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the faint beeping of the machine speed up, frightening her even more. Close to hyperventilating, she forced words out around the tightness in her chest. “I must insist that you tell me immediately what is going on. I want to speak,” she panted, “. . . to . . . my personal . . . mender. And I want you
out
of here.” She tore another electrode from her arm and threw it at him but missed; it clanked against the white carbonate floor. She tried to catch her breath, rising in panic as she fought to sit up. “Tell me what is going on!”
    Too late she noticed the medigun in the large man’s hands. Too late she felt the sting and cool fire slide into her veins. Through a green-tinged haze, she watched her fingers flap helplessly toward Elom’s impassive face. And then, with a strangled gasp she’d intended as a scream . . . nothing.

Chapter 8
    Aris’s mother hugged her tightly, as if she might refuse to let Aris abandon the small stone courtyard and smooth white walls of their home. Aris had no doubt her mother
would
refuse to let her leave, if she knew where she was actually going.
    “It’s all happening so
quickly
,” Krissa said, heaving a sigh that blew wisps of faded auburn hair away from her cheeks. The scents of basilis and browned butter wafted from the folds of her work apron, the memory of well-prepared food the only perfume she had ever worn. Krissa sighed again, as if her heart were breaking.
    Aris pulled free from the embrace but held onto her mother’s hands, their warmth contrasting with the icy chill of her own.
    “This is what you want, isn’t it? Your daughter, working in Panthea?” She focused her gaze on the slate floor to keep the lie from spilling into her eyes.
    “I always wished I could have worked in Panthea. Such a vibrant city—” Krissa said.
    Aris’s father grunted. Krissa glanced to him and back. She added, “But, uh, if this is about Calix, doll, maybe you should give it a little more thought?”
    “It
is
about Calix,” Aris replied, because that, at least, was the truth. “Without him, I can’t stay here.” Her throat burned with sudden, unshed tears. “That chaise, where Father’s sitting. That’s where Calix first told me he loved me, after Phae’s selection party. And here, where we’re standing, this is where he told me we couldn’t Promise because he was being sent to
war
. He
was
Lux to me, and now, without him here, I—”
    Her father stood up and raised a hand, cutting her off. “You belong here, dusting the groves as we planned. It’s your job.”
    A few tears escaped despite her best efforts. “I can’t! Don’t you get that?”
    He shook his head, anger lighting his eyes. “You want us to say it isn’t fair? Well, you’re right. It isn’t fair. We shouldn’t be in this war. Calix should never have been drafted. But that doesn’t make it okay to abandon your responsibilities.”
    “And just saying there shouldn’t be a war doesn’t make it go away or bring Calix back, does it? It doesn’t fix Rakk’s face,” Aris said, voice rising. “There’s a whole world outside of Lux that doesn’t care about me or you or your stupid groves.” She stepped back and tripped over the spindly leg of the table, catching herself on the back of a chair.
    Her father reached a hand out to steady her. “Those ‘stupid’ groves put food on your table.” He dropped her arm. “Look at you. You’re not strong enough to be on your own.”
    As if her tripping was all the evidence he needed.
    “I’m doing this, Father,” Aris said. “You can’t stop me.”
    “No.” He shook his head. “You can’t make a decision like this without consulting us.”
    She raised her chin. “I can and I have. I’m an adult now. I’m taking this placement, and that’s the end of it.”
    “Don’t listen to your father. He’s just sad you’re leaving us. We’re proud of you.” Krissa brushed away a tear and grasped Aris’s shoulders, fingers digging into