I stop when I realize spit’s flying from my mouth and my hands are clenched at my sides so hard that they ache. Morgan’s mouth is open slightly, as if in disgust. Ben’s face is expressionless, and I know that I’ve failed him.

I shove my chair under the table and walk out.

* * *

My hands are shaking as I stride down the steps. Shaking with anger, shaking with frustration, shaking with pain at what my father did to Roc’s mom. I can’t wait any longer—I have to talk to Roc. Try to make things right, somehow.

I’m down the stairs in half the time it took to climb them. The glittering diamonds and misty falls are just a blur as I race past them, my legs churning into the water-filled tunnel. Each step is quicker than the one before it, and by the time I reach the dry part of the tunnel I’m sprinting, as if the entire sun dweller army is chasing me. But they’re not chasing me; and if they were, I wouldn’t be running. I would be standing, fighting, killing as many of them as I could before they killed me.

I’m stunned at my thoughts, numb with the pain. Who is this murderous shell of a person I’ve become?

Because I’m running, the Resistance center of operations is far smaller than I initially thought. I reach our sleeping quarters in just a couple of minutes. Sweat is dripping from my nose, my chin. My breaths are heavy and ragged. My fists are still clenched and shaking.

I open the door.

All fight goes out of me when I see Roc. He’s on his bed, just sitting there staring at his hands. His dark hair is like midnight in the gloom. As he looks up at me, his cheeks are tearstained, but not with dried salt rivers like before, but wet with new flows.

I approach him, massaging my sore hands.

He closes his eyes, angles his head down once more. Defeated. He looks defeated.

Sitting next to him, I say, “Roc, please. Talk to me.”

His eyes blaze open and he turns toward me. I was wrong. There’s no defeat in his eyes. I only see…anger. Fierce anger and pride with a hint of sadness borne by his tears. “Your father is sick,” he snarls between clenched teeth.

“I know,” I say.

“No, you don’t know! You pretend to, but you can’t. Can’t actually know how sick he is. You’ve been sheltered your entire life, protected, behind walls of marble and gourmet food and piles of Nailins! Nailins!” he scoffs. “Named after your family. Your sick, sick family.”

“Roc, you don’t mean that,” I say, the sting of his words visible all over my face.

“I do mean it. Your father stole my childhood, stole my happiness, and now he’s stolen my father from me? The man who raised me. And my mother? My poor, sweet mother who I thought I killed when I came into this world. I’ve harbored the guilt of her death my entire life and now I find out that my pain shouldn’t have been directed inward, but at the very man who hates me because I’m the one who serves him. And you tell me I don’t mean it?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped. Not because of what he’s saying about my father, but because he’s lumping me in with him, like I’m guilty by association. “I never had a choice, Roc. I never wanted to be a Nailin, never wanted a life of privilege. I left, remember? I left it all behind, and you helped me to do it. We’re supposed to be friends—no matter what. Isn’t that the way friendship is?”

And then Roc’s breaking down, his angry shoulders slumping, his head dropping into his hands, the jerk of desperate sobs wracking his body. My arm is around him in a second and he lets me pull his head into my chest. We’re two guys, two friends, but it doesn’t feel weird or awkward. I’ve loved him like a brother, and now he really is one—and I’m there for him. Will always be there for him. I can’t change the past, but I can be a part of his present, his future.

“My poor, sweet mother,” Roc sobs.

“I know, Roc. I know,” I say soothingly. I realize the anger is gone from me. I’m just Tristan again. Not the raging shell of a person I’ve been lately. Roc’s sorrow has brought me back, which makes me feel ashamed. “Roc, I hate my father for what he’s done—believe me, I want to kill him—but I can’t hate the fact that you’re my half-brother. You mean too much to me for that. I’m so sorry,” I say.

Roc’s head bobs back up, and through blurry eyes he says, “I know, Tristan. And I know you’re not like him, not like them.” I know he means my younger brother, who is becoming a clone of my father. “Your mom was the best mom I could have ever asked for,” he sniffs. “And you were—are—the best friend I could ever want.”

“Thanks, Roc,” I say, and we hug, tenderly and firmly all at the same time, which should be embarrassing, but it’s not and never could be.

When Roc pulls away there’s a question in his eyes. “Do you really want to kill your—our—father?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Roc, I think I’ve really screwed things up.”

He wipes the tears from his cheeks and waits for me to continue.

I tell him about the meeting with the “supportive” VPs. “I can’t control this anger inside me, man. It’s like the rage takes over my brain and controls what I do, what I say. I feel like if I don’t get control of it soon, it’ll destroy me, and destroy everything the Resistance is planning. It’s just…I have the urge to kill. To kill my father. To kill the sun dweller soldiers. To kill anyone who supports them. I’m afraid I’m becoming my father. Does that make sense?”

“No,” Roc says, shaking his head. “You are nothing like your father. He’s angry, but it’s cold, calculating evil. Your anger is righteous, Tristan.”

I believe him. Because he’s my brother.

Chapter Seventeen

Adele

I whirl around twice, hoping that maybe I’m just not seeing Tawni in the shadows. The lighting’s pretty crappy so it’s possible. But she’s not in the shadows, not in the alley, not anywhere. Would she have left when I told her not to? I took quite a bit longer than the minute I promised her, so she might’ve gone to get help. Or she’s in trouble.

I pause for a second, trying to decide what to do.

The only place she would’ve gone is back to the army offices, so I head in that direction, retracing our turns through the cramped subchapter streets. I’m maybe halfway there when I see a flash of shiny, white hair that is completely out of place in the dismal city. When I see Tawni striding toward me purposefully, her head down, I let out a deep breath. Trevor’s just behind her.

I holler and her head snaps up, her expression changing rapidly from surprise to delight. As she jogs toward me, I hold up the packs like trophies, handing one to her as she nears.

Her smile twists into a frown when she meets me, her eyes darting all over my face. “Oh my gosh, Adele, what happened to you?”

“Those damn kids happened,” I say. “But it’s okay, it’s nothing.” To be honest, I’d forgotten about my minor injuries, but now that Tawni’s reminded me, I feel their sting again like I’m being hit by the rocks (and the foot!) all over again. Trevor approaches, but I ignore him and relay the story to my friend, telling her everything except the part about the supply trucks—I can tell her that later in private.

“I was worried when you didn’t come out, so I went to get help,” Tawni says, continuing to inspect my injuries.

“Tsk, tsk,” Trevor clucks. “I can’t leave you two alone for five minutes without you getting into trouble.”

I glare at him. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when I’m going to look very bad in front of your mo—I mean, the General, because I’m failing in the one task she assigned to me.”

“Like I said before, I just need to talk to her, and then don’t worry, you’ll be reassigned and we won’t be your problem anymore.”