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“I read. I also have some scars on my back that I earned for biting the general.” She raised her chin and swallowed back any quaver in her voice. Flor’s breath hitched beside her. She’d never admitted that part to the other girl in their very brief exchange of horror stories.

“And why do you want to join us?” the man asked, face impassive.

“I’m sick of just surviving and breaking the law. It’s the king and his government that need breaking, and the way I see it, you’re the only ones trying.”

Pelo and Jag exchanged a look and a few hand signals that Sofia couldn’t read. The older man’s face hadn’t changed and she found herself at a loss for what he was thinking, to her great discomfort. But she wasn’t going to back down. The chief commander had done his damnedest to beat her into submission, and if her time on the streets had taught her one thing, it was that he’d failed. She would never submit to the king’s rule. If she had any say in it, she was never going to feel as helpless as she had when she heard the axe whistle down over Mina’s neck. She’d keep fighting until the last Dereyan fell to their knees before her, begging for mercy.

At last, after minutes of silent exchanges, Pelo turned from Jag and held out his hand.

“I’ll be your point of contact until you’ve earned our trust.”

“And why should we trust you, Pelo?” Flor asked, arms crossed across her chest in a clear sign that she wasn’t going to take his hand yet.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving a bit sticking up, visible even in the shadow of night. “Er, firstly, in the spirit of trust, I guess I should say my name is Javi. Pelo is a code name.”

“Andyourreal name?” Flor said, turning on the older man.

“Is none of your business, yet,” he said.

“You’ve got to earn our trust, just the same,” Flor said. Her words were harsh and her arms were still crossed, but her shoulders had relaxed incrementally. Sofia read the statement for what it was—a concession.

“We’re excited to help the cause,” Sofia said, with a genuine smile.

Javi returned the gesture, showing off a set of dimples.

“Welcome to the resistance.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN

FOX

Fox was all too happy to see Ian among Sergeant Melin’s ranks. Speaking to his brother’s old friend was a distraction from all the anxiety and the grief. He couldn’t quite shake the look Sofia had given him when she’d seen him standing beside his father. The shape of her scars on her back haunted him, along with the look of pride on his father’s face.

A scream clawed at his throat, lashing against his clenched teeth.

“I should have visited your mother,” Ian said, a gleam of guilt written across his face.

“It wasn’t your responsibility to comfort my mother.”

“She thought she’d lost both her sons,” he said, and his voice cracked, surprising them both. “And you know the general wasn’t there to help.”

The muscles in Fox’s jaw twitched at the thought of his mother alone. “Was my father truly out looking for me?”

“You’re surprised?”

“You know it was Leon my father cared for. I’m just surprised he spent the energy.”

“The chief commander ordered it. You were the third soldier to go missing while scouting and the highest ranked. He wouldn’t let your father write you off.”

Fox let his blank mask slip for a moment as he rolled his eyes. “I guess I should be grateful,” he said.

Ian clapped a hand on Fox’s shoulder. “From what I hear, you rescued yourself from the Dragonborn, and helped us sniff out their hovel. You should be proud.”

Fox forced himself to smile. “And all because I didn’t listen to you when you told me to let the scouts go out.”

Ian smiled back. “I don’t know whether to be glad you ignored me, or angry that it got you into all of this.”

Fox didn’t know what he was feeling either. Perhaps after a good meal and a bath he’d have a better grasp on why—after cycles of working toward this goal—he was left feeling so numb having achieved it.