SMy heart slammed against my ribs, like it wanted to break free and run to her. Clara—my Clara—was up there on that platform, kneeling in the dirt of Nova Rhea's Central Plaza, her hands bound in glowing cuffs that buzzed like angry wasps. The crowd's chant—"Burn the witch!"—rolled over me, a wave of hate that made my skin crawl. I stood frozen, boots glued to the pavement, staring at her silver hair spilling across her shoulders. Her face was bruised, one eye swollen, but her head was high, like she was daring the world to break her.How was this happening? She'd been right beside me, her hand on my arm, her voice in my ear. I could still feel the warmth of her fingers, smell the faint lavender she always carried from our garden back home. But when I'd turned, she'd vanished—faded into nothing, like a ghost. A spell, she'd called it once. A witch's trick to fool the eyes. She'd used it to warn me, to tell me to run. And I hadn't listened. I never listened.The holo-screen above the plaza flickered, thirty feet of light and lies, showing her face in sharp detail. Every scrape, every cut. The crowd roared louder, fists pumping, faces twisted with something ugly—fear dressed up as anger. I hated them. All of them. These people, with their NeuraTech implants blinking blue at their temples, cheering for her death like it was a game. They didn't know her. They didn't know how she'd bandaged my knee when I fell, or hummed songs about stars when I couldn't sleep. They didn't know she was the only thing keeping me alive."Clara!" My voice cracked, swallowed by the noise. I shoved forward, elbowing a guy in a leather coat who snarled at me. My hood fell back, but I didn't care. I had to get to her. Had to stop this.The platform was maybe fifty yards away, ringed by Coalition enforcers in black exosuits, their pulse-rifles glowing red at the tips. Above, drones whirred, their lenses glinting like vultures circling a kill. Clara looked small up there, but her eyes—green, sharp, alive—found me in the crowd. For a second, it was just us, like we were back in the moors, her teaching me to breathe slow when my magic wouldn't spark. Then an enforcer grabbed her arm, yanking her forward, and the spell broke."No!" I pushed harder, knocking over a woman with a kid on her shoulders. She cursed, but I kept going, my breath ragged. My hands shook, itching for the magic Clara swore I had. I'd never gotten it right—just sparks, never flames—but if I could just try, maybe I could burn those cuffs off her, blast the enforcers back.
Anything."Asher, stop!" Her voice cut through the chaos, sharp and desperate. Not from the platform—from behind me. I spun, heart lurching. There she was again, standing in the crowd, her scarf loose, silver hair catching the neon glow. My head spun.
Was I losing it? Was this another trick?"Clara?" I choked, taking a step toward her. The crowd pressed in, shoulders bumping me, but I didn't care. She looked real—too real. Her cloak was torn, her face pale, but her eyes locked on mine, full of something heavy. Regret, maybe. Or fear."It's not her," she said, pointing at the platform. "It's a hologram. A trap. Asher, you have to—"The holo-screen blared again, drowning her out. "Clara Moreau, witch of the Old Order, you are sentenced to death for crimes against progress." The voice was cold, mechanical, like the city itself. I turned back to the platform, and there she was—still kneeling, still real. But the Clara behind me was real too. My chest tightened, like I was being torn in half."Which one's you?" I whispered, my voice lost in the roar. I reached for the Clara in the crowd, but my fingers passed through her, sparking like static. She flickered, her face twisting with pain."I'm sorry," she said, her voice fading. "I tried to protect you."The hologram Clara—or whatever it was—vanished, leaving only air.
My knees buckled, but I caught myself, rage boiling up to fill the ache. A trick. A Coalition trick, or her magic, or both. It didn't matter.
The Clara on the platform was real, and they were going to kill her.I ran again, faster now, shoving through the crowd like a blade.
Someone grabbed my arm—a bald guy with a NeuraTech scar on his neck. "Watch it, kid!" he growled, but I yanked free, my elbow catching his jaw. He stumbled, and I kept going, eyes locked on the platform. Clara was standing now, dragged to her feet by an enforcer twice her size. His gloved hand gripped her neck, and I saw red."Let her go!"
I screamed, my voice raw. I was closer now—twenty yards, maybe less. The enforcers hadn't seen me yet, too busy posing for the crowd, their rifles raised like trophies. The holo-screen zoomed in on Clara's face, her lips moving, but I couldn't hear her over the chants. What was she saying? Was she calling for me?My foot caught on something—a bottle, a curb, I don't know—and I stumbled, crashing into a woman with a glowing tattoo. She shoved me back, spitting curses, but I scrambled up, my hands scraping the pavement. Blood trickled from my palm, warm and sticky, and for a second, I remembered Clara's lessons.
"Blood's a spark," she'd said once, wiping dirt from my cheek. "It ties you to the earth." I didn't know what that meant then, and I didn't now, but I clung to it, like it could save her.Ten yards. The platform loomed, its metal edges sharp under the floodlights.
Clara's eyes found me again, and this time, she shook her head, slow and deliberate.
Stop, she was saying. Don't. But I couldn't stop. Wouldn't. She was all I had—my family, my home, my everything. If I lost her, what was I?An enforcer turned, his visor reflecting the crowd. He saw me—saw my face, my panic—and raised his rifle. "Halt!" he barked, voice amplified through his suit.
The crowd parted around me, leaving me exposed, a lone kid in a sea of strangers. My breath hitched, but I didn't back down."Asher, please," Clara said, her voice carrying somehow, cutting through the noise. She was looking at me, not the enforcer, not the crowd. Just me. "Live. For me."I shook my head, tears burning my eyes. "I can't," I whispered, though she couldn't hear. "I won't."The enforcer stepped forward, rifle aimed at my chest. The crowd hushed, hungry for more blood—mine, hers, didn't matter. I braced myself, hands clenched, waiting for the shot. But Clara moved first. She twisted in the enforcer's grip, fast as a cat, and for a second, I thought she'd break free. My heart leapt—she was fighting, she was—Then the other enforcer, the one holding her, raised his hand. Something glinted—a neural-lance, its tip glowing red, like a star gone wrong. I opened my mouth to scream, to warn her, but it was too late. The lance came down, and the world stopped.