209 A.B.

(4 months after the Runner's Rebellion)

The air smells different, today. Cleaner, more pure.

The sun is brighter, the sand is blindingly golden. The horizon vanishes into infinity and the world seems alive with possibility. I cannot remember the last time I felt so free. For the first time in three years, the grievous weight of death is lifted from my shoulders. Today, I do not need to kill. Today, I can simply be.

The morning did not begin so optimistically. I travelled with Noah back to camp, dragging my feet in the soft terrain, half-listening to Noah's chatter but mostly adrift in my own thoughts. We arrive at Pic dil Cir just as the rest of the camp is coming to life. Children push their way through the hidden flaps disguising the tube's entrance, running out into the red-gold morning and shrieking their delight. As more and more people flood into the flattened expanse between the dunes, it becomes painfully obvious that the news of my abandoning my post of choice warrior has spread amongst the Wasters.

I duck my head, averting my eyes and avoiding the angry looks cast in my direction. Noah remains close by my side, but even he can't prevent my fellow tribesmen from purposefully elbowing me, knocking their shoulders sharply against mine as we make our way to the morning bonfire. The air is thick with animosity and I feel my cheeks aflame. Jaron was right to be angry with me, my inability to manage the pressures of choice warrior have brought a cloud of shame upon our family.

Noah steers me efficiently through the crowd, depositing me in front of the fire and helping himself to a couple bowls of steaming broth, handing one over to me. I do my best to close my ears to the murmurs of conversation occurring around us, flinching each time I hear my name mentioned.

This is the problem with living below ground. News travels fast.

I gulp down my breakfast quickly, grimacing when the hot meal scalds my mouth and throat. I don't look up until a tall, familiar figure moves silently around the bonfire and stops in front of us.

"Is it true?" Rowan stands with her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching me carefully, her expression unreadable.

"Rowan..." Noah starts to speak but she shoots him a withering glare. This is not his fight.

I swallow, trying with considerable effort to keep from choking. "Yes. It is true."

"Why?"

I exchange a look with Noah, who offers up an encouraging half-smile.

"I have no more kills left in me." I keep my voice low, mindful of the many ears listening in. "I am sorry, Rowan."

"What is the problem, precisely? Are your arms broken? Have you been struck blind?" Rowan moves closer, looking down her nose at me. Her lips lift into a sneer and I unconsciously take a step back. "If you are not physically incapable of killing, Luca, then you must continue your duty. Failure is for the weak and the choice warrior has no such excuses."

An irrational jolt of anger shudders through me and I curl my hands into fists at my sides.

"I never should have been made choice." I hear myself say, uncertain whether I am talking to myself or to Rowan.

"That is all too clear." Rowan's cool tone is laced with venom.

I stare at the drift of sand gathering between my feet, feeling my shoulders bunch in shame as the weight of Rowan's glare settles over me. I know without looking up that every Waster in the vicinity is listening closely to the conversation. The heat from their gazes causes my cheeks to burn, filling me with a white-hot rage.

Why should they all judge me? Who, besides the impossibly unshakeable Rowan, knows what it is to slaughter countless strangers? How could they understand what it feels like to kill not by choice, but simply because Jaron willed it? What can anyone know of the crushing guilt that comes with murdering a man while he sleeps? Or of firing an arrow through the neck of an oblivious lookout?

"What do you wish me to say?" I find my voice and force myself to meet Rowan's eye. My former mentor sneers down at me, her regal features drawn in an expression of utter disappointment. "Had I known three years ago what I know now, I never would have agreed to this life. I am sorry that I was not blessed with your heartlessness, Rowan. Is that what you want to hear?"

A high colour rises to her cheeks and her dark eyes flash with danger.

"How dare you call me heartless. I have felt each and every death as acutely as you." She draws a shallow breath between her teeth. "The difference, Luca, is that I carried on despite it all. Do you think that I did not wish to withdraw? Do you think that there were not moments when I considered giving it all up, abandoning my post as you have?"

I swallow, some of my anger dissipating. The icy grip of guilt creeps over me and it takes every reserve of my self-control to keep from averting my gaze.

"It is not too late, Luca." She lowers her voice further. "You can still recover your honour. I know that it is difficult, but your tribe needs you."

My stomach lurches and I shake my head, causing Rowan's features to harden, once again.

"I cannot." I do not hesitate in telling her. The very idea of taking up my sword and striking down one more unassuming Miner fills me with such a sense of dread that I can barely see straight. Noah reaches out a hand to steady me and I shut my eyes tight, my head swimming. Shame, regret and nausea claw their way from my abdomen to my heart, seizing in my chest and hardening my resolve,

Any dishonour brought on by my decision pales in comparison to the idea of killing on command just one more time.

"Luca has made his decision." Noah speaks up, projecting his voice enough for the curious bystanders to hear. "He has served our tribe honourably and without complaint for three years. He has spoken his truth and we should respect him for it."

"Respect." Rowan spits the word as though it were something foul. "That is the last thing this coward deserves."

"Luca is no coward." Noah speaks louder. "You of all people should know that, Rowan."

Her wrath instantly shifts to my brother. Noah stands tall beneath her withering gaze, all traces of humor wiped from his expression.

"Anger will not solve anything." He tells her, calmly. "Luca has made up his mind; it is not your place to tell him otherwise."

Her narrow eyes dart once more to me before she draws a visible breath and stalks away, shouldering her way through the enraptured crowd.

Noah and I watch her retreating figure, waiting until the Wasters grow bored and return to their morning routines before resuming our conversation.

"That was not so bad." Noah murmurs and I nearly choke on an involuntary spurt of laughter.

"Yes, she took the news well." I agree. "With her usual passiveness."

"Not one for confrontation, our Rowan."

I blink up at the rising sun, rubbing the back of my neck in an effort to relieve an ache. Noah notices and kicks some sand at my legs, effectively jerking me free of my thoughts.

"She will get over it." He says, reassuringly. "She just needs some time to cope, in her own way."

I glance across the flatlands, watching Rowan sort through her hunting arrows and carefully scrutinize each lethal point. Poor luck to any unfortunate beast that happens to capture her eye during today's hunt.

"I do not know if I agree with you about that." I say, turning back to Noah. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

"What is family for, if not false hope?" He grins, clapping me on the shoulder. "Tell me, what will a disgrace such as yourself do with your first day of freedom? Will you join us on the hunt?"

One more pointed, murderous look from Rowan and I shake my head. "Not this time. Go on without me."

"As you say." He hands me his emptied dish and adjusts the bow strapped across his back. "You are always welcome to catch up with us."

"Thank you. I may." I say for his benefit, both of us knowing full well that I have no intention of joining them.

Noah looks behind him, towards where the hunting party has begun to gather. I rock back and forth on my heels, eager for him to leave so that I can be left to myself.

"Will you go?" I blurt, impatience getting the better of me. "I am fine, really. I do not always need you to watch over me."

He rolls his eyes, spinning on his heel. "I will miss you, also."

I watch him go, waiting until he joins up with Rowan before moving to deposit our dishes in the washing basin. We make quick work of cleaning up breakfast and I slip away at the first opportunity, jogging towards the distant dunes in the opposite direction of the hunting party. Without my heavy cloak and various weapons, I feel lighter, faster. The landscape passes by me in a blur, gold and blue streaks fading in the peripherals of my vision.

I run until my thoughts are all but silenced. I settle into an easy jog and eventually finally myself at the base of a towering dune, its sand-crested peak disappearing into the white light of the sun above. I ascend steadily, my tired muscles protesting as I draw closer and closer to the top.

When I reach the summit I sink down, sitting back on my elbows and staring blankly into the distance. My breaths are ragged and my heart beats furiously, but a smile pulls at the corners of my lips.

I am free.

I have pulled myself out. From this day on, my life is my own. While it hurts to see such disappointment in the eyes of my mentor and fellow tribesmen, I feel no regret for my decision.

I have always been solitary. I can learn to draw myself further away. I can remain out here, among the sand and the sky and the towering dunes. I can run and hunt, survive on my own terms.

In the distance, I make out a faint plume of smoke. The hunters must have lit a small brushfire in an attempt to tease out the animals. For the briefest of moments I wish that I had accepted Noah's invitation to join them, but the thought is banished the instant I recall Rowan's cold, hateful glare.

Sighing, I slump further down into the soft sand, folding my arms behind my head and shutting my eyes against the sun's glare. The past night's journey and the subsequent arguments with Jaron and Rowan catch up with me, and I find myself drifting off. Warmed by the sun and cradled by soft sand, I let myself drift away and fall into a dreamless sleep. Three hundred and thirty souls and not one of them is vengeful enough to deny me this well-earned rest.

When I awake, the sun has shifted lower in the sky and a dark shadow is floating near the edge of the horizon. I sit up, squinting at the blurry shape, rubbing my eyes in an effort to bring myself into the present. It isn't until the shadow rises into the sky that I jerk to attention, realization and terror gripping me at once.

An air machine. Hovering near where I last spotted Noah and Rowan's hunting party.

The very air machine I was ordered to hunt down.

I scramble to my feet, my heart ceasing to beat as I slide down the side of the dune. A fine mist hangs over the ground recently vacated by the air machine. In the recesses of my memory I recall rumors of a chemical substance used by the Miner ships; a poisonous gas, meant to choke and incapacitate anyone unfortunate enough to inhale it. Fear and panic grip me, restarting my pulse and urging me to run faster.

I tear blindly across the desert, the sound of my own, laborious breaths echoing in my head as I propel myself towards the low-hanging cloud. A million rationalities swirl through my mind; perhaps what I saw was a trick of the light, perhaps the hunters fought them off, perhaps the ship never landed at all.

But my years of scouting and keen eyesight have served me too well. I know what I saw, and I know what I am running towards.

I catch sight of Rowan before she notices me. She moves slowly, shuffling as if injured. I hurtle towards her, my eyes wildly scanning the surrounding landscape, a curious ringing filling my ears when I see no one else.

She slows to a stop, swaying on her feet as I draw up in front of her. Her lip is split and bloodied, her eyes are red-rimmed and her coal black hair is mussed and tangled. She looks as though she just came from a war.

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, one of us unwilling to speak and the other afraid to.

Finally, I manage to scrape the inevitable question free of my throat. "Noah?"

She flinches, blinking forcefully.

"Gone." She croaks. "Taken, all of them."

Taken. The words are akin to my three hundred and thirty-first kill. Had I been there, had I chosen differently, then Noah would never have been in danger.

It is my fault. I failed in my duty and so I failed to protect them.

Rowan knows it as well as I. She fingers her broken mouth and glares at me with such loathing that I nearly forget her part in all this.

"And you?" I take in her bruised appearance, my addled mind fighting to piece together the events. "How did you manage to escape?"

"How do you think?" She spits a gob of blood onto the pristine sand at our feet. "I fought."

"But you left my brother." The words spark a rage inside of me the likes of which I have never experienced before. The colour red flashes across my vision and my entire body quakes.

I shove Rowan back and she stumbles, shocked.

"What manner of warrior are you?" I shout. "How could you not see the air machine approaching? Have you been struck blind? Are your arms broken?"

Her fist flies at my face and I block it instinctively, shoving her again. She is obviously in a weakened state but I barely register the disadvantage, blind fury spurring me onwards.

"The responsibility was yours, Luca!" She has recovered her footing and now stands before me, seething. "I was there. I fought. I tried, at least I can say that much. What have you done?"

I bury my hands in my hair, springing the locks loose from their tie. She is right. Noah is gone and where was I? Napping on a dune when I should have been striking down these enemies. I was naive to believe that I could ignore these putrid, inhuman Miners and their relentless appetite for war and destruction. I allowed my emotions to get the better of me and fate has struck back with a vengeance.

There is no escaping the path of choice warrior. I realize that, now that it is too late.

"What say you, now?" My former mentor's voice is low, so low that I at first mistake it for the wind. When I look up, Rowan is wiping a stray tear from her cheek. It is the first time I have seen her show any weakness and despite myself, I feel my heart go out to her.

Who else but Rowan could know the impossible responsibility that comes with being choice warrior? Who else could understand what it is to lay aside your own wants for the good of the tribe?

Who else could feel the loss of Noah as acutely at I?

"I made a mistake." I hear myself say. My hands curl into fists and I imagine the familiar weight of my daggers in my palms. "It will not happen, again."

Rowan nods, slowly. "Those bastard Miners will curse the day they crossed Pic dil Cir's two choice warriors."

I swallow the lump that has risen in my throat. Rowan extends her hand and I clasp it tightly, silently re-affirming our vow. Together, we make our way back to camp, our footsteps brisk and soundless.

I glance behind me me only once, scanning the sky for the long-gone air machine. My brother is out there, somewhere, and I am going to get him back.

If a further three hundred people stand between myself and Noah, then I will not hesitate to strike them down like matchsticks. The Miners have lost any semblance of humanity. They are villains; uncivilized, unfeeling savages and soon to be the most deserving recipients of my fury.

I am the choice warrior. The art of the kill runs through my veins, and I intend to use every deadly skill at my disposal in order to take back what has been stolen. As I help my injured mentor across the rough terrain, the taste of blood and vengeance fills my senses. Years of dormant hostility and bloody conflict have finally come to a head.

At long last, the Wasteland war has begun.

* * * * *

It doesn't take long for Jaron to organize an army.

Our catapults, the great, hulking machines that sat dormant and untested for too many years, are at once completed. I now walk alongside one of the gigantic, spoked wheels, shoulder to shoulder with my fellow tribesmen. My ears are filled with the sound of countless feet and heavy machinery dragging across sand, but my mind is focused on the fight ahead.

The night coats us like a blanket, black sky laying heavy across our shoulders and effectively disguising our numbers. I wear my old cloak, the hood drawn high over my head and mouth. My trusty daggers are strapped to my hips and my bow is clutched in my hand, warmed by my palm and ready to draw blood at a moment's notice.

I stare straight ahead, watching Jaron's broad form marching at the front of the pack. I can't see my brother's face but I can imagine his expression; tensed and murderous, ready to lead his people into battle and if necessary, tear down the Miner's wall by hand.

The lights from the Miner camp flicker in the distance, faint at first but gradually growing brighter. I imagine the people hiding within, snug in their soft beds and oblivious to our approach. Not for the first time, I wonder what these barbaric Miners could want with our captured people. Each hypothetical scenario is worse than the last, so I force myself to turn my thoughts back to the task at hand.

Tonight, I am going to kill as many Miners as I possibly can.

"Luca." Jaron calls out my name and I increase my pace, drawing up alongside him.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Do you understand what it is you must do?" His voice is low, his sharp eyes never leaving the distant wall.

I nod, even though I know he isn't looking at me. "You can count on me. No Miner will place so much as a finger on that wall and live to see its destruction."

"Good."

We walk in silence for several paces. The ominous hum of Wasters preparing for battle begins at our backs, reverberating across the sandy plain and sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

"I have one request to make of you, Luca." Jaron's gravely tone interrupts my thoughts.

"What is it?"

"That you stay close." His pointed gaze slides over to me, his meaning clear. "I have already lost one brother. I cannot lose you, too."

My heart twists in my chest. Since learning of Noah's capture, my eldest brother has become even more overbearing. I can understand his unease; we share the same fear. However, now that I have reclaimed my place as choice warrior, I intend for there to be some changes.

The first being that I will not constrain myself to Jaron's orders. I am no longer anyone's trained weapon; I am my own man and I will kill whomever I choose, whenever I choose.

Tonight, I expect to be very busy.

"Of course, brother." I lie easily. "My sword will be at your disposal."

He clenches his jaw, his eyes scrutinizing me for a moment longer. "I am glad to have you by my side, again."

"I am sorry I ever left."

"It does not matter, now." He returns his attention to the hilltop camp, now only a few yards ahead. "Our only concern is Noah."

"We will bring him home. I swear it."

The Wasters' low chant grows louder as we close in. Mere moments from battle, my heartbeat steadies and my senses prickle. I notice the way Jaron's shoulders are drawn up in tension and how our breath turns to vapour in the cold night air. I take note of which direction the wind is blowing, using the information to plot my ideal position.

"It is nearly time." Jaron turns to address the stone-faced crowd behind us. "Are you ready, my brothers and sisters?"

An earth-shattering roar of assent is my cue to action. Jaron nods his blessing and I dart away, beelining for one of the rocky outcroppings nestled against the wall. I secure my scarf around my face before gripping the rough stone, pulling myself bodily up, moving hand over hand towards the top of the wall.

The wall's smooth facade is so close that I could reach out and touch it, but I force myself to keep to the shadows, my trained eyes continually roving the outlooks above. The Wasters' humming has now reached a deafening volume, their shouts of war rising above the uncaring wall and penetrating the ears of anyone behind.

I lift myself onto the rock's highest point, keeping my shoulder to the wall and slinging my bow into my hands. Swiftly, silently, I draw an arrow and aim straight up into the air.

The Miners are expecting an attack from the front.

No one ever looks down.

The first man appears only a few feet over my head. I loose my arrow and he falls, tumbling headfirst over the wall. I have already changed location, smoothly sidestepping the body hurtling past me.

Jaron and his army continue to draw onlookers. The first few fall easily, dying before even realizing that a battle is at their gates. I leap from rock to rock, firing arrow after arrow directly into the neck of the scout above me.

Eventually, the Miners catch on and fall back. I use the moment to rest and reconsider my position, taking refuge beneath a ledge. Our army has drawn to a halt and they are already tying down the back of the catapult in preparation for launch. The archers are doing a handy job of keeping the Miner's attention; I doubt that anyone has realized I am here, yet.

I intend to keep it that way.

Peeking out from beneath the outcropping, I consider the top of the wall. Up close, I cannot help but be impressed by its engineering. It is made up of thick, stone slabs, stacked and sealed carefully. For the first time, I question the ability of Jaron's catapult to break through.

I roll off the ledge and let myself drop a few feet, sidling along the wall to further distance myself from the battle. Jaron agreed to my remaining on the wall until the first boulder was thrown; he will be expecting me to make the most of my brief time here.

Hearing nothing from above, I begin to ascend the wall. I was concerned about my ability to scale it's face but I manage to climb quickly, my fingers easily locating the smallest chip in the stone facade. I pause near the top, slowing my breath and heart rate so that I rise over the last few feet as a ghost.

I allow myself a few moments to perch on top of the wall, turning my head left and right to take in my new surroundings. Wooden scaffolding runs at my feet and I can make out several figures scrambling through the darkness. The scouts light lamps and yell instructions to one another, but no one person has taken charge.

I slip down onto the scaffolding, pressing my back against the wall and willing myself to melt into the shadows. Somewhere deep within, a part of me marvels at the fact that Iam within the Miner's great, impenetrable defence. I push the voice aside, realigning my concentration as I curl my hands around the hilts of my daggers.

The ground below me tremors as my target hurtles past, dying mid-stride when I step out of my hiding place and rake my blade across his neck. The three following close behind follow the same fate, tumbling off the shaky platform and disappearing into the alleyways below. I dart in and out of the shadows, disappearing and reappearing at will, surprising each man in turn.

Jaron shouts the order to fire and I grit my teeth, spinning in place and releasing a few arrows into the fray near the front of the wall before hurtling myself over the opposite side, back into the Wastelands.

There is a distinct snap of frayed rope and in the next instant, a deafening collision. I release my grip on the wall and tumble onto the jagged rocks below, flinging myself beneath a shelf and shielding my head as the world shakes violently.

Once the tremors cease I force myself to wait a full three breaths before peering out. The wall still stands, but through the gloom I can make out a distinct crack in its formerly impenetrable exterior.

Jaron has not wasted any time, already calling for the catapult to be reloaded. No doubt he will be furious when I do not return, but I have survived his disapproval before and I will survive it again. I move swiftly along the denser portions of the rocky hill, the sounds of battle fading behind me while I formulate my next move.

When I crest the wall for the second time, there is no one in sight. I allow myself a self-satisfied smile and once again drop down onto the scaffolding, anticipating the surface so that I land with barely a tremor. Satisfied that all the patrollers are suitably engaged, I chance a proper look out into the encampment.

It is massive. From the outset, the Miners village appears as a low wall circling a few scattered buildings, but now I understand a different tale. The ground inside the wall drops at least fifty feet and countless roofs stretch into the furthest reaches of my vision. The streets twisting uphill draw my eye towards the monstrous crystalline structure located at the hill's highest point.

Dragging my eyes away from the view I crouch down low, murmuring to myself as I calculate the number of arrows I have left in my quiver. Enough to make this night memorable. Enough that by morning, the stories of my return as choice warrior will eclipse my abandonment of it.

I remain at a distance, picking off the scouts and changing position often, eventually growing bold enough that I chance a leap onto a building's roof. I tuck and roll, shielding myself with the various ledges and shafts, loosing an arrow every few seconds. I still have six arrows left when the last scout falls and I feel myself frown, disappointed.

It is then that a burst of colour startles my vision.

I duck in behind the nearest cover, narrowing my eyes as I brush the flakes of dust from my shoulders. Something, no...someone is running towards the wall. A lone Miner tears full-speed across the roofs, leaping effortlessly over the alleyways as though they were mere cracks in the sand.

I blink, shaking my head to clear it. When I refocus the stranger is gone, vanished from the roofs entirely. I shift position, catching a glimpse of the colour red in my peripherals. The runner is on the wall.

I take my time in withdrawing an arrow, creeping up to the ledge and sighting along the length of my weapon. Someone darts in and out of the light, stopping every few feet before continuing on. I furrow my brow, tracing their path with the point of my arrow. When they pause beneath one of the beacons, I am finally granted my first unencumbered view of the enemy.

It is a girl.

My aim wavers. The girl appears stricken, her eyes wide as she turns over the dead scout, exclaiming over the arrow lodged in his neck before moving to the next fallen. Finding them dead, also, she finally seems to gather her wits, pressing her back against the wall and glancing over.

As I watch her, I slowly become aware of the sounds stemming from below me. My focus begins to splinter, then crack as scream after scream builds into a deafening crescendo.

The night is alive with terror. People run blindly through the alleyways, weeping and jostling one another in utter confusion. I remain stock-still but allow my eyes to dart first to the chaos on the ground, then to the gradually-widening crack in the wall, and finally coming to a rest on the red-headed girl.

She whips back around and darts out of range. I curse, lowering my bow and sprinting over to another ledge, gritting my teeth against the distracting sounds erupting from below.

The girl reemerges further down the platform. She is yelling at the crowd and gesturing madly. Her words are lost to the pandemonium and I have to concentrate in order to make her out.

"Get away from the wall!" She cups her hands around her mouth and bellows mightily.

I grimace. So, this late-arriving Miner girl has made sense of our catapult. She would be wise to get herself off of the scaffolding, but instead she hurtles directly into the danger, dropping once again to her knees to examine yet another fallen Miner.

"Sorry, Miner. Not that one." I murmur.

She moves to the next.

"Not him, either."

As if in reply, she pounds her fist into the dead man's chest.

With each passing second, I am increasingly aware of a boulder's imminent and doubtlessly catastrophic arrival. The girl must have come to this realization, yet she continues to check over the dead scouts while yelling out warnings to the Miners still crowding the doomed wall.

"What the-" I sit back on my heels.

Impossibly enough, she has found someone still living. I watch, eyes stretched wide as she slings his arm across his shoulder and steers him towards the stairs. A low, rumbling sound seeps into the cracks left by the Miners' horrified screaming. The Waster war chant has picked back up; the catapult will fire at any moment.

The girl staggers down a flight of stairs, obviously struggling under the weight of the injured man. A couple Miners run up to help her and together, they manage to get the scout to the ground. It is then that I realize that my arrow has been trained on the girl for several minutes, and that she is still alive.

When the girl speaks, people listen. She shouts for everyone to get back and at once the crowd turns, a massive exodus away from the wall and up the hill towards safety. I blink, unfocusing long enough to register the faces of the people below. Men, women and children, their terrified expressions as human as anything I have ever seen in Pic dil Cir.

I grit my teeth, leaning over the ledge, keeping the girl's form locked in my sights. I wait for my breath to slow, for my heartbeat to steady. I wait to fall into the familiar trance that always precedes a kill.

I wait, but nothing happens. My ears continue to ring with screams and my trusty bow, once an extension of me, feels suddenly cumbersome. The point of my arrow wavers until slowly, inevitably, it scrapes against the roof.

I should not be on this side of the wall. I need to get out of this camp. I need to get back to Jaron.

Swinging my bow back onto my back, I clamber to my feet and dash towards the scaffolding. The Waster war cries have risen in crescendo, nearly drowning out the Miners' screams. I hedge my bets and leap, hurtling towards the rickety platform just as the catapult is fired.

My timing could not have been worse.

The wooden scaffolding cracks and splinters beneath my feet. I cry out, my hands grappling madly for purchase. A terrifying, bone-shattering reverberation shudders down the length of the wall, causing the platform to rip free of its supports while shards of wood and rock explode in every direction.

A white-hot burn shoots up and down my leg and I briefly register the sticky sight of blood. My blood. I lose my tenuous grip on the rapidly-disintegrating wall and suddenly, for the first time in my life, I am in freefall. Night sky appears above me, then below while pieces of debris rain down painfully. I tumble for what feels like an eternity, hurtling to meet my fate in the alleyway below.

In the brief instant before everything goes dark, I am granted a certain, ironic clarity.

Jaron is going to be furious.

=====

Author's Note:

Hello, my lovelies! What do you think of The Burn, so far? I've had Luca's backstory in mind for a really long time, and I am so glad that I finally got a chance to share it with you!

If you have any suggestions for who you would like to see featured next, let me know. I am also open to doing a side-chapter about Kay, or re-visiting someone I've already written about.

Just a quick note, The Runner is up for Wattpad's story of the year! I am reallllllly far down in the list, currently, but if you would like to show your support, you can go to w.tt/StoryOfTheYear and cast your vote.

I have been getting a lot of questions about The Rain and rest assured, it's coming and it's going to be insane. As soon as I have a release date, I will announce it on Twitter (twitter.com/RunnerSeries), so be sure to follow me!

As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read the Runner series, and for leaving your votes and comments. Reading your thoughts and conversing with my fellow Wattpadians has always been the highlight of my day :)

Love you guys xx

Kate