Page 29 of Storm of Stars

“And when the run is over, when the reckonin’s near,

We’ll rise from the ashes and they’ll know we were here.”

We held the last note just a little too long. Let it echo. Let them feel it. Then silence. The silence right before the flood.

Then came the roar.

Thunderous applause erupted like a tidal wave crashing through the arena. Some in the crowd clapped for the melody, oblivious to the coded defiance laced between each line. Others, those who understood, rose to their feet, the undercurrent of rebellion pulsing just beneath their praise. I had no way of knowing which was which, but I felt it. It was determination and celebration woven together, a perfect smokescreen.

Annalese spilled onto the stage, radiant and beaming, her heels clicking against the floor as she swept into the spotlight between us.

“You two sounded beautiful together, didn’t they?” she gushed, turning to the audience with a grin that could sell sunshine. The crowd responded with a fresh wave of cheers, some whistling, some already chanting our names.

“What a charming little song,” she continued, eyes twinkling with forced innocence. “Anyone special you’re dedicating it to?”

She shoved the mic between Briar and me.

I met Archon Veritas’s eyes across the space, her box seat looming like a throne above the masses. She hadn’t moved. Not once. Still as a blade right before the strike. Her expression unreadable, but her presence burned.

“To Praxis,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “And Archon Veritas.”

The crowd roared again, some in earnest celebration, others catching the spark beneath the surface.

But Archon didn’t move. Didn’t clap. Didn’t blink.

Her fury rolled toward me like smoke on the wind, cold and crackling. I couldn’t tell if she had heard the message buried in our melody, if she’d unraveled the truth between the notes. But it didn’t matter.

Because those who needed to hear it did.

The Runaways would be ready. When the final trial ended, we would strike.

We would fight back.

We would reclaim what was ours.

And she could try to stop us, but as she told me,weoutnumbered her.

CHAPTER

NINE

Zaffir

I wasa little more careful leaving the studio after the trial. Can you blame me? The last time I walked out those doors, I was kidnapped and tortured.

So, yeah. A little extra caution felt earned.

Ezra barely even waited for the final note of the show to fade before he was stalking off the stage and coming to a stop at my side, ignoring Nova’s protests and cutting through the chaos with a single-minded focus. He gripped my arm, not rough, but firm, and pulled me away from the camera station I’d barely had time to pack up. No hesitation. Just action. Just me.

I shouldn’t have liked it. The way he took control, the way he didn’t ask, justdid. But God help me, I did. The protectiveness sent wicked thoughts racing through my mind, sharp as fire and twice as hot.

The crowd clawed for him, of course. He’s Ezra. A star to them. One of the Wildguard. But his focus didn’t flicker. Not once. He didn’t see the fans, the lights, the cameras. He saw me.

And he wasn’t letting me out of his sight.

I barely had time to gather my gear before he pulled me into a shadowy corner backstage, hidden from the mass of handlers and techs. I could hear the other Challengers being shuttled out toward their cars, the buzz of conversation and flashing lights still bleeding in from the stage. But here, tucked behind thick curtains and heavy velvet, it was just us.

“Subtle,” I teased, trying to keep it light, trying not to let my pulse give me away.