While the Command Tier was a silent sanctuary of cedar and silk, the Level 3 barracks were a chaotic, subterranean throat of iron and desperation. Jess was thrown into a communal cell with twenty other recruits—men and women who smelled of gun oil and unwashed fatigue.
The heavy iron grate slammed shut, the echo ringing through the damp stone like a funeral bell.
The PackJess didn't sit. She stood against the back wall, her eyes darting through the gloom, her telepathy a jagged, vibrating needle. The neural-dampeners in the walls were weaker here, flickering with the base's unstable power grid. She could feel the minds around her—sharp, hungry, and thick with a bitter resentment.
"Look at this one," a man rasped from the shadows. He was lean, with a jagged scar across his knuckles. "The 'Spy' who nearly cracked Kael's ribs in the Pit. Talisa says you're a recruit now. I say you're a waste of rations."
Jess didn't blink. "I don't care what you say. Stay out of my reach, and you might keep your teeth."
The room went silent. In the Rebellion, mercy was a luxury no one could afford, and Jess looked like she had forgotten the word existed.
The Phantom AcheAs the hours crawled by and the barracks settled into a fitful, snoring unrest, Jess slid down the wall. She pulled her knees to her chest, her fingers digging into her shins.
The tether was broken.
For the first time in twelve years, she couldn't feel Sofia. The thick rock of the Command Tier and the high-grade dampeners surrounding the Leaders' quarters had cut the mental cord. Jess felt a physical ache in the center of her chest, a hollow void where Sofia's golden warmth usually hummed.
Is she crying? Jess wondered, her jaw tightening until it ached. Is Wane there? Is Talisa hurting her?
She remembered the look in Talisa's eyes—that dark, possessive hunger. It wasn't the clinical obsession of Wane; it was something more intimate. It was the look of someone who had found a beautiful toy and intended to break it.
The Spark of Rebellion"Hey."
A girl no older than eighteen shifted on the bunk next to Jess. She had a Rebel gear tattooed on her neck, but her eyes were tired. "You're the one with the sister, right? The little one in the green sweater?"
Jess turned her head slowly. "Where is she?"
"Command Tier," the girl whispered, glancing toward the guard at the end of the hall. "Talisa took her. Rumor is, the Commander's got herself a new 'pet.' They say the kid is going to be the new Face of the Cause. Posters, broadcasts... the whole thing."
Jess felt a cold, murderous fury settle in her gut. They weren't just keeping Sofia safe; they were turning her into a target. They were putting a three-million-Perl prize on a pedestal for the whole world to shoot at.
"How do I get up there?" Jess asked, her voice a low, lethal vibration.
The girl laughed, a dry, hacking sound. "You don't. Not unless you want to be turned into scrap. There's three checkpoints and a biometric lock between us and the Leaders. You're a grunt now, Jess. You follow orders, you clean rifles, and maybe—if you're lucky—you see her during the morning assembly."
Jess leaned her head back against the cold stone. She looked at her hands—the skin Sofia had healed only hours before. It was smooth, perfect, and a haunting reminder of what she had to lose.
Sleep well, Sofia, Jess thought, her eyes burning in the dark. Because tomorrow, I start learning how this base works. And when I find you, I'm taking you to Armeston, even if I have to burn this mountain to the ground.