Page 27 of Storm of Stars (Pride of Praxis #2)

Lark’s eyes darted across the page. “We need to give her blood. Fast. If she’s gonna survive this…”

Briar was already sprinting toward the supply room. “That door, there was something locked behind it.”

She gripped the large handle, and pulled the door open. A moment later, a hiss of cold air swept into the room, and Briar’s voice rang out. “Blood. There’s blood in here.”

“Does anyone know her blood type?” Lark asked, voice pitching.

I looked at him like he’d grown another head. “What the fuck does that mean? It’s blood, right?”

Lark stayed calm, luckily not reacting to my aggressive tone. “Okay. We need O Negative then, universal donor.”

Briar’s voice echoed from the cooler, “Give me a second. I’m looking.”

“Hurry!” I yelled, feeling the panic rise again.

Behind me, I heard Ezra groan in pain.

“Devrin. Talk to me, what’s going on?” I turned and saw Devrin cleaning the burns.

“Stable,” Devrin said, not looking up. “He’s breathing, and in a lot of pain. I’m cleaning him up now.”

I watched, stunned, as he cleaned Ezra’s burns with practiced hands, spreading salve and wrapping gauze like someone who’d done it a hundred times before.

Ezra would probably punch him later. Or hug him. Maybe both.

“Thorne,” Briar called. “I’ve got it. O Negative.”

I turned back to Bex. Her lips were starting to blue.

“What now, Lark?” I asked, trying not to scream. “Tell me what the hell to do.”

“You need to start a transfusion. Get a needle in her. There’s a diagram but…I’m not sure how to…”

“Come here,” I said, already rolling up my sleeve. “Just show me the picture.”

Lark moved beside me, pointing with trembling fingers. I scanned the diagram, matched tools from the tray, my hands shaking harder than his. Sweat burned into my eyes. I couldn’t afford to be clumsy.

Briar arrived beside us with the blood bag. “It’s cold.”

“She’s colder,” I said, taking the IV line from Lark. I held the needle over Bex’s arm and froze.

My hands wouldn’t move.

“She needs it, Thorne,” Briar whispered. Her hand settled on my shoulder, grounding me.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“If you don’t, she’s already gone,” Lark said softly.

That did it.

I inhaled sharp and hard, then guided the needle beneath her skin. A tiny bloom of red in the tubing let me know it was working.

“I got it,” I whispered, heart hammering.

“Open the valve,” Lark said, adjusting the line. The blood began its slow crawl down the tube and into her.

Time lost all shape. Each second stretched, twisted. I could only watch and wait.

Then, Bex stirred. Her eyelids fluttered. Her fingers twitched. And relief flooded through me. My muscles relaxed and I didn’t even realize how tight I had been holding my body.

“Ezra?” she rasped, her voice more breath than sound.

“He’s okay,” Briar said quickly, tears springing into her eyes as she cradled Bex’s hand. “Thanks to you.”

“You passed out, love,” I murmured, brushing a clean cloth across her sweaty forehead, then pressing a kiss to her warming lips. “Don’t do that again.”

A weak, tired smile curved her lips. “I’ll try to schedule my collapses better.”

Behind me, Devrin looked up from where he was finishing Ezra’s last wrap. “His burns are treated. He won’t be dancing anytime soon, but he’s alive.”

Briar squeezed Bex’s hand. “Both of them are.”

“Let me take care of that leg,” I said, reaching for the ointments and salves lined up on the tray beside us.

Because Praxis hoards their supplies, and gatekeeps their doctors and their medicine, they’ve been able to develop some truly miraculous stuff.

Stuff that could change lives. Maybe even save them, if they cared to share.

I uncapped one of the jars, the smell sharp and sterile, and carefully dabbed a bit of the shimmering cream along Bex’s torn skin.

It was like watching frost melt off glass, slow but unmistakable. The angry red of the wound softened almost immediately. By the time I wrapped the bandage around her leg, she was out of danger. At least for now.

Only then did I let myself stumble back, collapsing onto the nearest cot like a puppet with cut strings.

My hands shook. My vision blurred at the edges.

Exhaustion burrowed into my bones, thick and aching.

I sat forward, elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands.

The quiet was overwhelming, just the soft beep of machinery and the low, steady breaths of the living.

Which, no thanks to Praxis, was all of us.

“Thank you,” Bex said, her voice faint but steady. She looked at me first, then over to Briar. “All of you.” Her eyes continued to Lark, and then—after a beat—to Devrin.

Devrin met her gaze. There was something in his face then, something fast and fractured. Guilt, maybe. Good. He should feel it. He’d nearly killed her.

“It’s the least I could do,” he murmured, voice clipped. He looked away.

Bex sank back into the cot, exhaling a long, tired breath.

“So… is that it?” Lark asked. His voice barely reached above a whisper, directed more at the still air than anyone in particular.

I scanned the room. Six of us, all that was left from the original twenty Challengers.

Two more gone just this morning. The medical trials were always separate, and typically more mental than physical.

Although today, I guess, was a healthy mix of the two.

Supplies. Then personnel. But this… this one felt like a full stop.

Like we’d done both in one vicious fell swoop.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. It was the only answer that felt honest.

Lark drifted toward the supply table. His fingers lingered over the items there until they closed around a mask, filter-lined, made for prolonged wear. He turned it over in his hands like it was something sacred.

“Your people… they’ve been suffering, haven’t they?” Bex asked. Her voice had gentled, softened like cloth soaked in light. She was looking directly at Lark now.

He blinked, surprised by the question. Then nodded.

“Our air’s been poisoned for years,” he said, lifting the mask slightly as if to explain it. “We wear these to breathe. Long exposure without one... it breaks you down. Lungs. Brain. Even the skin, sometimes.” His voice cracked at the edges. “We’ve lost a lot of people.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bex said, and she meant it. You could see it in her eyes, the way they shimmered, not from pain, but from empathy.

“It’s not fair,” Lark muttered, almost too low to hear.

We all stilled.

“It’s not fair,” he repeated, louder this time. His voice splintered, and then the dam broke. The tears came hard, sudden and silent at first. Then sobs wracked his frame as he dropped the mask and buried his face in his hands.

Bex slid off the cot, slow and careful. Briar and I instinctively reached out to steady her, but she waved us off. She was still pale, but color had started to return to her cheeks. She wasn’t trembling anymore.

She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Lark without hesitation. He cried into her shoulder, the sound echoing through the sterile space. Raw and human in a place designed to strip that away.

We let the moment stand.

Then, overhead, a sudden crackle. The speaker system flickered to life, its mechanical hum slicing through the silence.

Our heads lifted in unison, breath caught in our throats.

“Congratulations, Challengers.” I expected Annalese’s voice. But it wasn’t. It was thicker. Darker. Carried something sharp beneath it. This was Archon Veritas.

“You are the lucky survivors of this year’s Reclamation Run.”

Relief hit me like a wave, then crashed just as fast.

If the Run was over, that meant…The real Reclamation was about to begin. Briar and Bex had left the breadcrumbs in the lyrics of their song. Tomorrow, the Runaways were supposed to meet us at the gates. That was the plan. Take Praxis down from the inside.

Suddenly the doors to the hospital swung open and about a dozen Praxis guards filed in. More than it would take to escort us out. My heart stuttered. Then sped. Why did they send so many?

“You’ve sacrificed and risked your lives for the Collectives. You’ve proven that Praxis rewards those deserving of it,” Veritas continued. And I felt my blood heat. Deserving? That word tasted like poison.

“Now, your time as Challengers has come to an end. So your Collectives thank you. Praxis thanks you. I thank you.” But there was nothing thankful in her voice.

It was hollow. Mechanical. Like a script read before an execution.

The guards moved in from the corners of the room.

Slow. Deliberate. Closing in like a net.

My blood ran cold. My skin prickled. Something wasn’t right.

“Your sacrifice for the greater good of Nexum will always be remembered.”

The speaker cut out. A sharp, unnatural silence followed. I glanced up at the corners of the room. The cameras. The red lights that always blinked, always watched… they were off. No one was watching anymore. Whatever came next wasn’t meant to be seen.

I heard a crackle coming from the radio on one of the guards belts. “Captain. You may proceed.”

“Time to go,” a guard said.

Lark stood slowly, cautiously, following the direction of the nearest guard. I watched their movements. Too stiff. Too ready. Not like escorts. Like hunters.

“Wait,” Bex said, stepping forward. “How are we supposed to transport Ezra? He needs to rest.”

She pointed to where he still lay slumped in the corner.

“We can come back for him,” the guard replied without hesitation.

“Um, no,” I cut in. Too fast. Too loud. “We’re not leaving him.”

“You’re going back to your respective Collectives now,” another guard said, stepping behind me, pressing a heavy hand onto my shoulder to steer me toward the door.

I twisted out of his grip.

“No,” I said, louder this time. “We’re not splitting up. Not until he’s awake. Not until he’s safe.”

“That’s not your concern,” the guard said flatly. And that was it. The moment I knew.

We weren’t going anywhere.

Not alive.