The ridge offered a view of a world in labor. To the East, the refineries were beginning to smoke—not with the fire of destruction, but with the controlled burns of a thousand people trying to forge a new life. To the West, the vault we had just escaped was a black scar on the earth, a tomb for Silas and a funeral pyre for Thorne’s hounds.
"We can't go to them yet," I said, my voice cracking as I watched the distant flares from Nix's camp.
"Leo, they need you," Mara argued, her hand resting on the hilt of her spear. "They're engineers and artists in a world made of scrap. They’ll eat each other before the week is out if they don't have a leader."
"I'm not a leader, Mara. I’m a target." I pointed up at the golden speck in the morning sky—the Apex Station. "As long as I’m with them, Thorn
