Page 82 of Storm of Stars
Bex was just as uncertain. Her hand hovered over a pistol before pulling back like it had burned her. She eventually grabbed a couple of daggers and tucked them into the loops of her belt. Then she picked up a large rifle, her fingers fumbling slightly as she tried to understand it.
“I don’t know how to use it,” she said, eyes wide with something between nerves and resolve.
“Me either,” I admitted, grabbing a rifle of my own.
I quickly emptied the magazine and cleared the chamber, then slung it across my back. She did the same, watching me carefully.
“They don’t have to know it’s not loaded,” I whispered, brushing a kiss across her lips. “Might be enough to make someone hesitate. Buy you a few seconds.”
Bex stood on her toes and kissed me back, harder, like it might be the last time. Like she didn’t want to forget the feel of it.
A few hours later, we gathered at the base of the hill that overlooked the perimeter of Praxis. The sounds of fighting that had echoed through the morning—shouts, the sharp crack of gunfire, and the distant boom of explosions—had quieted into an eerie lull.
We hadn’t seen any retreating forces, no signs of panic, which meant the second wave had likely succeeded. The guard towers were down. The gates were exposed. We were next.
Briar scanned the hilltop and the golden glint of the city beyond it, then turned to face us. Her eyes were sharp, her voice low but commanding.
“Stay close. Stay quiet. Be ready.”
And with that, she led us forward.
The climb toward Praxis felt a lot different than the last time we made this trek.
The last time we’d taken these steps, during the transportation trial, it had been about proving our strength and endurance to a government who’d had us under their thumb. But this… this was something else entirely.
Now, when we crested that hill and saw the golden gates ahead, the smoke and destruction of Nexum weren’t locked out, they were trapped inside. This time, Praxis wasn’t the only place untouched by chaos.
Itwasthe chaos.
The moment we crossed the barrier, the air turned thick with death. The smoke from the explosions hung heavy. Ash floated through the sky like dirty snow. The scent of gunpowder stung my nose, mingling with the coppery tang of blood that coated the streets.
I kept my arm around Bex’s shoulders, grounding both of us. Her hand curled into the hem of my shirt, fingers gripping tight. We didn’t say anything. We didn’t need to. Just kept walking, stepping around bodies of Praxis guards and Runaways alike, wreckage, the aftermath of the fight that had already torn through this place. They’d stood on opposite sides of the line—one draped in gold, the other in ash—but now they lay the same. Silent. Still. Because in the end, no matter the uniform, no matter the cause, we all bleed red.
The silence was eerie. The initial battle was clearly settled. But that didn’t mean it was safe. Didn’t mean we could breathe easy.
The tension hadn’t gone anywhere. It just shifted. Burrowed deeper.
It was too quiet now. And I knew better than to let my guard down. Not yet.
“The Show Center is this way,” Zaffir whispered, pointing Briar down a relatively deserted road. The windows on the buildings were shut tight, silence permeated the air. It was a vicious juxtaposition from the lively effervescence that we’d witnessed only a few short weeks ago when we first arrived in this town.
The Runaways had taken the Guard Towers. We could still hear them, faintly. Rebel voices echoing through the empty streets.
Footsteps snapped our attention forward. I stepped in front of Bex, the others fell into place beside me, ready for a fight. Butit was Edgar who came out of the shadows, and our relief was instant, but short-lived.
“Edgar,” Briar called. She moved toward him, but stopped short, when she took in the sight of him. He looked… wrecked. Ash smeared across his face, blood dried and cracked along the side of his neck. He kept one hand pressed to his stomach, where more blood had bloomed and soaked through the fabric.
“You’re hurt,” Briar said.
He waved her off. “Still breathing, and that’s more than I can say for a lot of us.”
“The towers?” Thorne asked.
Edgar gave a slow nod. “We’ve got them. Guards that are cooperating are locked in the lower levels. Anyone else, incapacitated.”
Bex flinched at the word.
“But we’ve got another problem,” Edgar said.
