Everlife. Gena Showalter

      I knew it. I’m not any kind of chosen one. Although... “By your logic, I am special, because everyone is.” Together, we are the chosen one. Together, we can win or lose the war. “If no one is special apart from the whole, how did I become a Conduit? How did you become a General?”

      “Birth doesn’t dictate our station, Miss Lockwood. Hearts do that. Yours happened to be more open and receptive to Light than most, more willing to share.”

      Her answer doesn’t jibe with the things I’ve been taught. “I was an infant when my status as a Conduit was detected.” Perhaps a better word—decided. By Eron? “How could my heart be open and receptive to things I didn’t yet understand? I had no concept of anything outside hunger or—”

      “Wrong,” she interjects. She adopts a cool mask, hiding her emotions. “Humans understand less than they think, but spirits are far wiser than anyone realizes.” Her head tilts to the side, her eyes like lasers. “I’ve watched you with your brother. I’d venture to guess he’s able to speak into your mind.”

      She’s right. Jeremy is only a few months old, has no concept of language, and yet he has spoken to me telepathically. The rest of my objections wither. I have other questions, of course. I always have questions. Knowledge is power. But this woman is not the person I want teaching me. She might have trained Levi, but she isn’t half the warrior he was.

      “Other infants speak to their loved ones, too.” She spreads her arms wide, all I’m the smartest woman in the universe. “Just like I told you. Wise.”

      “I will not be blackmailed.” A promise from the depths of my soul. If she knew me, even a little, she would understand I always mean what I say and say what I mean. Those who are weak, lie. Those who are strong, defend the truth, whatever the cost. “I told you. I will vote for the one I think is best. You won’t change my mind.”

      The color drains from her cheeks, the cool mask slipping away. There’s no hiding the desperation in her eyes now. Desperation I’ve seen reflected back at me more than once, when I stared into a mirror, wondering how I could get myself out of whatever mess I’d fallen into.

      “Please, Miss Lockwood. Tenley. How you feel about Mr. Flynn is how I feel about General Orion.”

      Oh, now she calls him Mr. Flynn?

      “He means everything to me,” she continues. “When my family died, he was there for me. Let me be there for him. And he will save us from Myriad. He will. You just give him a chance.”

      The darker part of me—my Myriadian side?—laughs. Such a fool. She’s handed us the key to her destruction.

      Us? No, oh, no. “He didn’t save us before. What makes you think he’ll succeed with a second chance?”

      She opens her mouth, snaps it closed.

      I’m not done. “If you know the love I have for Killian and took him away from me anyway, if you are using him to blackmail me, you are worse than I realized.” Even still, I focus on my Troikan side, where compassion holds my heart in a vise grip.

      She’s hurting. There’s no need to kick her while she’s down. And really, Luciana isn’t the first person to ask me to vote for Orion. Levi did, too, right before his Second-death.

      I know two facts about him. (1) He was a war hero who led his troops into battle with vigor and cunning, and (2) his return would be good for Troika. But so would Levi’s. And Meredith’s and Archer’s. But I care about Myriadians, too. I want what’s best for everyone.

      “You love Orion the way I love Killian?” I say. “Even though the General is married to another woman?”

      She flinches, as if I landed another punch. “I didn’t say I was proud of my feelings, only that I have them. And I’m not asking you to pick him simply because I miss him. I’m truly concerned for our home, Miss Lockwood. Mere days ago, Myriad almost destroyed us. One second we were happily working as usual, the next we were fighting for our lives. If Myriadians aren’t stopped, they’ll come at us again, and again. Our children will be hurt. Or worse! Just...think about all I have said.” She taps her wrist. A Light shines from her forearm, a keyboard that is an extension of her comm. As she types, she says, “Your choice could ensure our victory. Or our defeat. If we lose, everyone you love will perish.”

      “So I’m the chosen one, after all? Or perhaps you mean Orion is the chosen one, all on his own.”

      She scowls. Then, having no response, she transports away.

      Zero! I’m not done with her—or Shamus! But first things first.

      As I rush through the next Gate, no animals follow me. A flicker of disappointment burns my chest, but I quickly tamp it down. I make my way to the House of Secrets, where the Eye is located. The portal will allow me to see anyone in the Land of the Harvest or Troika.

      I exit the Gate onto a circular sidewalk about the size of a football field. Along the outer edge of the sidewalk looms one skyscraper after another, as well as two piles of debris, courtesy of the bombings. In the center is an island, connected to the sidewalk through multiple bridges, and in the center of the island is the Eye, a massive oval of glistening mist, surrounded by a cluster of jagged, unpolished diamonds.

      Throngs of people meander in every direction, some coming, some going. Four-legged animals—everything from dogs to donkeys—trail a few of those people. The smart ones who accepted Eron’s gift.

      Something I’ve noticed: Whatever our Secondking does, he has a good reason, and that reason is always beneficial to us, his people. Take the Exchange, for instance. On the surface, it seems cruel. If we do something wrong, either inadvertently or on purpose, we are forced to trade places with the one we harmed; just for a moment, we experience the past through the other person’s eyes. We feel their pain, learn their thoughts.

      Honestly, a whipping would be easier to endure. Physical wounds heal. The ones on our hearts scar, and last forever.

      “Excuse us.”

      The voice pulls me out of my head. A massive wolf with snow-white fur looms just in front of me. Eyes the color of emeralds stare at me, expectant. His teeth are long, sharp and as white as his fur. The better to eat you with, my dear.

      I reel. “Um. Hi.” I’ve never had a conversation with a wolf before.

      Is he my—

      “My human would like to speak with you,” he says.

      Oh. I look behind him, and spot a guy who is vibrating with eagerness, sadness and hope all at once. He’s covered in soot, his clothing torn. Clearly he’s been working to clean up the mess.

      “Please,” he says. “My wife died this year.” He speaks Swahili, a language I’ve never learned; even still, the Grid translates every word in an instant. “I know you haven’t met her, and that most of the realm wants one of the Generals to return, but please. Please! Consider my Fahari. She was the kindest, sweetest, most loving woman ever born.”

      Someone else I’ve never met pushes him out of the way, vying for my attention. “You must vote for—”

      The wolf turns and growls at the newcomer. Newcomer’s eyes widen as his mouth snaps closed.

      Then, tone as calm as can be, Wolf says, “Allow my human to finish his conversation, then you may speak.”

      Guardian animals are amazing.

      Unfortunately, the ferocity of the growl draws everyone else’s attention. Suddenly, those others issue pleas of their own. Well. Word has certainly spread. Tenley Lockwood is the one who will decide who comes back to life, courtesy of the Resurrection.

      A stray thought arises: Am I Tenley Flynn now?

      “I’m sorry,” I announce. I doubt anyone hears me. “I’m in a hurry.”

      I push through the masses. Once I’m standing