My name is Gaspard Jerome Masson, and I have one regret.
The last word smudged beneath the old man’s trembling hand. He drew a breath, then continued writing.
Her name was Marie.
###
June 6, 1944
Rennes, France
“Gaspard! They’re coming!”
Gaspard shot up from his seat. Marie burst through the door of his small apartment
“Mister, um…” Brushing a stray brunette lock from my eyes, I squint at the top section of the form on my clipboard. “I hope I’m pronouncing this right. Is it Uberloorde?”
Bare scalp glistening under the fluorescents of my cramped office, he adjusts
I peered down the prison ward’s empty hallway—shiny and sterilized like everything else in the Domand Empire. “All right, I’m here.” My whisper echoed off the metal walls. “Which cell is Colton’s?”
Alexander’s tinny voice crackled in my earpiece. “B-5.”
Today, the war ends for me. That’s what I tell myself, as I enter the royal suite. One last mission and I’ll satisfy the debt binding me to the Great Lord.
Darkness envelops me like a friend. My hand closes around the hilt tucked into my servant’s dress as I step over the snoring maidservant at the foot of the royal bed.
“Grow, and live,” I whispered to the glass butterfly in my hand. I kissed it and placed it into the dirt hole in front of me.
“Now cover it,” my mother said. “Everything must die and return to the earth before it can grow.”
Under my hand, salt breaks away from the gate in thick, crystalized flakes. Reus giggles. He reaches out his chubby baby fingers, but I yank him back, pressing his face to my cloak when his laugh turns to a startled wail.
“Shh…” I hold him closer, my heart pounding as I look over my shoulder.
On my first day as chief fundraiser for Minifauna Tech, a hamster-sized hippo bit the heels off my favorite pumps. Although their genetically engineered animals are small, crafted to fit shrinking natural habitats, they aren’t tame.
That’s why I insisted on teleconferencing the next meeting. Everyone, including
“Stella, you’re clearly the creative type.” The smiling digital man flowed along the wall screens as Stella walked home. “So, check out StoryTeller Pro 5.0! With just a few prompts…”
She looked down to escape the relentless advertisement, but this street had freaking
Cold air burns my throat as it rushes in and out of my lungs, my feet pounding across the snowy shore in rhythm with my heart. My eyes are locked on the lighthouse, on its strangely muted glow. Gemma would never let the stars outshine it.
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Aria stared at her arms. Her scales were showing again. This time, they were dark blue. She squinted daggers at them.
Go away!
“Aria! Are you ready for school?” Her mom yelled. School. Ugh. She was one in one million, someone who held dragon
Mark taps me on the shoulder. “Dynamite warm?”
Plants rustle as I reach down amid the overgrowth and into my sock, fingering the explosive stick and the wooden blasting cap filled with gunpowder. It’s warm against my skin, safely cocooned from the frosty night air. I nod, even though he can’t see it.
Forgonath finds me in the Staggering Tavern, hanging over the table like a limp sack and polishing off my fourth flagon of ale. The others arrive shortly later—Borduain pats me on the back and calls for his own tankard while Lorovan slides into the chair across from me
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