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EIGHT

R omar lifted his chin. “Mr. Cristo has had you and Warren Coupers on his radar for months, but after yesterday’s events he thought we should bump up our recruitment schedule before another sponsor steals you away.”

Bile filled Kel’s mouth.

Cristo Industries. He worked for Cristo Industries .

The empire that manufactured almost all tech used by CAPR crews. Almost all tech used across the entire island. Across all of Salta’s islands.

And Canen Cristo wanted to recruit her .

She ignored the card Romar offered. “You want to sponsor my team?”

“Yes, but not in the way of traditional sponsors. We don’t want to simply fund your CAPR endeavors—we want to invest in your future.

” His smile grew. “But we’re looking to sponsor you and Mr. Coupers, not the Howlers.

We’ve seen how well the pair of you work together, and how taken the media seems to be by your…

friendship. We’d like you two to continue your partnership under Mr. Cristo’s guidance, without your teammates. ”

She straightened. “I’m not interested. Not in being separated from the others on my team, or working for a corporation that plans on caging Cendor’s entire phoenix population.”

The man’s brow rose until it crinkled his forehead. “Miss Varra, Cristo Industries hopes to protect and expand phoenix numbers. Not eradicate them.”

“Don’t you sell your tech to the Cendorian Defense Force, who’s trying to clear Vohre Forest?” Kel’s voice rose, but she couldn’t—didn’t want to—stop. She’d attended enough rallies with Dira, seen enough Vohre protests on the news, learned too much from her father.

Leon Varra had died because of the council’s efforts to purge the forest. They’d begun cutting down outer acres they thought were vacant, and when a small dawn of phoenixes were discovered amid the rolling machinery, and one had been injured, Kel’s father had been the first they’d called for aid.

It hadn’t been the phoenix’s fault—injured, scared, separated from its dawn—but her father’s death had been the match they’d used to justify emptying more and more of the forest. To find and collar phoenixes, and then sell them to the highest bidder.

Romar’s brow rose to inhuman heights. “While that may be one strategy that the Cendorian Council is considering, I can assure you Canen Cristo vehemently opposes it. Since they rarely breed in captivity, we hope to preserve wild phoenix numbers.”

“Then why ally with the council at all?”

Romar’s lip twitched again. “Because, unfortunately, even the best intentions need financing.”

Kel’s anger faltered, hitting an unfair, logical wall. She didn’t agree with many CAPR practices, but the races gave Savita a chance to spread her wings and burn off energy, and offered Kel the means to survive. If she argued, she’d be a hypocrite.

The kind of money that came with a Cristo job wouldn’t just save her farm. It could shift her dream of opening a sanctuary into reality. Sav could retire from the dangers of racing.

Romar went on, “The facilities we’d like you to work at also operate as our chief research center.

We want to recruit young minds who aren’t simply interested in becoming famous racers—but who are eager to learn about phoenix habitats, biology and magic.

That’s why, after seeing how you and Warren dealt with that phoenix yesterday, we knew you’d be perfect for this program.

Though you’ll be expected to keep racing, we also want you to be directly involved in our conservation research. ”

His words were too smooth. Too perfect. “The facility is in Vohre?”

Romar nodded. “Yes, accepting our offer would require you and your phoenix to relocate, but we have on-site accommodation available and we already have replacements for your current teammates lined up.”

Maybe Kel shouldn’t have hated Canen Cristo simply because her father had. She trusted her father’s ghost more than this man—but her heart pounded, screaming for a way to save her farm. To save Savita.

She opened her mouth—unsure what would come out—when she heard her cottage’s front door creak shut. She inched back a small step.

“I can’t,” Kel managed. “Not if you won’t take my entire team.”

A soft frown creased Romar’s forehead. “Take tonight to think on my offer. I don’t want you to make a decision you’d regret.”

Frustration flared through her. At him, at her own temptation, at what might happen to Savita if she didn’t find money soon .

She lifted her chin. “I’m not leaving my team. Not to work for a company that would rather—”

“She means to say, no thank you ,” a familiar voice said at her back. Coup.

“I mean exactly what I said,” she said, to both of them.

As she turned her back to the pair and moved toward her home, she added, “Have a pleasant evening.”

Romar cleared his throat at her back. Coup jogged to her side.

“ Ashes , Varra,” he cursed. “A cardboard cutout would have better media training than you.”

“Don’t speak for me,” she sneered.

“Forgive me for trying to stop you from biting that man’s head off,” he retorted, equally venomous.

The idea didn’t disturb her the way it probably should have. Kel leaned toward Coup and whispered, “Did you hear what the recruiter said? He wanted you, too.”

Coup stiffened. “I know. Another one of them pulled me from the crowd a few minutes ago.”

“What did you say?”

Coup was silent as they walked through the door. Eventually, he shook his head, chestnut locks falling over his forehead. “I couldn’t leave without Bekn.”

She glanced up at him. She’d mostly thought the brothers’ closeness consisted of Bekn watching over Coup. Seeing the severity in his eyes, hearing the loyalty deepening his voice, almost made her glimpse in him what the media saw. Almost.

There were plenty of reasons not to work for Cristo—most of which she’d shouted in the recruiter’s face—but the biggest one was currently devouring bread in her kitchen like a starving wolf.

While Kel still had no clue how to stave off the bank collectors who were sure to appear on her doorstep any day now, she couldn’t leave Fieror without Dira.

When Kel didn’t reply, Coup added, voice sharp, “We’re no different, Varra. You’re no different than the rest of CAPR. Just because I’m better at the parts you hate doesn’t mean that I’m not just as desperate to make this damn team work as you are.”

Kel forced in short, shallow breaths as they moved through the cottage. Dira sat hunched over the kitchen bench, salivating at the sandwiches she had piled on a plate. Bekn was nowhere to be seen, probably still outside, prolonging the camera frenzy.

Coup followed Kel into the kitchen. Before shutting the door, Kel muttered, “You wanted to accept the offer, too. Admit it.”

Even if it meant working closer with Coup—it was safety. Certainty. It was Savita .

Coup shook his head. “Of course I did. But I’m not the one branding myself as some sanctimonious phoenix rights advocate until a better offer comes along.”

Shock thickened Kel’s throat. Coup was silent as he perched on a bench stool opposite Dira, a lazy smile plastered across his face, with no hint of frustration. Dira grumbled as Coup plucked half a sandwich from her plate, then turned to Kel.

“What did that guy want?” Dira mumbled around a mouthful of bread.

Kel’s mind rattled for the right words. When she explained what the recruiter had offered—what she’d rejected—Dira’s expression hardened.

“He just wanted you two?” Dira asked, voice sharp.

“Only because of yesterday’s attention,” Kel said. Dira was the best winger Kel knew—that was clear by the number of recruitment offers she’d batted away from other teams.

“You want to say yes,” Dira said softly, lowering her sandwich to the plate.

Kel shook her head. “No. Yes? I don’t know, Dira. He’s not offering half-assed sponsorship—it’s a job. Maybe we could convince him to take the entire team, and—”

“And if you couldn’t? Would you go?” Dira snapped, hard lines around her eyes.

Kel perched at Dira’s side. “Of course not.”

Dira didn’t reply, her focus returning to the plate of food before her.

Coup remained silent, and for the first time she wished he wouldn’t.

Though the three of them filled the cottage with chewing and hungry groans, Kel’s mind filled with a different kind of noise.

Not the reporters’ questions or the recruiter’s silky offer.

Just three words that chafed against her skin like sandpaper.

We’re no different.