And June.
“Get ready to launch—”
“Not happening!” Chae Rin raised her hands and the ground began to rumble beneath us, but before she could get started, a gunshot cut her off, the bullet burying itself in her arm.
“Chae Rin!” Lake caught her before she could fall to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Brendan stared at his father, whose gun was still pointed and smoking.
“Saul is making us look . . . look like fools.” Prince’s arm trembled. “The world is watching. We need to take action.”
“The world will watch us destroy a city!”
“The world will watch us save a lot of other cities. We need this. We need this for the Sect. I will not allow this terrorist to crush what I’ve built.”
This was the desperate man who’d shaken hands with political devils at Blackwell’s party, sullying his name if it meant rebuilding the Sect in the eyes of the world. Only here, his desperation was obvious. It curled off of him like the pungent smell of alcohol.
He was willing to kill them. His own son and the girl who shared my face.
Brendan couldn’t conceal his fury. “You won’t let them destroy the Sect you built, but you’ll destroy your son with your own hands.”
“He’s already been branded in front of the world. My son. It’s too late for him.” Prince turned his back to his eldest. “And I . . .”
“No. You don’t care.” I walked forward dazedly, as if in a dream. The face of my sister weighted each of my steps. June was alive. And now both she and Rhys were about to die. All because of this man. All because of him. “You don’t care if your son lives or dies. That’s what you’re trying to say.”
Prince met my gaze defiantly, his back tall with the grim pride of a thousand cowardly fathers before him. “I raised a warrior, not a murderer.”
“You dare be ashamed of him?” Brendan gripped his own gun, still in its holster against his waist. “The way you trained him. The way you brutalized him. Brainwashed him. Did you think he would see the difference?”
Prince’s eyes flashed. “Start the launch.”
“No!”
We all yelled it. Brendan’s gun was pointed at the technicians, but he didn’t know where or who to shoot. I wanted to set everything on fire. My mind was screaming. Rhys, Natalya, June. Ghosts swirled around me, goading me to finish everything. But as my mind conceived of the fire, as my fingers began to spark, I thought of my parents, my sister, being rolled away on stretchers in body bags. I thought of their charred bodies, and my hands gripped my own forehead instead.
June couldn’t be alive.
It had to be a trick Saul was playing.
Psychotic Alice’s sick game. Cruel Nick’s malicious assistance.
It was . . . it was . . .
“Father.” Brendan stumbled back against the terminal, his knees buckling. He fell to the ground. “What have you done?”
“What I had to,” Prince replied coldly.
Nobody said anything.
I could see the digital clock running down from five minutes on the right-hand corner of the screen. Saul didn’t know. Rhys didn’t know. June didn’t know. And no one else still in the city knew. They were going to be hit. They were all going to die.
Someone’s terminal began to beep. “Sir, we’re getting a video call,” said one technician on the other side of the room.
“Patch him in.”
If Director Prince had known that it would be Blackwell’s smug face appearing on the screen, he may not have given the order. The man looked livid as Blackwell rested his elbow on his chair’s armrest and rubbed his forehead, amused and exasperated all at once.
“Arthur,” he said. “I didn’t think you could go through with such a thing. The Council is very disappointed.”
“The Council?” Prince sputtered.
“We’ve been watching the situation closely. I told them you shouldn’t be allowed to handle such a situation, but after all, you are a high-ranking official in the Sect.” Blackwell tapped his fingers against his crossed knee. “Perhaps that was the problem from the beginning.”
The skin hanging on Prince’s chin trembled as he shook with fury. “It was the Council who told me to finish this. Senator Abrams himself told me to take this course of action. I have dealt with Saul. I’ve finally ended this nightmare.”
“And so you have.” Blackwell grinned. “And now I’m dealing with you.”
A troop of police burst through the door behind us. Lake, Chae Rin, Belle, and I scrambled out of the way as they came in fully armed in riot gear, their shields up, their guns pointing at everyone in the room.
“The building is surrounded,” one yelled. “Director Prince Senior and Junior, and all present Sect personnel—you are under arrest for treason and acts of terrorism.”
Both Princes blanched, neither knowing where to move or where to look. Some members of the Communications department already had their hands up in defeat, while some looked as utterly baffled as their leaders standing in front of them.
“Acts . . .” Director Prince stared up at Blackwell. “Acts of terrorism?”
“You made the wrong move this time, Arthur.” Blackwell shook his head with an almost theatrical sweep of his head. “It’s a wonder why Abrams would tell you such a thing. Or how he would get such an awful idea in the first place.”
“Blackwell.” Prince gathered the situation with flaring eyes, his neck reddening by the second. “Did you—”
“Yes, I called the police,” he answered. “And don’t worry, we’ll also be taking Abrams into custody, as well as anyone else in the Council who shared his views. My meetings with various foreign dignitaries have been fruitful indeed. We’ve already decided that the Sect can no longer be allowed to run amok in dealing with affairs that should be in their hands. This latest infraction is just proof that you’re not fit to rule. And your kingdom isn’t fit to stand.”
“We said, put your hands up,” the police officer repeated. “Sir, we will not ask you a third time.”
As more officers spilled into the room and began taking the willing into custody, Blackwell cleared his throat, gathering Prince’s attention again.
“It’s better if you cooperate. As criminals under the law.”
“I am not . . .” Prince’s teeth clenched tight. “I am—”
“What you are, Arthur,” Blackwell began, “is a father willing to kill your own son in order to hold on to the power and reputation your family has given you. A spoiled, sad little boy with blood on his hands.” And he grinned wide. “Like father, like son, I suppose.”
“Effigies! Come with us!”
Several police officers surrounded us, cornering us against the wall. They looked terrified as they pointed their guns at us, one holding out handcuffs with shaking hands. The metal jingled in his grip.