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soldier chased me down, I broke her arm and left her unconscious near the thruway entrance. Things had come so naturally. If only I knew how to make that happen again.
    Another soldier attempts to fight with Ren, and they do well enough to hold each other back. It’s clear he’s a newer recruit. His feet are all wrong; he’s too absorbed with Ren’s fists, not watching the motion of Ren’s body instead and gauging his tactics accordingly. Still, he manages to knock Ren down.
    The fear, the panic that flooded me the first time Ren was taken, charges back into me. They can’t have him again, not after all I went through to get him back.
It came naturally,
I think,
how did I get it to come naturally?
    Maybe it’s Talon. Maybe I need him nearby. Then again, I fought that female soldier. And Tyrus and Gwynn, and Talon wasn’t there then.
    Dircey falters after a fist to her face. Blood shoots from her mouth, and she staggers back toward the chair Ren moved, her hand colliding with the shattered bits of glass from the broken windows. Her arms shake several times before she collapses. One Arc is down as well, while another cowers in a corner, speaking into an aud.
    There’s only one person he could be calling.
    My magic triggers to life, whipping upward like a snake, fangs bared and dripping with venom. I rush past Micro kneeling near Dircey and whirl my hands above my head, lashing magic through the air as though winding it up, coiling it to spring in the soldier’s direction. It snaps at the release of my hands, vaulting the soldier back until he hits the wall, crackling the plaster even more and winning several chunks of dislocated wall on his head before slumping down.
    Dircey is propped limply in Micro’s arms. She and the gatekeeper stare at the dead soldier near them, then across to the other two Ren and I took out.
    “Dircey, I swear,” says Ren, his shoulders heaving. Blood drips down his lip and on his hands. “I didn’t call them here.”
    Her black-and-white hair dangles down her left shoulder in its messy braid. She lost her hat through the ambush, and more hair falls in her face, which is dripping with blood. She wipes her nose with the back of a hand. Micro offers a hand for support, and with his help, she sits up straighter.
    “Get back in that room, Csille,” she says.

I dab at Ren’s temple with wet napkins from the tray still discarded near the door and glance toward the window. We had no warning. This is Black Vault; I thought they were supposed to be this impermeable superpower. Ren winces, and I pull back to find a bruise budding just below his eye.
    “Where did they come from?” I ask, nursing my shoulder where the Arc with the pockmarks slammed into me.
    Ren lowers the button-up shirt that was once his Arcaian uniform and uses it to stem the blood from his lip. If only we had some ice. If only I knew how to heal. “It had to have been a raid. The Arcaians are determined to enslave every citizen in the city.”
    “So they saw your magic through the window…”
    “And came running,” Ren finishes, staring at the dabs of blood on his wadded-up shirt. “It was coincidental. But now it looks like I summoned them.”
    As though we need another reason for these Vaulters to keep us in here. Sunlight fades from our room, and silence paces the floorboards.
    “I know you didn’t. And if Dircey has any sense, she will too. She can’t keep us in here forever.”
    He shakes his head and then winces. “She won’t. They’ve got to leave now. That Arc reported us—we don’t have long before they send a whole brigade here.”
    I rise, nursing my shoulder. “Ugh, this is maddening!”
    Ren winces again, lowering himself to his cot. “I agree, but there isn’t much we can do about it.”
    Frustration seethes through, lighting my blood. It’s nonsense. I’ve done nothing wrong, and the longer we stew in here, who knows what’s happening to Talon in the palace? If they’re going to be moving