From there we run, shouldering our packs and weapons, heads down, flashlights aimed just far enough in front of us that we don’t ram ourselves into a boulder or sprain an ankle in a rut. The shipping tunnel is wide and tall, perfect for trucks hauling goods and supplies to be distributed within the Sun Realm. But not anymore, according to Roc. There are bigger and better shipping tunnels now, leaving this one available for us. Which is probably why the soldiers were camped there, biding their time until their orders came in, to be dispatched to the front lines of the attack on some vulnerable moon dweller subchapter. At least until we came along. Now they’re headed for the infirmary if they’re lucky—or the morgue if they’re not.

An hour later we’re still running, sweating tears of salt from exertion and for Ram, who even in death might buy us some time, help us accomplish our mission. More than six miles already separate us from our foes, but it’s not enough. We need to be a few subchapters over before they learn the truth of what’s happened, and even then it won’t be far enough.

Another hour passes with sweat blinding and stinging our eyes.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen miles, maybe more. An endless tunnel. We drink as we run, spilling the precious liquid down the tops of our tunics; I relish the coolness on my skin as rivulets of water meander down my chest, my torso, my legs. But my thirst never seems to be quenched; it’s as if the water spills from my pores the moment I swallow it, leaving me wanting. My feet are sore from the never-ending slap, slap, slap of my boots on the pebbly tunnel floor. Every muscle burns, even ones I didn’t think I really used while running—my abs, for example. It’s farther than I’ve ever run and yet I don’t think to stop. Might never stop.

But then I have to pee.

At first it’s just a minor urge, but within a few minutes it escalates into a major problem. “I’ve got to stop or I’m going to explode,” I say, slowing my strides.

“We need to find a safe place to camp,” Tristan says, encouraging me forward with a hand on my back.

“No, you don’t understand, I’m literally about to wet myself,” I say, stopping.

“Me, too,” Tawni adds, pulling up beside me, her face sheened with sweat.

“I’m shocked you made it this far. Usually girls have to go constantly,” Trevor says in such a way that makes it sound like something we should be ashamed of.

“I’ve got to go, too,” Roc admits sheepishly, bent over.

“Okay,” Tristan says, “we’ll all take a bathroom break except for Trevor, who will prove his manhood by holding it until we camp.”

A joke. It’s like a key part of our survival—our ability to laugh. As important as food or water or sleep. The thing we’ve all needed since we watched Ram die protecting us.

I laugh because if I don’t I might cry.

The others do, too, including Trevor, who says, “I didn’t say I didn’t have to go.”

Girls head one way—just Tawni and I—boys the other. We meet back in the middle.

My muscles protest, cramping and aching and burning, as they anticipate the start of the next phase. I’m not sure I can—

“I don’t think I can run another step,” Tawni says.

“Me either,” Roc says. “I’m spent.”

“Well, we can’t stay here,” Tristan points out.

“You all start walking as fast as you can,” Trevor says, “and I’ll run on ahead and scope things out.” I don’t like the idea of any of us separating, but I’m too tired to argue, and Trevor looks so keen—I have no clue where he gets the energy from, but I’m impressed.

Moments later, Trevor’s out of sight and we’re on the move again, but thankfully at a much slower pace. It’s probably good that we walk anyway, to warm down our bodies before we sleep, otherwise we won’t be able to move tomorrow.

Tristan and Roc lead the way, while I drop into stride with Tawni, matching her long strides with extra-long strides of my own. An awkward silence squirms its way between us. We’ve come so far together, and yet neither of us seems able to find the words. I know it’s up to me. It’s my fault things are awkward.

“I’m sorry I didn’t back you up earlier,” I say.

She glances at me, her mouth a thin line. This time it will take more than a simple apology to earn her forgiveness. “I’m really sorry?” I say.

“Is that a question?” Tawni asks dryly.

“Look, I—I thought those guys deserved what was coming to them, and if it helped keep us alive, all the better. It’s not like I wanted to kill them. Even now the thought of it makes me sick.”

“Yeah, but they were just lying there completely defenseless!” Her voice is rising and I know this is another of her principles.

“I’m not as strong as you, Tawni, I don’t have the right answer for every situation. I see gray sometimes.”

Pouting her bottom lip out, she blows air up past her nose, pushing a few loose strands of her white-blond hair off her forehead. “You’re the strongest person I know,” she says, compassion in her voice, and just like that, we’re fine again.

I hold up an arm and tighten my bicep, and we both laugh. “I really am sorry,” I say. “I’ve got your back from here on out.”

“I know you do,” Tawni says.

We walk in silence for another ten minutes. With time to think, my mind can hardly make sense of reality. We’re in the Sun Realm, a place I’ve never been, a place I never thought I would go, on an insane mission to assassinate the President of the Tri-Realms. Based on the opposition we’ve faced in only the first subchapter we’ve entered, this isn’t an insane mission, it’s an impossible one. No, not even that’s right. It’s suicidal. That’s the only word for it. My stomach churns.

Finally, I speak, needing a second opinion. “Is this a suicide mission?” I ask Tawni.

Although I glance at her, her gaze remains forward. “It always was,” she says wistfully.

She always knew this and yet she came. To me the mission was two thick bands, one for the good of the Tri-Realms and one to avenge my father’s death, braided together into a tight rope. A rope to form the noose to hang President Nailin with. But for Tawni it was a suicide mission, and yet—

She came.

Those two simple words speak volumes to her character. She’s willing to face death on a mission that she’s not even expected to contribute much to, other than occasionally being the conscience of the group. But she’s here, by my side, a true friend, still trying to make amends for the sins of her parents against my family, or some such rubbish that she had nothing to do with in the first place.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I say.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tawni says with a slight grin.

So it’s a suicide mission. I don’t know why gaining an understanding of the true nature of our mission has such a profound effect on me; I guess because I always expected to walk away from it alive. But now that I know, it gets me thinking: Did my mother know there’s a close to zero chance I’d survive?

“Tawni, do you think my mom—”

“She knows, Adele,” Tawni says tiredly.

She knows? But then how could she send me on such a mission? Doesn’t she want me to live? Her words from before: This is not a time for fearful mothers to hide away their capable daughters. It’s a time to be bold, to take risks. Your father trusted in your strength, in your abilities, and now it’s time for me to do the same. God knows I don’t want to. I’ve lost a husband already and my other daughter is in bad condition, but I cannot hold you back because I’m scared of losing you. You are a fantastically capable woman and I’m so proud of you, Adele.

She thought I was the one who could do it—that’s why she sent me, even knowing I would probably die. She thought I had the best chance to accomplish the mission before being killed.

That’s when I realize: