Page 150 of GlitchBorn Heart

Not anymore, I vow.

Every word he spat at me in that office is a constant reminder. He doesn’t see me as a man, only as his tool, to be used and put away quietly. An extension of his empire, nothing more. For years, I’ve tricked myself into believing that it is enough. Discipline. Purpose. All the things Kenji drilled into me, have been warped into robotic service for a tyrant who thinks he’s godlike.

But he isn’t.

One day, the tables will turn.

I’m not ready. But the promise is there, solid and sharp like the blade of my sword. Vikktor Vosse is no longer my leader. He’s an obstacle. One I will have to cut down if I ever want Lyra or myself free of him.

My reflection in the glass of the lab windows stares back at me, veins faintly lit again, dragon ink coiled and restless. It’s not going to fade. Because right now, my magic is a weapon, surfacing at the moment when I need it most. All because of her.

It feels like a fever dream to me, all those years on the streets, Ash refining his magical abilities to become the man he is today, and me, magicless, building my reputation on my uncanny ability to architect any data system, solve any mathematical equation, master any situation presented to me.

If only I had known.

Would it have saved my family? Would it have saved me from myself?

The thought presses against the chambers in my heart, but as I always do, I push it down to the darkest depths, with the other rotting emotions.

I throw my jacket across the console and roll up my sleeves. Ash lurches forward after leaning back in his chair. “Well?”

“Boots off!” I command as I push past him, incapable of hearing his response through the white-hot rage consuming me.

My office is a mess of papers, take out boxes, and cybernetic parts. I shove everything off the desk in one swipe, a loud crash, and it all scatters across the floor like a system failure I can’t reboot.

Sparks spit from a busted prototype as it hits the wall. My chest heaves, absent of air. Ash follows me in, forcing conversation. “Kaze, say something.”

I’m incapable.

“Blink twice if we’re screwed. Hell, blink once, I can take a hint.” He remains in the doorway.

“Not the time,” Ember cuts in, shoving him to the side. Her eyes never leave me. Wide. Calculating. She’s already piecing together what’s happened.

“Does anyone fucking knock anymore? Why do I even have an office door?” I brace both hands on my desk, knuckles blanching.

A ping from Ash’s DataLINK breaks the stillness, and he excuses himself to the hallway to answer. Ember finally speaks, her voice soft but steady: “Kael, what’s happening to you? All this lashing out isn’t like you.”

“What’s happening is that Vikktor knows.” Every word he spewed in that office replays in my head, like a constant data feed.

He sees me as nothing but a tool. As Ash has always said, I’m a corporate dog on a leash, for Vikktor to yank when it suits him.

Her lips part, but she swallows, instead of speaking. The look on her face tells me all I need to know.

“What exactly does he know, Ember? Feel like sharing?” I snap my head toward her, glare sharp enough to peel her open.

She takes a step back, her designer heels clicking on the floor. “Kael, don’t put this on me.” Her voice falters, then steadies with a distinct edge. “I haven’t told him anything. You think I’d hand my father the one person who’s stood up for me my whole life?”

Who knows? No one seems to be the person they were before. I step closer, hoping to fill the space around her, intimidate her. I move fast, slamming my hand into the wall beside her head, caging her in. The screens stutter with the impact. She startles but holds her ground. Her throat bobs as she swallows. Neon streaks flare up my arm and disappear like whispers under my sleeve.

“Then how does he know?” I’m flaring again, a spark begging to ignite. She’s right, this isn’t like me. “You’re the only one with access besides me,” I press.

She squares her shoulders, chin tilting up, her pulse is visible below her jaw. “You’re angry, I get it. But don’t confuse my father’s poison with my loyalty. He could know about Lyra because he’s got spies everywhere, trackers in every corner of this building, cameras. He doesn’t need me to fill him in.”

My fist clenches as the other hand joins the wall around her crimson hair. The truth stings because it’s possible, actually very likely, but still, doubt gnaws at me.

Spies are crucial to winning a war.

“Then why,” I hiss, leaning in closer, “does he know things only you and I have access to? Tell me that, Ember. How? Shall I rip every line of code you’ve written apart until I find where you’ve leaked it?”