Page 112 of Last of Her Name

“No time! We’ve got to get out of here.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine. Mara!” She’s the last aboard, and Riyan helps her into the air lock. “Can you fly us out of here?”

“On it.”

“Pol, pull up some schematics of this system and find a place we can lose any pursuers.”

He nods and climbs up into the main cabin.

As the hatch rises and locks into place, I finally turn to Riyan. He looks angry, and his hands lift, finger flexing.

“Nat’s here, isn’t she?” he says. “Did she hurt you?”

“No, Pol. She’s fine, I—”

“Get down!” he shouts, and before I can react, he pushes me aside while his other hand rises defensively at his sister. She stands at the bridge balcony, looking down at us.

“Riyan, it’s me!” Natalya puts her hands behind her, the tensor version of indicating she’s unarmed. “I swear, I’m myself again.”

He flinches, still wary. I rise with a grunt and put a hand on his arm, pulling it down.

“She’s better now,” I say. “Riyan. She’s your sister again. I deactivated the brain jack.”

He stares at her, and his eyes begin to water. His chest heaves as he tries to hold back his emotion; it’s like he can’t make himself believe it’s her, and is waiting for her to disappear into the air.

“Little brother, it’s me,” Natalya murmurs again.

As Mara turns the ship away from the prison, Natalya walks slowly down the steps from the command deck, her eyes uncertain. She’s nervous, watching her brother as if he might still attack her. I wonder if she’s starting to remember more. Is she recalling the things Alexei Volkov made her do while she was under his control? Maybe she fears Riyan won’t forgive her for running away in the first place.

Instead, Riyan pulls her into his arms. He presses her to his chest, his eyes squeezing shut. “I found you,” he says, his voice breaking. “Oh, Nat.”

“More like I foundyou,” Natalya laughs. There are tears on her cheeks as she traces the new red tattoo on his forehead.

Feeling my own eyes water, I leave them to their reunion and climb up to the control deck, where Pol is hunched over the computer and Mara is navigating us out of the palace. I watch them for a moment, my fingernails digging into my palms. They’re haggard and hollow-cheeked, with the metal collars still clamped around their necks. Beneath the bands, their skin is raw. Anger roils in my stomach and buzzes in my ears. I could tear Volkov apart for what he’s done to my friends.

“Are you all right?” Pol asks, glancing up at me.

“I will be once we’re far away from here.”

“Enemy incoming,” Mara warns. Multiple vityaze destroyers pop up on the scanner, blinking like deadly fireflies. “They’re closing in fast. And the palace shield is still up. That’s a problem.”

“Not for me.” Leaning between them, I shut my eyes and press my hands to one of the screens, diving into the flow of Prismic energy.

It pulses all around me, a vast golden network of streams and rivers, unseen by physical eyes but bright as sunlight to my new sixth sense. I can make out the vague outlines of buildings and ships just by the concentration of energy they hold, like looking at a planet at night and seeing continents’ outlines marked out by their cities’ glow.

It’s all connected.

Every wire and circuit and control board, every tabletka tucked into someone’s pocket, every computer, every light, every screen broadcasting sports and news: Prismic energy flows through it all as one vast, living system. Just like Riyan said, the Prisms are connected to one another. Touch one, and you can touch them all. And now I know that this pulsing energy flows back to one source: the Prismata, somewhere in the depths of space. What I sense around me is anorganism, a being of pure energy, stretched over the whole of a galaxy. It flows around billions and billions of people going about their lives, never knowing that each and every day they’re interacting with an alien consciousness, using it to power their ships and refrigerators and cameras.

They haveno ideawhat their world is built on.

Only the Leonovs ever knew. Only they could see the golden threads that I’m seeing. And only they could reach out and pluck them, sending vibrations across the whole of the galaxy.

But I’m getting distracted, overwhelmed by the immensity of it all. I need to focus on getting us out of the palace, and I need to do it fast.

Surrounded by the shining Prismic map, it takes me a moment to orient myself and find what I’m looking for: the great energy shield that spreads over the palace. That much energy cast over such a wide area isn’t hard to find. To my mind’s eye, it looks like a spherical, geometric net, composed of billions of brightly burning dots joined by golden lines. It’s beautiful, but there’s no time to stop and admire.