Rahn or any of Cristo’s workers could walk in at any moment.

Coup shook his head. “No, I mean—can just the two of us talk?”

The butterflies in her stomach turned to spiders, knotting webs around her ribs, tightening her chest. “Ah. Sure. But maybe later? Dira and I—we really need to tell you and Bekn what we’ve found.”

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