Reprisal: Recompense, #5

By Michelle Isenhoff

Separated from home, Axis, and his partner, Ethan has been left behind.

The revolution is over. Andromeda Macron is dead, and Capernica is free. But at the sweet moment of triumph, a premature explosion leaves Ethan stranded in a foreign world, pursued by the entire Bruel army and wishing vainly for his partner Jack. But she made it home safely. His one hope is that the explosion didn't destroy all the doors between worlds. If even one portal survived, he intends to find it. 

In the meantime, the loss of nearly its entire slave labor force has thrown Brunay into chaos. Fuel shortages and an economic downturn exacerbate tensions between the country's tribal groups, and government efforts to replace the lost workers threaten to send the nation into civil war. But it's the remaining Capernican slaves who bear the brunt of the new policies. 

Ethan burns to lead the anti-slavery movement, but he's a fugitive, a soldier stripped of all command. He feels useless and ineffective, flung here by a cruel twist of fate. But then--abandoned, discouraged, and with a price on his head--Ethan discovers a reason to stay in Brunay, even if a portal should open up right in front of him. He just had to travel across the universe to find her. 

But what does the future hold in a world where slavery is his only legal option? Where the law stands between himself and the woman he loves? Reprisal is the final book in the Recompense series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Isenhoff
• Release date: Jun 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393168676

Michelle Isenhoff

MICHELLE ISENHOFF's work has been reader-nominated for a Cybils Award, the Great Michigan Read, and the Maine Student Book Award. She's also placed as a semi-finalist in the Kindle Book Review Book Awards, a finalist in the Wishing Shelf Book Awards, and earned multiple Readers' Favorite 5 Star seals of approval. A former teacher and longtime homeschooler, Michelle has written extensively in the children's genre and been lauded by the education community for the literary quality of her work. These days, she writes full time in the adult historical fiction and speculative fiction genres. To keep up with new releases, sign up for her newsletter at http://hyperurl.co/new-release-list.

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Table of Contents

REPRISAL

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

EPILOGUE

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About Michelle

REPRISAL

RECOMPENSE BOOK FIVE

Michelle Isenhoff

REPRISAL. Copyright © 2018 by Michelle Isenhoff. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Edited by Amy Nemecek.

All rights reserved.

Candle Star Press

www.michelleisenhoff.com

ONE

I lope through the trees at the head of my squad, the rustle of our passing masked by the thunder of gunfire. My senses are on hyper-alert. Every footfall raises the sharp tang of decaying vegetation. The woods are dense, but the leaves are thinning, falling in orange and yellow swirls. The cover is thick enough to mask our movements, but it should offer a glimpse of the old barn. Will said it’s just ahead, a few hundred yards from the portal. He and his men had nearly reached safety when they were overrun by armed Bruelim.

Behind me, two dozen Capernican soldiers follow cautiously in my wake, weapons held at the ready. I catch sight of my partner among them. Jack stands out from the others, and not just because of her intensity and her slender grace. She’s the only one not clad in combat gear. Her lack of protection makes me uneasy. Technically, I could order her back through the portal, but I know her well enough to realize it won’t do a lick of good.

I’m swept with admiration. Jack may be stubborn, but she has the courage of a lion. It was her idea to break into Gruelinkreb this morning, offering herself in exchange for secrecy after her old nemesis, Merrin, discovered our plan to evacuate every labor camp and breeding farm in Brunay. I wasn’t willing to sanction the plan, though my opinion was swiftly overruled by Willoughby. Unfortunately, we were dealing with a double-crosser who blew our cover anyway. Thank goodness Will was able to get Jack out of that mess. But now he’s in one of his own, holed up with the remaining Berkam who boldly defended Gruelinkreb’s fleeing refugees when the Bruel army arrived.

I spot a gleam of silver through a break in the trees, a tumbledown structure made of stone and weathered timbers. It’s the barn, just as Will described it. I hold up a hand, halting my troops. Another signal and they melt into the shelter of the underbrush. I slink forward, every sense alert for the presence of hidden guards.

I’ve left most of our division at the edge of the woods where they’ve engaged the Bruel forces who were preparing for a raid on Earth. We caught them by surprise. They were assembling in the field outside Gruelinkreb when we poured through the portal and took up position in the trees, sending them scrambling behind their vehicles. From the escalating sounds of battle, they’re beginning to recover. This strike needs to be hard and fast. Aside from the stiffening defense, we have only twenty minutes until Caedmon’s explosion is scheduled to close the portals forever.

I spot a Bruel soldier standing about a hundred yards back from the barn. He’s tense and vigilant, weapon clasped in both hands, but his attention is focused solely in the direction of battle. He doesn’t spare a single glance for his left or right flank. If I came across one of my own soldiers being so careless, I’d slap him with disciplinary measures he wouldn’t soon forget. As it is, I’ll take full advantage of his distraction.

A quick reconnaissance shows about five dozen more soldiers spaced around the barn. They’re all experiencing tunnel vision. The Bruel army simply rolled around Will and his men, leaving this small detachment to hold them in place until after the raid’s over. From the looks of it, the guards are chafing at being assigned babysitting duty. It’s made them careless. I sneak back the way I came and rejoin my squad. With a few deft hand signals, I wave them forward and point out the location of the enemy. Once we’ve closed the distance, I give the command to attack.

Gunfire erupts on all sides as our unit springs to the offensive. I see five guards fall immediately. Another leaps behind a tree and shouts an unnecessary warning to his comrades. Once again, we’ve caught the Bruelim by surprise. I press our advantage, driving hard into their ring, pushing them back on either side. The momentum of our wedge penetrates all the way to the barn.

Besieged Berkam stream from the building by the score, some adding sporadic gunfire to the melee but most simply fleeing for their lives. There’s a desperation to their exodus, a horror in their movements and a haunting in their eyes. These are teenage boys who have just survived a harrowing fight and seen many of their number die. Not to mention the weeks or months they’ve been living as mindless guards inside the prison camp. It’s a testament to their spirit that they’ve performed as well as they have. And a commendation to Will’s ability to lead them.

I spot Will among them, an injured man slung over his shoulders. He’s filthy, his face is strained, and his uniform’s in tatters. And no wonder. He drove his men against an overwhelming force for hours. I can’t imagine they have much ammunition left, to say nothing of strength. But Will seems uninjured. Our eyes meet. He gives me a weary nod, which I return with ungrudging respect. Despite the differences between us, he’s a dependable soldier. I’m glad we’ve come in time.

I fire into the trees, picking off two more guards. The exchange of gunfire is hot and heavy. My troops lay down a thick cover as Will and his men break for the portal. As the last of them pass, we close around their flanks, weapons trained to the rear. I’m pleased with the effectiveness of our assault. I glance at my watch. Barely two minutes have elapsed since the first shot was fired, and fifteen remain before the portal closes. Plenty of time for the fatigued men to make it home.

I sweep the area around the barn as I back away with my squad. There isn’t much activity in the trees, and my soldiers are dealing with the remaining defenders quite effectively. I’ve chosen my strike force well. Then a blur of movement catches my eyes—three Bruel soldiers circling around on our right. I draw a bead on one and watch the bark on a tree explode beside him as I miss my mark. The impact spurs them into a run. I call to the men nearest me. Ellis, Longstein, after them!

They follow my pointing finger, and we set off at a sprint. No doubt someone among the guards radioed in their situation to the main army. I’m not worried about reinforcements; we’re moving too fast. But I don’t want these three taking positions somewhere up ahead and firing into our retreat.

Our pursuit succeeds in driving the soldiers off. Rather than hunker down for a shootout, they choose to veer toward the Bruel position. We follow cautiously, slowing when the forest thins and the main line of battle comes into view. We’ve approached on our left flank. Men and women in Capernican gray are visible through the scrim of trees, dug in and fighting well. Eleven minutes. Will must have reached the portal by now. It’s time to evacuate. I speak the command into my microphone. Fall back! Through the portal!

We linger long enough to watch our comrades shift in the direction of the portal enclosure. Then Ellis, Longstein, and I backtrack toward Will’s retreat, intent on following his route and scanning for stragglers. We’ve barely gained their trail when I sense movement from the west. I can’t hear anything over the muffle of my radio equipment, but the vibrations coming up through my boots suggest a herd of stampeding buffalo. I whirl.

My eyes bulge and my breath catches in my throat. It’s not wildlife.

Bruelim, as a rule, are larger than men from Earth, but the ones bearing down on us aren’t ordinary soldiers. They’re monstrous, the least of them topping eight feet. Dressed entirely in black, they’re like a wave of fear blasting through the forest. And they’re moving fast.

My companions have seen them too. White-faced, we abandon caution and streak back toward the portal like the devil’s on our tail. It’s a close enough comparison.

We cover ground quickly, leaping between the trees. Ellis and Longstein need no encouragement. I want to check my holoband, but I don’t dare stop. We must have a good five minutes remaining, anyway. Time enough to get to safety. Defense of the portal will be relatively easy from Earth. Even against these monsters.

We’re approaching the enclosure when I hear Jack in my earpiece. Ethan, where are you? Then I see her, standing at the gate, still covering the retreat. There’s no sign of Will and his men. The last of our regiment is just slipping inside. There is no one else; she’s waiting for me.

Jack, get out of here! I shout. We’ve got company.

She grows rigid and her face opens in shock. She’s seen the Bruelim too.

Jack, go! I shout, gaining on her rapidly. To my relief, she hesitates only long enough to fire at something behind us then turns and plunges through the portal. I can’t see the door between worlds, but I do see the moment she disappears. We’re twenty paces out and closing fast. I’ve gained the gate when an explosion lifts me off my feet, flinging me backward and landing me in a sprawl of limbs with Ellis and Longstein.

My head feels thick with the concussion, but I’ve enough awareness to prod my men back to their feet. The terrifying wave of Bruelim hasn’t slowed. If we stay where we are, we’re as good as dead.

Come on! I urge, jerking my men to their feet and dragging them forward. We’re almost there. We stagger through the gate, lunging for the spot where Jack disappeared, and slam into the iron fence at the back of the enclosure. I grip the bars in confusion, holding myself upright. The panic rising in my chest tells me something is terribly, terribly wrong.

The bass command of a Bruel officer hastens my thought process. I don’t know what he says, but as I whirl to face the approaching wave, the pieces click. The explosion. Caedmon’s explosion! We’ve missed the deadline.

The portal’s gone.

Get out of here! I scream, leaping for the top of the fence and flinging myself over. Even as I land, the fence shakes beneath Ellis and Longstein. At the same moment, I hear the clatter of fifty rifles being raised to fifty shoulders. Jump! I yell, using my own momentum to roll behind a nearby tree.

Gunfire splits the air like daggers of sound. I hear Ellis scream as he plunges from the top of the fence. He lands near enough that his hand extends into my field of vision—palm up, fingers curled. Perfectly still. A glance back shows Longstein slumped inside the enclosure. He never even made it to the top.

Shock wracks my bones. I’ve never grown acclimated to the sight of men falling in battle. I draw my head back, cursing softly, and shove myself to my feet. If I don’t want to end up in the same state, I’ve got to get out of here. Now.

I push myself off the trunk and sprint for the next tree, a huge oak, cousin to the many species on Earth. The sharp retort of rifles follows my progress. I put the tree’s mass between myself and the Bruel line then veer toward the thickest part of the forest, dodging erratically. Bullets slap the ground and rip through the shrubbery around me. Any moment, I expect the sting of lead piercing flesh. I’ve been hit once before and remember the pain well, but it never comes.

I’ve gotten a decent head start, but I can hear the crash of heavy footsteps behind me. I force myself to greater speed. My breath comes in irregular gasps. I concentrate on controlling the rhythms of my body. Deep, forceful breaths. Fast, hard strides. My arms pump like the pistons of a train. The muscles in my legs strain. I’ve trained for this. Jack and I have run hundreds of miles together in the woods outside Axis, and I’ve spent years strengthening my body. If I need to, I can travel for hours. But not at this pace.

I push myself to the edge of collapse, sprinting until I’ve put some distance between myself and that horrible wave of black. Then I slow just enough to curb my nausea. The autumn foliage has swallowed me, forcing my pursuers to search for my trail. I can no longer hear them, but I hold no delusions. They’ll follow. Perhaps not the entire company, but they’ll send out trackers. I press on, taking care to run over rock, pine needle, and game trail, where I can hide the signs of my passing.

I flung my helmet away in the first half mile, and somewhere I lost my rifle. In the explosion? When I leaped the fence? I don’t remember. I couldn’t fire it anyway without giving my location away, and the weight would only slow me down. It doesn’t matter. I still have a pistol and my knife. I concentrate on putting as much distance as possible between myself and the empty enclosure.

I run steadily, loping along for mile after mile, straight into the wilderness south of Gruelinkreb. I slow when I need to and pause to gulp mouthfuls of water every time I encounter a stream. After each break I return to that ground-gobbling stride, running until the sun dips toward the west and I’m approaching the point of exhaustion. Very soon, I’ll need to find food and a place to rest. Preferably someplace warm. Already the day has lost its heat, and I am drenched with sweat.

A bluff rises on my left, rocky and imposing. I draw on the last of my reserves to loop around and climb its gentler back slope. Slowing, I wade through thickets of fragrant evergreens and kick up purple wildflowers going snowy with seed. A cold breeze catches my face at the top, ruffling my beard and rattling the branches. The trees here are twisted into grotesque shapes. Trunks writhe naked from the rock, with only a few bits of green holding stubbornly to their uppermost branches. I cling to a gnarled limb and study the lay of the land.

A homestead nestles on the valley floor, complete with orchard, chickens, sheep, and a few head of cattle—only the second residence I have seen all day. No doubt the Bruelim will show up here asking questions, but probably not until tomorrow. My holoband no longer works, now that the portal closure has severed contact with Earth’s communications systems, but I estimate I’ve traveled at least five hours. With all my turning and backtracking, I could be anywhere from twenty to thirty miles from Gruelinkreb. The soldiers will have to spread out and search all of it, and I have left them very few clues. This looks to be a good place to subtly leave a false trail before circling around to the north.

I sink down against the twisted trunk to catch my breath and study the farm. It looks rustic. For all the modern technology available on Earth, some places are still downright primitive—like Jack’s Settlement 56 and Opie’s cabin. Perhaps it’s the same here. There are no power lines cutting through the valley, and the area is much too remote to run cables underground. It’s possible the owners have alternate power sources, but the smokehouse, the well with bucket and windlass, the flapping laundry, and a whiff of wood smoke tell me otherwise. Which means the only security systems in place will be daylight and possibly a dog. I settle in to wait.

My breathing and heartrate soon return to normal, though I’m weary to my bones. In my unguarded state, my mind flits back to the battle outside the portal. Snatches of memory return—the acrid smell of gunpowder, sunlight glinting off the stone barn, Jack blinking out of sight, the explosion, Ellis’s death scream as he plunges over the top of the enclosure…

The sensations release a flood of emotions. Guilt. Panic. Despair. I push them down before they can fully form and redirect my thoughts. This ability has saved my life before. I need a clear head unencumbered by sentiment if I am going to survive the next few days. And I need a plan. With the discipline of long practice, I determine my next steps—reconnoiter the occupants of the homestead, sneak into the valley, attempt a raid on the smokehouse, sleep a few hours in the woods beyond, wake early, then shift my heading to a new direction. As daylight wanes, I analyze every contingency I can think of and predetermine as many reactions as possible. It keeps my mind occupied. Emotion is a luxury I simply cannot afford.

After a short wait, my vigil is rewarded. A woman exits the house with a dog at her side and a basket on her hip. I watch in disappointment as she takes down the laundry. I’d been hoping I might help myself to a shirt and pants. My combat gear is a mottled gray—ideal for blending into the shadows of the woods, but it will identify me in a moment. One of those blankets would have been welcome too.

Before the woman returns to the house, a man strolls past her in the direction of the barn and gives the gate a pronounced rattle. At the sound, the cows begin meandering in from the pasture, udders swaying. While they’re moseying homeward, head to tail on their winding path, the farmer spreads seed for the chickens and forks hay for the sheep.

He disappears into the barn as the first cows approach and stays there for some time. While he’s occupied, the dog makes a round of the buildings, snuffling in the tall grass behind the barn, barking at some creature that dared to shelter in the woodpile, and lapping up water at the sheep’s trough. When the farmer reemerges carrying two full buckets of milk, the dog frisks around his feet and leads the way to the house. The door shuts behind them, the breeze grows still, and daylight fades in the valley like stage lights at the close of a final act.

I descend from the heights, browsing for greens in the gloaming. They barely take the edge off my hunger. Yellow lamplight spills from the windows and a few sheep shift like shadows in their pen as I gain the valley floor. The evening hangs full and heavy, smudging solid forms into the flat planes of night.

The smokehouse is located some distance from the house, far enough that the smoke won’t inundate the barnyard while it’s in use. The night has grown still, but I’m taking no chances. I don’t want to alarm the animals and alert the farmer and his wife to my presence. I cross the stream, being careful to leave a footprint or two on the muddy banks, and approach from downwind.

The smokehouse is a sturdy conical structure made of stone with a heavy wooden door and no windows. The roof begins just above my head and rises to a point, the shingles new and tight and regular. I study it in the dark. It’s old and well used, pungent with the scent of creosote, and locked up tight. Obviously, it’s been designed to withstand intruders—of the animal variety. But human raiders must not be a problem, because it has one flaw. Had the hinges been built on the inside, I never could have gained access without ripping off the shingles and climbing in from above—a process that would have alerted the farmer in a minute. Fortunately for me, the door was constructed with the hinges exposed.

The knife sheathed at my side has a thick, heavy blade. I soon have the hinges removed and the door pulled from its frame.

The rich, provocative odor of smoked meat makes my mouth water. I take a tentative step into the black interior and promptly smack my face into a string of sausages. These are unceremoniously pulled down and wrapped around my neck. Feeling my way farther in, I encounter two hams—too much meat and too awkward to carry. I sidestep them, colliding with a greasy slab of bacon and several fish fillets. I’m tempted to saw a hunk off the bacon. The familiar fragrance is clawing at my stomach, but I don’t dare light a fire. And I’m sure I’ll be eating plenty of fish in the days to come. I disregard both and press on, stopping to fill my pockets when I brush against thin, leathery strips of jerky.

When I’ve taken as much as I can carry, I refasten the door, being careful to leave a few fresh gouges around the hinges. I’ve no doubt my theft will be discovered. Then I detour through the orchard and travel half a mile beyond, devouring an apple and two sausages as I walk. Not bothering with the formality of a shelter, I simply gather leaves into a pile. The clear sky gives no indication of rain, and the leaves will protect me from the worst of the cold. After using a bootlace to hang the remaining meat in a not-too-distant tree and piling my apples at its base, I burrow into my bed and drop into slumber.

Even over the edge of unconsciousness, my senses don’t shut down. They’ve been trained to remain on alert. I hear every snapped twig, every rustle in the dark. But the defenses against my own thoughts are disabled. During the wee hours, details from the past two days invade my dreams—the holocall from Merrin, Jack’s abduction by Digs in Gruelinkreb, my assassination of Governor Macron, the fall of Ellis and Longstein. And again and again I run through the portal, only to discover that it has vanished and I’ve been left behind.

I spring to a sitting position, muscles taut, knife in hand, body in a cold sweat. Something yanked me from sleep. Some instinct of danger. I freeze, listening. The deep serenity of the forest amplifies the purr of an engine far in the distance. It doesn’t sound like the rumble of a troop transport, and there could be any number of reasons for a vehicle to travel a road in the middle of the night, but it’s my signal to leave.

I spring from my bed and recover my food, returning jerky to my pockets and the lace to my boot. Apples and sausages jumble together in the bottom of my shirt. My muscles are stiff from sleeping on the ground and from yesterday’s exertion. They’ll loosen soon enough. Before I leave, I strew my leaf pile over a wide area. Any trained eye will see through my efforts to disguise my resting place. In fact, I’m counting on it. With a last glance around my starlit bedroom, I set off southward and climb the hill on the far side of the valley.

A look back shows the farmyard lying in sleepy tranquility. No lights shine in house or barn. No sounds of alarm rise from the animals. The night is deep and dark and silent. I can’t even hear the engine anymore. But now I know in which direction the road lies. With grim determination, I pick my way down to the pavement and turn my footsteps eastward.

The road twists and turns but generally holds to its direction. I follow it for mile after mile, alternating between a walk and a jog. Only a few small animals make an appearance—a shuffling creature that resembles a raccoon, a wild dog with tufted ears, and a nocturnal species of squirrel. They scamper off as soon as they sense my presence. But a forest this remote must harbor larger predators. I wonder if Brunay has wild cats, and if so, just how big they get. My blade wouldn’t do much good against a panther. And I already know the country has bears. I met one during my month-long trek to free Jack from Gruelinkreb. It didn’t look like any species I’d ever seen before, but it was a bear, no question. Fortunately, it had been more interested in an overturned log than in me.

I follow the road ever eastward while unfamiliar stars wheel through the void above. The moon is the faintest gleam of a knife’s edge, slightly redder in color than Earth’s. My pace is unhurried, my steps purposeful; I have a destination in mind. The portal explosion presses relentlessly against my thoughts, but for now I hold both hope and despair at bay. There’s no point dwelling on either until I can find hard data concerning its ultimate success or failure.

Eight or nine miles from the homestead, I encounter a crossroads. After a few hours’ wait, I manage to snag a ride on the back of a cargo truck as it turns into the northbound lane. It doesn’t carry me far. Only ten or fifteen miles to the next intersection, where it jogs east. I step off and strike out into the woods, holing up in a dense thicket before dawn. But the ride sets me at ease. I’ve no idea if the Bruelim use bloodhounds. I crossed multiple streams yesterday just in case. I even waded down the center of one for half a mile, but even that’s no guarantee against a trained dog. Now I can rest easy, certain the Bruelim won’t follow me to my final destination.

If only I could be as sure of my reception.

For three more days, I travel like a fugitive, resting during daylight hours and jogging through the night. Instinctively, I pick my way back toward Gruelinkreb and finally intersect the road I’ve been searching for—one I’ve traveled several times before. On the fourth morning, I sneak into a barn two hours before dawn and listen to the contented sound of cattle bedding in the stalls nearby. They don’t fret at my entrance. I am well-known to them.

I burrow into a pile of loose hay and fall into the soundest slumber I’ve known for days. What will happen next will happen. There’s precious little I can do and no sense agonizing over it. Sometime later, the overhead lights blink on. I wait for the footsteps to draw near and lift my head from my hiding place. The startled figure snatches a pitchfork and brandishes it at me.

I smile blandly. Hello, Jaspar.

TWO

I sit at the dining room table after darkness has fallen. The shades are drawn, and three pairs of eyes stare back at me intently in the golden glow of a candle. I spent the entire day sleeping in the barn. Twice I woke when Kel brought me food, but I haven’t dared to stir until night masked my movements. I can’t afford to bring trouble down on my only allies in Brunay.

At least I hope they’re still allies.

Judging by the jolt of surprise Ahava displayed when she entered, Jaspar hadn’t told his sister why he summoned her. Now her brown eyes snap with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance. Ethan, what are you doing here? I thought we were finally rid of you.

I can’t say I’m any happier to see her or to find myself again at her mercy. I assure you, it’s not because I missed your company.

Try to keep it civil, you two, Jaspar breaks in. Ethan didn’t make it back before the portal closure.

Obviously, Ahava retorts. What happened?

The explosion went off early. I have no idea why. Another five seconds and my men and I would have made it.

Your men? she asks, looking around the room as if expecting to see a company of soldiers lounging in the shadows.

Two of them. They fell at the portal enclosure. I had to leave them. Do you know—? I stop and clear my throat.

Her mouth forms a hard line. There were no survivors outside Gruelinkreb.

I close my eyes briefly. I’ve lost men and women in battle before, but I knew both Alonso Ellis and Israel Longstein well. Longstein and I went through Initiate training together. Ellis had been two years older. Both were exemplary soldiers. That is why I called on them to help me chase down the three fleeing Bruelim.

I open my eyes and give Ahava a brief nod. No more needs to be spoken on the matter. Whatever else her cryptic words might have implied, there is nothing to be done now. Perhaps it is even a mercy that they met a swift end. Easier than Bruel captivity.

I take a deep breath. I haven’t come to be a burden to you. I’ll take myself off as soon as we’re done here. But I have to ask. Do you know if the explosion closed all the portals?

Letting the question finally enter conscious thought feels like an act of surrender. Like the setting down of a tremendous weight. Now that I am safe—for the moment, anyway—it is the only one that still needs asking. My breath stops as I wait. The answer will determine my entire future.

Brother and sister exchange glances. The family resemblance is striking. Both tall and olive-skinned, they have the same narrow nose and strong jawline. Ahava shoves a strand of dark hair away from her face with an impatient jerk. I don’t know. The operation closed enough of them to send shock waves through the government. It’s all anyone is talking about. But to learn the full extent of the damage, I’d need special military clearance.

The answer is most unsatisfying. Hoping for good news, I had steeled myself against the worst. Now I’m wobbling at the top of a steep precipice, not knowing if or when I’m going to fall. I close my eyes again, thinking what to do. There’s really only one option.

I stand abruptly. I won’t ask anything further of you than silence. Kel and Jaspar, thank you for your hospitality. Ahava, thank your Watchpost group for me. Our teams couldn’t have evacuated so many Capernicans without the information they provided. Your cooperation was greatly appreciated.

Where are you going? Kel protests. You can’t leave. Half the army is looking for you.

That’s why I can’t stay here. I won’t put you in danger.

Where will you go?

It’s probably better that you don’t know.

Kel’s brows push together, creasing in a faint line I don’t remember from my last visit. She lays a hand on her husband’s arm. Jaspar, we have to help him. He’ll be dead within days.

He folds his arms across his chest, considering me deliberately, but makes no move to stop me.

Ahava stands as I round the end of the table. We’re face to face. Eye to eye. She’s every inch as tall as I am. She challenges me, unflinching. "What are