Page 4 of Storm of Stars
“What did you say?” Briar asked, turning to me.
I breathed in, trying to find the courage to speak the words that had come so easily just a few minutes ago. “I said we should fight back against Praxis,” I said finally.
Briar let out a sharp, bitter breath, like the words physically pained her. She dragged both hands down her face, her jaw working, and when she spoke, it was with a sharpness meant to wound. “People don’t rebel against Praxis, Thorne. Not without paying for it in blood. I mean, look at Zaffir.” Her gaze cut to theredheaded cameraman for a brief, weighted second, then back to me. Like she was begging me to remember something. Like she was willing me to recall the pain, I would never forget. “Youknowwhat happens to anyone who so much as whispers the wrong thing. They disappear. They get erased.” She turned in a slow circle, gesturing to the rest of the room. “And you wanna invite that kind of hell on everyone in this room? On yourself?”
The room fell silent again, the unspoken things pressing in.
“Someone needs to do it,” I said, voice low but unflinching. “If not us, then who? The people out there waiting for Praxis to deem them worthy of basic needs? Another Collective too scared to use their voice? How long are we supposed to survive like this before surviving isn’t worth it anymore?”
“You think we’ve got what it takes to do what nobody else has ever been able to accomplish? What people have died for even suggesting?” Briar snapped, her composure cracking as she stepped closer, eyes flashing.
“Because we do!” I replied.
“You think we’re different because we’ve got a couple of wins under our belts and a handful of fans? Praxis doesn’t care about your fame, Thorne. Or your support. Or your goddamn sense of justice. They will break you just like they broke everyone else.”
“Why are you so afraid?” I fired back.
Briar’s jaw clenched, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Because everything you’re saying right now,” she bit out, voice tight and cracking at the edges, “is exactly what got Ma killed!”
The words hit like a slap. The room shifted, air growing heavier, every pair of eyes locking onto the two of us like the rest of the world had disappeared. Brexlyn inhaled sharply. She looked like she was desperate to come to us, but she knew this was a conversation we needed to hash out on our own.
Briar swallowed hard, her shoulders rising with a ragged breath. Her voice dropped, rough and raw. “Did you forget,Thorne? Did you forget how fast they came for her after she spoke out. How they stormed into our home, and tore it apart. How they dragged her from us like she was nothing.” Her voice broke on the last word. “Because I’ll never forget it.”
My breath hitched, and grief flickered through the defiance in my soul, but I didn’t step back. Didn’t back down. “Of course, I remember, Bry,” I said softly, and there was a pain in my chest that made my throat tighten. “I remember every goddamn second. I remember the screams. I remember the blood. I remember what they did to her body after, to make sure everyone else stayed afraid.”
I didn’t need Brexlyn’s magic memory to pull that image to the forefront of my mind. It haunted me every moment.
“You think I haven’t carried that with me every day since?” I stepped closer, close enough that I could almost see my reflection in her eyes. Like two halves of the same storm. “But I also remember what she said before they took her. That it wasn’t enough to survive. That we had to live for something.” My voice hardened, and my gaze locked with Briar’s.
Briar shook her head, blinking back tears she refused to let fall. “And you think she wanted you to die too? You think she wanted both of us to follow her down like martyrs? Because that’s what this is, Thorne. It’s suicide.”
“I don’t care,” I growled, closing the last bit of space between us. “I’d rather die for something than keep breathing for nothing.”
The air in the room cracked with the weight of it, the ghost of our mother’s fate lingering like a curse and a promise.
“I didn’t forget what happened to her, Briar,” I said, softer now, voice thick. “I just refuse to let her sacrifice mean nothing.”
And no one else said a word. Because what could you even say to that?
The air was thick with grief and fury, years of pain compressed into this one moment. Briar’s lip quivered, her eyes burning, a storm trapped behind them. “People die when they defy Praxis. You will die. We all will.”
I didn’t flinch.
“She left us something,” I said, his voice low but certain, then glanced over at the battered and bruised cameraman. “Zaffir… can I use your computer?”
He nodded without hesitation, wincing as he reached for his bag beside the couch. The weight of it clearly tugged at his battered ribs, but he ignored the pain and slid the laptop free, passing it to me.
Brexlyn’s brow furrowed as I booted it up, the faint blue glow of the screen painting my face in ghostly light. “What are you talking about?” she asked quietly.
I didn’t answer at first, as my fingers moved with sharp, practiced precision as I navigated through tabs and files. I’d cracked this code dozens of times, but it was designed to require complete focus. That’s how it remained so hidden.
When I finally found my way in, I turned the screen toward the others. “This,” I began, “is an encrypted thread. A resistance. They call themselves the Runaways. They’re fighting for the disbandment of the Reclamation Run. They want to tear down Praxis.”
Ezra’s brows lifted, his scowl breaking just enough for a flicker of cautious hope to shine through. “I didn’t even know something like this existed.”
“I think that’s the point,” I said with a smile.
Brexlyn leaned forward, her curiosity blooming across her face. She scrolled through the message board, eyes skimming over post after post. “There’s… hundreds of messages here.”
