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  Violet felt like a dagger had stabbed her, somewhere deep inside.

  Soren grabbed her and yanked her against his chest.

  “What—” was all she managed before he turned and leapt straight out the third-story window.

  The glass shattered around them in a glittering scream, and then the world tilted. Wind whipped past Violet’s ears as they dropped. Her stomach twisted—but Soren twisted with it, keeping his body between her and the ground. He slammed hard into the dirt, protecting her from the impact.

  She bounded off him as soon as they landed, hooves driving into the ground as she sprinted with everything she had through the town. The moon hung like a silent witness above her, the wind in her ears blurring into static. Her heart pounded so loudly it felt like her whole chest might burst.

  Please be okay. Please be okay.

  She took the fastest route possible, cutting through back paths and leaping fences. Boadicea was dead quiet, no one outside.

  Her stomach twisted tighter.

  Amaryn’s house came into view, and just as Violet crested the bluff, she saw something moving.

  A shadow—a figure. A wiry shape sprinting away to flee the scene.

  Cale.

  The door was ajar—Violet slammed through it with her shoulder.

  As she drove her hooves into the floor to stop, she skidded on something wet, almost falling to the floor.

  Her eyes opened wide and she almost wretched.

  “Am—”

  She couldn’t even finish the name.

  Amaryn’s body was sprawled near the small couch, one arm limp over the cushion like she’d tried to crawl away. Her clothing was torn off. Her legs pried apart. Her skin was smeared red. There was blood on the walls. On the floor. Her throat—

  Violet screamed.

  It tore out of her like a wild animal had taken control. She didn’t remember backing up into the wall, didn’t feel the sting in her hands as she pressed them over her face. Her whole body violently shook.

  Soren burst in, eyes wild. He took in the scene—just a second—and then turned to Violet.

  “Cale,” she snarled. “NOW!”

  He was out the door in the blink of an eye.

  Violet dropped to her knees beside Amaryn’s body. “No no no—” she whispered, reaching out with shaking fingers. But the girl’s skin was already cooling. Her eyes were still open, staring past Violet at nothing.

  She’d tried to fight. There were bruises on her arms, scratch marks on her face. But he’d opened her throat to stop her protest.

  Violet leaned down and pressed her forehead to Amaryn’s.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, and closed the girl’s eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” she choked.

  Then she stood, and walked out the door.

  Violet’s chest heaved as she stormed into the night.

  The scream still echoed in her throat, raw and tearing, but there was no room for it now. Her blood was molten, her muscles strung like wire. The town blurred past her in streaks of shadow and dust as her hooves pounded dirt. There were no thoughts—just the need to destroy.

  She caught sight of them near the town center.

  Cale dangled several feet off the ground, suspended by the collar of his tunic in Soren’s grip. The wiry shorn flailed and snarled, his feet scraping uselessly against the air. Soren’s other hand was balled into a fist, a faint glow vibrating through him.

  His voice a thunderclap of rage. “What did you do?!”

  Violet moved forward like a hurricane, and her voice cracked with vitriol. “Drop that piece of shit—HE’S MINE!!!”

  Soren threw Cale into the dirt like the garbage he was.

  The shorn crashed onto his back, coughing and stunned. Violet was on him in an instant. She brought her hoof down hard on his right wrist, pinning it to the ground. His bone-blade curved up and out from his forearm like a scythe, but it wouldn’t save him now.

  She drew Morgan’s Mercy in one smooth motion and cracked the night’s silence with her vengeance. The shot blasted through his wrist at point blank. Flesh, bone, and blood exploded in a red arc as the blade snapped free. Cale shrieked in agony, writhing under her.

  He swung his other arm in desperation—his left blade slashing up at her.

  But Soren caught it barehanded.

  The edge dug into his seemingly invincible palm—Soren grunted with effort as he slammed a boot down on Cale’s upper arm, pulling with the strength of a god. The blade stripped from the shorn’s forearm in a fountain of blood and cartilage, torn loose like a rotted tree branch.

  Cale’s scream turned from pain to something closer to horror.

  Violet shoved Soren back with both hands, snarling through clenched teeth.

  “I said he’s mine!”

  Her eyes were feral, her face contorted in grief and wrath. Soren stepped back, wordless, the severed blade still in his hand. Cale writhed in the dirt, gurgling curses through blood and spit, trying to drag himself backward with what little remained of his limbs.

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  He wasn’t going anywhere.

  The gunshot and screams had already roused the town.

  Doors creaked open. Lanterns lit. Muffled voices grew louder, confused and half-dressed townsfolk stumbling into the street. They clustered near porches and corners, murmuring with unease.

  Tarnik came sprinting from the far side of town, chest heaving and eyes wide.

  “The hell’s going on out here—”

  Violet was on him in a blink.

  She slammed him back into a wooden pillar so hard the whole porch frame shuddered. The barrel of Morgan’s Mercy pressed into his temple before he could draw breath. His hands shot up on instinct.

  “You think this is funny?” she snarled, tears in her eyes. “Think this is how things work in your quaint little shitpile of a town?”

  Tarnik stammered. “Wh-what are you—?”

  “You all saw her,” Violet shouted, spinning around to face the gathering crowd. “You knew she wasn’t one of you. And you let her walk around this place like meat in a slaughterhouse!”

  Faces in the crowd stiffened. No one answered.

  “She was kind! And innocent! And this—” She shoved the gun into Tarnik’s jaw hard enough to tilt his head. “—this is how you thank her?”

  Gasps erupted behind her as eyes turned to the bleeding mess that had once been Cale.

  “He raped her!” Violet shouted. “He murdered her! She was gentle and soft-spoken and the only one of us who never would’ve raised a fist, and that’s why you chose her, isn’t it?!”

  She walked back toward Cale.

  Her voice cracked—half roar, half sob. “Because she wouldn’t fight back?!”

  Cale had rolled halfway onto his side, still trying to crawl.

  “Do you wish you could have done it to us?!” Violet spat at him.

  She raised her weapon and fired a three round growl, the sound echoing off the distant canyon wall.

  Cale’s lower body jerked—then he collapsed. His knees and groin were a ruined, gory mess of flesh and viscera. He didn’t even scream this time. Just whimpered.

  Violet spun back around, eyes wild.

  Tarnik had barely moved—just stared at her in wide-eyed horror. She crossed the distance and cracked him across the face with the barrel of her gun. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he crumpled to the ground.

  She stalked forward, standing over him with the gun aimed low.

  “What about you, huh?!” she hissed. “You plan it together?! Laugh about it over drinks?! I should put you down and bury you in the same fucking hole, but you’re not even worth the goddamn effort of digging.”

  Tarnik raised a trembling hand in defense. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He didn’t reach for a weapon or call for help.

  He just looked up at her, terrified and ashamed.

  And suddenly—

  Of all people:

  Veolo was standing between Violet and Tarnik, shielding him from her wrath.

  Violet felt a hand on her shoulder.

  She spun, wild and ready to kill—

  —but Riza was faster.

  In a single motion, she caught Violet’s wrist, twisted the gun from her grip, and ejected the magazine into the dirt.

  Violet fought. She shoved, punched, screamed, but Riza didn’t budge. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tight around Violet’s torso, locking her in place.

  “Let me GO!” Violet thrashed, tears flooding down her face. “He deserves to DIE—they all do!”

  Riza held her tighter. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

  Then another pair of arms wrapped around them both—Amalia.

  Her sister buried her face into Violet’s shoulder, holding on with everything she had. “I’m here,” she said, voice trembling. “You’re not alone.”

  Violet’s legs gave out as her rage cracked. The fury broke open into sobs. She sank into them, screaming, weeping, shaking so hard her hooves scraped furrows into the dirt.

  All around them, the town of Boadicea stood silent.

  The crowd parted as footsteps echoed from the mayor’s building.

  Aurania emerged first—towering, cold, and focused. Her eyes swept the carnage, taking in the blood, the bodies, the weapon in the dirt. She said nothing.

  Behind her, Venlin Dread descended the steps with a chilling calm. His half-buttoned shirt fluttered with each step, dust trailing at his heels. He didn’t look at the crowd. He didn’t speak to her team. His eyes were locked on the broken figure bleeding into the dirt.

  He walked right up to Cale.

  The shorn was still alive—barely. Whimpering, coughing, leaking blood from a dozen places.

  Venlin stood over him, glaring down like he was a repulsive insect.

  “Is it true?”

  Cale coughed and wheezed, grinning through blood-slicked teeth. “Damn right it is. They look down on us. Like we’re dirt. Like we don’t matter. Outsiders think they can come here, tell us how to live—someone had to remind 'em this is our town. Our planet!”

  The silence that followed was a judge’s gavel.

  Venlin’s expression was a mix of disgust and cold rage as he looked around at the people he was in charge of, his gaze finally settling on Cale once more. He crouched down and picked up the shorn’s severed blade, the one Violet had shot clean off.

  Cale’s eyes widened just enough to show he understood.

  The first stab was in Cale’s chest, brought down like furious a hammer.

  The second went through his gut.

  The third, through his neck.

  Venlin kept stabbing, wide-eyed and livid. Over and over—short, brutal jabs delivered like he was venting all of his frustrations out through the violence.

  The blade cut his hand deep, but it didn’t stop him.

  Cale stopped moving almost a minute before Venlin finally quit.

  The handsome mayor in his fancy jewelry sat silent by the body, covered in blood and watched by the town.

  Finally, he stood.

  His hands were dripping. His shirt soaked red. The gash along his palm bled freely, but he didn’t seem to notice. He turned in a slow circle, eyeing every person in town.

  Then he roared.

  “Are any more of you seriously this fucking daft?!”

  The crowd recoiled as one. People flinched back behind railings and pillars like children caught misbehaving.

  “You think this is what Boadicea stands for? Huh?! You think this is how we survive out here?!” He jabbed a bloody finger toward the ruined mess that used to be Cale. “By murdering the only person in this town who never hurt a soul?!”

  Venlin stalked forward, voice sharp enough to cut through bone.

  “You all hold to this disdain for outsiders, like the Liberty Union is such an evil thing! Do you have any idea what the fuck is out there?!”

  No one spoke.

  No one moved.

  “You wanna know the truth?!” Venlin glared, eyes wide. “The next star system over is occupied by the Conservatory. The Liberty Union accepting us was our saving grace—they protected us!”

  He spun and pointed to Tarnik and Veolo. “Look at this! You all better take some goddamn notes! Not two months ago that woman put Tarnik’s face through a table for disrespecting her! And here she is, defending him! That is who these people are!”

  He spat into the dirt. “With the Conservatory? You wouldn’t have even seen it coming. They’d have dropped ordnance from orbit and turned us all into ash.”

  He slowly turned in place, letting the words land.

  “So maybe instead of looking down your noses at every offworlder who walks into town… maybe instead of sneering at the way they look, at their tech, at their help…”

  He stepped toward the heart of the crowd. His presence, bloody and terrible, made them shrink away.

  “Maybe you should all be on your hands and knees, thanking them that you’re even fucking alive.”