Page 175 of The Amber Sunburst

With his friends.

The friends who are waiting like sitting ducks at the port. The friends who need him in order to get out of here.

Kallias manufactured this too.

He knew Alexander wouldn’t be able to leave their friends stranded by the boat. He’s making Alexander go to Arc Eight. Because, what, he thinks once Alexander is down there he won’t come back? That he’ll just get on the train and leave?

No. Kallias didn’t think this through. He didn’t realize what happens when you let someone love you.

Because, now?

Well, now, Alexander would let Kallias string him up and crucify him, as long as he got one more look at his face.

56

ZENO

Arc Eight is not what Zeno expected.

Auxiliary patrols stop at Arc Seven—Eight was deemed a waste of resources a long time ago—so he’s never seen it before.

The people here don’t seem to care much about the Trials, probably because the Academy doesn’t care much about them. They mill about, selling questionable wares and advertising new bars and whorehouses. At least half of the residents sport brands on their foreheads of all different kinds. More than a few for murder.

Ophelia is walking between all of them with her hair held back tight. Her curls were too bouncy to fit under the hood of her cloak, and it took propositions from five different pimps for Eudoxia to rip off a piece of her shirt as a hair tie. Ophelia’s eyes still scan around, like she’s looking for someone.

The whole place smells of the sea, but not in the gentle way that the Academy does. It smells like fish and salt and sewage pulled from and dumped into the waves.

Not to mention the constant buzzing on the streets from generators positioned every block or two. The hovertrain from the countryside ends here, and the Arc is devoted in large part to creating electricity to keep it running. The locals don’t look especially bothered by it.

At the docks, a woman catches sight of his blood-covered shoe. He quickly whips his cloak over it, expecting her to cry out, but instead of screaming for help she gives him a wicked smile, missing half her teeth, and walks away.

They find a bench within view of the boat Kallias procured, and sit down to wait for the boys.

“This place is horrible,” Eudoxia whispers.

Ophelia crosses her arms. “The horrible thing is that the Academy claims the Arcs aren’t separated by class.”

“I guess,” Eudoxia says. “We don’t even patrol here. And crime only grows if there’s no one to enforce Justice.”

“I don’t think these people need Justice,” Zeno says, hearing his father’s voice in his head. “They need help.”

“But from who?” Lazarus asks.

Ophelia answers quietly, “No one helps the hopeless if there’s no hope.”

They fidget for half an hour on their little bench, every minute sharpening Zeno’s unease, until Alexander stumbles through an alleyway just to their left. He’s a mess. No cloak, swollen knuckles, bloodshot eyes, and—Forms, are those gunshot wounds?

“What happened—” Zeno starts before Ophelia pushes in front of him.

“Where’s Kallias?”

Alexander’s face is murderous. And sad. So, so sad.

“Alexander—” Zeno starts again.

“—Where is he?” Ophelia interrupts.

“He’s gone,” Alexander whispers. Or, it comes out as a whisper. His voice is too shredded for Zeno to tell.