Away from the bodies and chatter, the air’s cooler, clearer. It’s good to breathe, even if the tension’s already coiling in my chest. Jack’s quiet for a beat, Solan a few steps behind us, his presence a constant thrum of protection.
People step aside when they see him. Not just because he’s a Pyronox—built like a stone wall and just as expressive—but because this Pyronox used to be an enforcer. One of the queen’s.
The gossip’s out. No one dares say anything directly, but I’ve heard the whispers. Still, I get it. He did what he had to do to survive. Hell, who here hasn’t?
After a moment, Jack breaks the silence. “What you said before you left—it stuck with me.”
I glance at him sideways. “You mean the rift stuff?”
He nods. “The idea that Dawson came through wrong. Through the Earth.”
“Following the same course as you,” I say, remembering the mental line I’d drawn through the planet.
“Yeah,” Jack says. “But what if it wasn’t an accident?”
That gets my full attention. I stop walking. It’s very similar to what he said just before I left a few days ago.
He faces me. “I know it sounds nuts, but what if someone’s interfering with the rifts? Guiding them. Controlling them.”
A chill races up my spine. Not from the air. From something colder. Deeper.
“You said it,” he goes on. “No two people have ever come through at the same time in different places. Not until me and Dawson. That can’t be some sort of natural phenomenon.”
“Do you really think someone brought you both here?” I ask quietly. “All of us here?”
“I think someone—or something—wants people here. Specific people. And not just human people either.”
I exhale slowly, thinking about all the different species that make up the Riftborn. “And why would they want a twelve-year-old?” I ask, my mind immediately going to Jamie.
Jack glances back towards the canteen, towards his nephew. His face softens. “I don’t know. But I’ll protect him with everything I have.”
“You’re not alone in that,” I say. Instinct guides me, as well as the need to protect an innocent. I’m barely cut out for this dimension, so a preteen will need all the help they can get.
He looks at me. “That’s why I came to you.”
We walk in silence for a few more moments. My mind is already racing with possibilities. If someone’s pulling the strings on the rifts—well, we’re in deeper shit than we thought.
“Have you spoken to Varek?” I ask.
Jack shakes his head. “I know you said we can trust him.”
“You can,” I say immediately. There’s not a sliver of hesitation. “Without question—it’s something I believe. Trusting Varek has kept me alive.”
Behind us, Solan finally speaks, his deep voice cutting through the hush of evening like a warm blade. “We believe you. But there are others here who don’t. The Riftborn factions… they’re uneasy.”
“More than uneasy,” Jack adds. “A few of them flat-out don’t like the way Varek’s running things.”
“No shit,” I mutter, rolling my eyes and immediately picturing Zeyv’s smug face and his merry band of dickheads. I thumb towards the training compound. “That lot? They’d rather take the ‘stab first, question never’ approach.”
Solan’s lips twitch, and Jack raises an eyebrow.
“It’s not really about Varek himself,” I explain. “He’s strong. Ruthless when he has to be—believe me, I’ve seen it—but he’s also diplomatic. He listens. He weighs consequences. That freaks some people out. Especially the species who are used to power being all about domination.”
“So, they see his negotiation as weakness,” Solan says.
“Exactly.”
Jack frowns, nodding slowly. “That’s… dangerous.”
