The neural-lance glowed red in the enforcer's hand, a jagged star ready to tear my world apart. Clara was still fighting, twisting against the grip of the Coalition thug holding her neck, her silver hair whipping like a storm. I stood ten yards from the platform, chest heaving, the crowd's chant—"Burn the witch!"—pounding in my skull. My hands shook, slick with sweat and blood from my scraped palm, and I reached for something—anything—inside me. The magic Clara swore I had. A spark, a flame, whatever could stop this. But my fingers just clenched air, useless."Clara!" I screamed, my voice splitting like cracked glass. The enforcer with the rifle was closer now, his visor a blank mirror, the barrel aimed at my chest. I didn't move. Couldn't. Every piece of me was locked on her, on the way her green eyes flickered—not with fear, but with something softer. Like she was saying goodbye."Stop this!" I yelled, not at the enforcer, not at the crowd, but at the whole rotten city. Nova Rhea's neon towers loomed around us, their lights cold, uncaring. Drones buzzed above, their lenses drinking in the show. The holo-screen blared her face—bruised, defiant—for thousands to hate. I wanted to rip it down, shatter every screen, every lie that said she was the enemy.The enforcer with the lance stepped forward, his boots clanging on the platform's metal. Clara went still, her shoulders slumping, like she'd run out of fight. My stomach dropped. No. She didn't give up. Not ever. Back home, when wolves circled our cottage, she'd faced them with a stick and a spell, laughing when they ran. When I burned my hand trying her magic, she'd held me till I stopped crying. She was stronger than this. Stronger than them."Clara Moreau," the enforcer said, his voice flat through his helmet, "your kind ends today." He raised the lance higher, its glow painting his armor red. The crowd roared, a beast waking up, their voices thick with spit and fury. I saw kids in the front, waving fists, parroting their parents. A woman with a NeuraTech implant spat at the platform, her face twisted. They didn't know her. They didn't know us.I lunged forward, shoving past the rifle aimed at me. The enforcer shouted—"Stay back!"—but I was already moving, my boots slipping on the plaza's grime. Five yards now. Close enough to see the sweat on Clara's face, the way her lips twitched, like she was whispering a spell. Or a prayer. I didn't care what it was. I just needed her to live.My hand reached out, as if I could pull her off that platform by wanting it bad enough. "Clara, hold on!" I yelled, stupid, because what could she do? What could I do? My magic was nothing—a flicker that died before it started. She'd spent years teaching me, patient even when I snapped at her, but I'd never listened hard enough. Never tried hard enough. And now it was too late.The lance came down.Time slowed, like the world was holding its breath. I saw everything—the lance's red tip slicing the air, Clara's eyes widening, her mouth opening in a silent cry. I screamed, a raw, animal sound that tore my throat. The lance hit her chest, and light exploded—white, blinding, swallowing the platform. The crowd gasped, then cheered, their voices a knife in my gut.I fell to my knees, hands scraping the pavement. The light faded, and there she was—Clara, crumpled like a broken doll, her silver hair pooling around her. Blood trickled from her chest, dark against her pale skin, soaking the metal floor. Her eyes were open, staring at the sky, but they weren't hers anymore. They were empty, like the moors after a fire."No," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, no, no." I crawled forward, ignoring the enforcer's rifle, ignoring the crowd's noise. My hands reached for her, even though she was too far, even though it didn't make sense. She couldn't be gone. She was Clara. She was my home."Get up," I begged, my voice cracking. "Please, get up." I saw her in my head—smiling by the cottage fire, brushing dirt off my face, telling me I was enough. I saw her hands, soft but strong, weaving spells I'd never understand. I saw her laugh, the way it filled the quiet. All of it, slipping away like sand.The enforcer who'd killed her turned, wiping the lance on his glove like it was nothing. Like she was nothing. Rage boiled in me, hot and sharp, drowning the ache. I staggered to my feet, fists clenched, ready to charge, to tear him apart with my bare hands if I had to.But arms grabbed me—hard, cold, metal. Two enforcers, their exosuits humming, yanked me back. I thrashed, kicking, screaming, "Let me go!" My heel hit one's shin, but he didn't flinch, just tightened his grip until my bones creaked. The crowd laughed—actually laughed—like I was a kid throwing a tantrum."Clara!" I shouted one last time, twisting to see her. They were dragging her body now, tossing it into a hover-van like trash. Her hair trailed behind, catching the neon light, and then she was gone, the van's doors slamming shut. The holo-screen flickered off, and the plaza felt smaller, emptier, like it had eaten her and spit out nothing."Shut up, kid," one of the enforcers growled, slamming me against the platform's edge. My head cracked on metal, stars bursting in my eyes. Blood trickled down my cheek, warm and bitter. I didn't care. Pain was better than the hole in my chest, the one that kept growing, swallowing everything."Why?" I whispered, not to them, not to anyone. Just to the air where she'd been. Why her? Why now? She'd said we came to Nova Rhea for answers, but all we'd found was this—a trap, a lie, a lance through her heart. Had she known? Had she walked us here anyway?The enforcers cuffed my wrists, the metal biting my skin. I didn't fight anymore. My legs wobbled, barely holding me up as they dragged me across the plaza. The crowd was thinning, people drifting back to their lives, their implants blinking like they'd already forgotten. A kid stared at me, his eyes wide, but his mom pulled him away, muttering about witches and trouble.I looked back at the platform one last time. It was empty now, just a smear of blood where she'd fallen. My throat burned, tears mixing with the blood on my face. I wanted to scream, to burn this city down, to make them all feel what I felt. But all I had was her voice in my head, the last thing she'd said: Live. For me.How could I? She was my reason—my only reason. Without her, I was just a kid with scars and a spark that wouldn't light. But as they shoved me toward a Coalition van, its doors yawning like a mouth, something hardened in me. A promise. A vow. I didn't know how, or when, but I'd make them pay. Every last one of them. For her.
