“That’s why you might overhear Dr. Erland babbling to himself sometimes,” she said. “He didn’t use the gift for years after coming to Earth, and now his sanity is—”

“Wait.”

She paused, not only because Jacin had spoken, but because something had changed in the air around him. A sudden spike of emotion, catching Cinder off guard.

“This device kept you from losing your mental stability? Even though you weren’t using your gift for … for years?”

“Well, it kept me from using my gift in the first place, and also protected me from those side effects.”

He turned his face away from her and took a minute to school his features back into nonchalance, but it was too late. There was a new intensity behind his eyes as he grasped the implications.

A device that could take away a person’s Lunar gift would make them all equal.

“Anyway,” said Cinder, rubbing the back of her neck where the device was still installed, though now broken. “Dr. Erland disabled it. My gift had been coming and going for a couple weeks before the ball, but then all the emotional stress overwhelmed my system, and the device, and—there I was. Fully Lunar. Not a moment too soon.” She cringed, recalling the sensation of a gun pressed against her temple.

“Do any more of these devices exist?” he said, his eyes strangely bright.

“I don’t think so. My stepfather died before it was fully tested, and as far as I know he didn’t manufacture any others. Although he may have left behind some plans or blueprints that explain how it works.”

“Doesn’t seem possible. An invention like that … it could change everything.” He shook his head, staring into space as the shopkeeper returned and set a basket full of supplies on the counter. She grabbed the bottles from before and threw them on top, along with Cinder’s portscreen.

“This is perfect,” said Cinder, pulling the basket toward her. “Thank you so much. The doctor said you could put it on his tab?”

“No payment from Cinder Linh,” said the woman, waving one hand, while she pulled a portscreen out of her apron pocket. “But—may I take your picture for my net profile? My first celebrity!”

Cinder flinched away from her. “Er … I’m sorry. I’m not really doing the picture thing these days.”

The woman wilted in disappointment, tucking her port back into her pocket.

“Sorry, really. I’ll talk to the doctor about paying you, all right?” She hauled the basket off the counter without waiting to hear another argument.

“Not doing pictures these days?” Jacin muttered as they hurried through the shop. “How very Lunar of you.”

Cinder glared against the sudden, burning sunlight. “Very wanted criminal of me too.”

Twenty-Six

Although Scarlet’s thoughts were as thick as mud, her fingers were nimble and fast, dancing through the familiar motions of powering down the podship. Just like all those nights she returned to the farm after finishing her deliveries. She could almost smell the musty tang of her grandmother’s hangar, combined with the fresh, earthy breeze coming off the fields. She lowered the landing gear and eased down the brakes. The ship settled, humming idly for a moment before she shut down the engine, and it fell silent.

Something thumped behind her. A woman began to yell shril-ly, her anger made sticky and confusing in Scarlet’s cobwebbed brain.

A headache began to throb in the front of her skull, gradually taking over her entire head. Scarlet flinched and leaned back in the pilot’s seat, pressing her palms over her eyes to block out the pain, the swamp of confusion, the sudden piercing light that burst through her vision.

She groaned, slumping forward. No harness caught her like she’d expected and soon she was hunched over her knees, taking full, gasping breaths as if she’d nearly drowned.

Her mouth was dry, her jaw aching as if she’d been grinding her teeth for hours. But as she held very still, and choked on very deep breaths, the throbbing in her head began to subside. Her thoughts cleared. The muffled yelling sharpened and spiked.

Scarlet opened her eyes. A surge of nausea passed over her, but she swallowed hard and let it pass.

She knew instantly that this was not her delivery ship, and she was not in her grandmother’s hangar. The smell was all wrong, the floorboards too clean.…

“… want Lieutenant Hensla sent down immediately, along with a full team for scouting and ship identification…”

The woman’s voice shot like electricity through Scarlet’s nerves, and she remembered. The ship, the attack, the gun in her hand, the bullet hitting Wolf in the chest, the sense of hollowness as the thaumaturge burrowed into her brain, took over her thoughts, took away all sense of identity and will.

“… use the shuttle’s history to track the last location, and see if it has any lingering connectivity to the main ship. They may have gone to Earth. Figure it out. Find her.”

Scarlet raised her head enough that she could peer out of the podship’s side window. Luna. She was on Luna, docked in an enclosed space that was nothing at all like the hangars she had known or the podship dock of the Rampion. It was large enough to house a dozen shuttles, and a few were already lined up alongside hers, their sleek shapes ornamented with the royal Lunar insignia. The walls were jagged and black, but speckled with small glowing lights, to mimic a nonexistent sky. A faint light was glowing up from the ground, so that the shadows of the podships stretched like birds of prey along the cavernous walls.

At the end of the row of ships was an enormous arched doorway, embedded with glittering stones that depicted a crescent moon rising above planet Earth.

“… took this D-COMM from the programmer who betrayed us. See if the software techs can use it to trace the companion chip…”

The podship door behind her was still open, and the thaumaturge was standing just outside the ship, yelling at the people who had gathered around her—two guards in red and gray uniforms and a middle-aged man who wore a simple belted robe and was hastily plugging information into a portscreen. The thaumaturge’s long white coat was smeared with blood, and soaked through where it draped over her thigh. She stood slightly hunched, her hands pressed over the wound.

The arched door began to open, cutting a slit through the center of the glittering Earth as the doors peeled back. Scarlet ducked back down. She heard the subtle click and hum of magnets, the clatter of footsteps.

“Finally,” the thaumaturge seethed. “The uniform is ruined—cut away the material and be quick. The bullet didn’t pass through, and the wound hasn’t—” She cut off with a hiss.

Daring to glance up, Scarlet saw that three new people had arrived, dressed in white lab coats. They brought a hovering gurney with them, stocked with a full lab’s worth of medical supplies, and were all crowded around the thaumaturge, one unbuttoning her coat while another tried to cut a square of fabric away from her pants, though the material seemed to have cemented itself to the wound.

The thaumaturge recovered and rearranged her features to disguise how much pain she was in, though her olive skin had taken on a yellowish pallor. One of the doctors managed to peel the material away from the wound.

“Have Sierra send for a new uniform, and contact Thaumaturge Park to inform him that there will soon be changes to our procedures for gathering intelligence in relation to the Earthen leaders.”

“Yes, Thaumaturge Mira,” said the middle-aged man. “Speaking of Park, you should know that he already had a meeting with Emperor Kaito regarding our fleet of operatives that appears to no longer be in disguise.”

She cursed. “I forgot about the ships. I hope he was smart enough not to tell them anything before we’ve established an official statement.” She paused to take in a warbling breath. “Also, inform Her Majesty of my return.”