Your Blood Ring is your identity. It serves as a secure, gene-locked

  system that enables you to conduct financial transactions, access restricted

  areas, and enter into formal agreements. Depending on your rank, your

  Blood Ring also exempts you from specific laws.

  —THE CIVIL CITIZENS’ GUIDE

  CHAPTER 7

  “All aboard!” a voice announces over the PA system.

  The train whistle blows as steam shoots from the undercarriage and the wheels lift off the tracks. The windows shake with the acceleration, pinpricks of light flickering behind the darkening glass. On the platform, passersby stop to watch, and a media crew from The Civilized Voice films our departure with high-speed cameras.

  I pull Charlotte from row seventeen and rush toward the exit. She fights me every step of the way, but there’s no time to explain. At the door, I strip off my glove and wave my Blood Ring over the biometric scanner. Access denied.

  I try again, but the screen still shows an error. Confusion morphs into panic as I rush back down the aisle. Jane waits at the second exit, trying to deboard, but before I can reach her, the door of the neighboring carriage swings open.

  Two black dogs in leather muzzles charge inside, their muscular bodies straining against their leashes. Behind them, a Copper grips the leads, his one-shoulder cape billowing around his tall, muscular frame. The dent on the right side of his helmet reveals it’s the same Copper from Harrison’s jet.

  Charlotte’s hand goes limp in mine as she processes what’s happening.

  “Miss Bradford,” the Copper says, bowing his head formally. “Please return to your seat.”

  “A pressing issue has come to my attention, sir,” Jane replies. “It is imperative that I disembark at once.” As she reaches for the door scanner, the dogs lunge. She jerks away, hands flying up, and presses her back against the wall.

  “Heel, boys. Heel.” The Copper yanks the dogs back by their leashes. One shakes its head furiously, trying to chew through its muzzle, while the other snarls, ears pinned back. The Copper blocks the door with his body. “Exiting the train during departure is prohibited, Miss Bradford. Please return to your seat.”

  Jane drops into a trembling curtsy. Her makeup-smudged eyes scan the ceiling as she retreats down the aisle, clearly searching for a roof hatch. But besides the two exits, the only other way out is through an adjacent carriage, and neither of our Blood Rings has the status to unlock those doors.

  I drag Charlotte into the ladies’ lavatory, where I crouch and check under the stalls. Empty. We don’t have to use formal language here.

  “What the hell is going on?” Charlotte snaps as I lock the door. “How’d you know that greasy bastard was gonna show up?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then why were you rag-dolling me up and down the aisle like that?”

  “The Pinkie, Char.” I fling my purse onto the sink. “Didn’t you notice it ignored everyone but Jane and me?”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “So, Pinkies don’t pick favorites.”

  Her lashes flutter anxiously. “Oh, shit. You think it was reprogrammed?”

  “Yes. Which means someone’s planning to take me out.”

  “What, on this train? In front of cameras and witnesses?”

  I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my sweaty neck. “If they can hijack a Pinkie, they can kill the cameras, too. And let’s be honest—if I dropped dead in the middle of the aisle, most of these people wouldn’t even move their feet.”

  “Oh, hell.” Charlotte flattens herself against the door like a barricade. “This is bad, Lore. Like shopping for coffins bad. Did you file a report?”

  “Not yet.”

  I pull up the Pinkie support site on my Bond and submit an emergency repair request. Usually, they run a remote scan first; if that fails, they send a mechanic. I punch in the Pinkie’s ID number and rap my fingers on the sink until the confirmation pops up: Thank you for your submission. Wait time for remote system check: sixty-eight minutes.

  I don’t even have sixty-eight seconds.

  I check my Bond, stomach twisting when I see my empty inbox. Dad warned me that once I became a Public Person, his hands would be tied and he wouldn’t be able to use his political influence to bail me out of trouble. What he didn’t mention was how badly that same influence could strangle me from afar.

  I try to think, digging through years of training for a helpful piece of advice, but there’s nothing, not when the Copper is skirting the law. Reporting him is useless without evidence, and I have none. I don’t even know how he plans to kill me.

  The more I think, the more the floor seems to tilt out from under me. My heels slip, and I drop onto the toilet seat with a curse, trembling all over.

  In front of me, attached to the stall door, a digital sign catches my attention. On the left, a woman smiles cheerfully and flashes a two-finger salute. On the right: Out of order. Please switch to the neighboring stall. Have a blissful day.

  I grit my teeth, my hand already twitching to tear the sign down. But just as I reach for it, an idea sparks in my mind—reckless, desperate, half-mad—the kind that only comes when you’re out of time and options.

  And that’s exactly where I am.

  I try to fight the idea, but the will to survive ignites in me like fire on dry grass. It burns through my pride, Dad’s warnings, and every shred of better judgment. If I do this, I might live, but will it be a life worth living if I owe it to a Prew?

  It’s more than the Prews’ name that makes me hesitate; it’s their blood. The Blues created Bliss, established the caste system, and launched the guillotine executions. Asking Edmund Prew for help would be a betrayal of my people. I understand that, and I won’t pretend otherwise, but guilt is a hard thing to feel when it was a Green who drew first blood.

  “I have to switch to another carriage,” I tell Charlotte.

  “No shit. But how? The only way out is to be invited by a Blue.”

  “I know. Do you think your ex can get us in?”

  Charlotte’s mouth drops open. “Now wait just a damn minute. I thought you didn’t trust Blues.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then what the hell are you thinking? What happened to your high-and-mighty speech about the Blues being a line you’d never cross willingly?”

  “Willingly?” I straighten so fast my T-strap heel screeches on the tile. “In the past hour, I’ve been threatened by a Copper, stalked by a mob, nearly killed in a death duel, and now I’m here, trying to figure out how to survive an organized hit while sitting on a toilet. Tell me, Charlotte—exactly what fucking part of this looks willing to you?”

  “All right, all right, I get it, but—” She begins to pace, nervously pressing a hand to her neck. “It’s not that simple, Lore.”

  “Attention, passengers,” the PA system booms. “Please return to your assigned seats for ticket verification.”

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  Charlotte glances at the lavatory door, sweat beading along her hairline. “I’m sorry, Lore. We can’t stay here.”

  “We won’t.” I grab my purse from the sink. “You know Edmund better than I do. He’s your friend. If you think it’s not worth the risk, I’ll trust you. It’s your call.”

  “That’s just it.” She wipes the sweat from her hairline. “Edmund’s not my friend. Not anymore. And it ended badly with him and Jack. Really badly. The kind of bad that sorry doesn’t fix.”

  I pause, eyebrow raised. She never mentioned that. “All right. Then we’ll find another way.”

  A loud knock sounds on the door, followed by a wiggling handle. “Ticket verification,” the Copper calls. “Return to your seats, Miss Waldsten and Miss Deering, or you shall face reprimand.”

  “Yes, sir.” I flush one of the toilets for effect, then turn on the faucet as if I’m washing up.

  Charlotte squeezes her eyes shut and exhales through her nose. “No. There’s no other way. I’ll do it, Lore. I’ll ask.”

  “But, Char—”

  “I can handle Edmund,” she says, her voice steadier now. “What I can’t handle is watching you die. And I’ll have to face him sooner or later anyway.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I can at least ask.”

  I grip her hand, hoping she sees how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

  I turn off the faucet, straighten the comb in my hair, and unlock the door. The Copper stands waiting, with one hand on the dogs’ leashes. Behind him, at the end of the carriage, a blue mahogany door gleams with gold-leaf trim. The plaque reads, CARRIAGE TWENTY-FIVE: BLUE FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS.

  Our only way out.

  The Copper jerks his chin toward the Pinkie that’s scanning tickets in the aisle. “Return to your seats. Have your tickets ready for verification.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Charlotte brushes past the Copper, I notice the shiny gold ring on his finger. He’s married, maybe even has kids, and yet he’s willing to risk everything to kill an unarmed teenager over a drug. The realization hits me hard, making me think, for the first time, that maybe Dad was right to ban Bliss.

  As I walk down the aisle, my leg grazes one of the dogs, and it lunges at me, its fur bristling. I jump back and instinctively reach for a saber that isn’t there.

  “Heel, boys.” The Copper yanks the leash. “Heel.”

  I move past the dogs with a slow, careful stride, wondering why they’re so aggressive. Usually, security dogs attack only on command, so they must be narcotic dogs trained to sniff out Bliss.

  Back at our seats, Charlotte is texting furiously on her Bond, her mouth pinched with frustration. For a moment, I think things are going south with Jack until she nudges me and says, “Check your civil credit score.”

  I pull up the chart on my Bond, and an alert flashes across the top:

  6:21 A.M.: LAVATORY DISRUPTION. MINUS FIVE CIVIL CREDITS.

  I draw a shaky breath, suddenly feeling five steps closer to the guillotine. It was the Copper; that bastard reported us. And if Charlotte and I don’t get out of here soon, he’ll do a hell of a lot worse.

  “Has Mr. Carroway responded yet?” I ask.

  “No,” Charlotte replies. “But when he does, you shall be the first to know.”

  I grip the armrest of my seat, trying to stay patient. Outside, the storm pounds the roof and windows as the train cuts through the outskirts of Charleston City like a comet. Tall, mirrored skyscrapers and ritzy hotels rise in stepped tiers, shivering like stars in the darkness, and on every stone bridge, blue-and-gold double-headed eagle flags rise from the fog.

  I’ve been to the Rainbow District once before—for the Junior Fencing World Championship—and ever since, I’ve worked my hands raw to get back. I thought that if I were accepted to Grandmaster and played my cards right, my weapons restriction would be lifted. I thought I could get my life back.

  But no. Everything’s gone to hell again, and a big part of me blames Dad.

  He’s worked with the Blues longer than I’ve been alive, learning how they think and operate. He should’ve seen this coming. At the very least, he should’ve warned me that a Bliss ban could put our lives at risk. But he didn’t. Now I’m caught in the middle of a war he helped start: forced to become a Public Person under these circumstances, trapped on a train that might become my coffin, and begging for a bailout from a Blue.

  “Tickets, please,” a Pinkie says.

  Charlotte and I send the tickets through our Bonds. When the robot moves to the next row, she gives me a subtle thumbs-up.

  “Really?” I text, sitting up straighter. “Edmund said yes?”

  “Yeah. A little too fucking easily.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Charlotte runs a hand through her long curls. “Jack was nice about it. Too nice. Didn’t even mention Edmund at all. But… we’re in, I guess.” She sighs, then downs the rest of her Gibson in a shuddering gulp.

  I wrap my fingers around my purse, the metal clasp digging into my skin. Luck. Irony. I don’t know what to call it. A year ago, one Blue destroyed my life, and now another Blue is going to save it.

  Ahead, in row eight, Jane’s fingers fly across her mobile phone’s keyboard. Every so often, she glances over her shoulder at me, as though wondering what my plan is, whether I’ve resigned myself to our shared fate, or if I’m searching for a way out. The sight of her tear-streaked face weighs on my conscience, and I realize, with sudden, sinking clarity, that no one is going to step up for her. If I don’t help Jane, there’s a real chance she won’t make it off the train.

  Then another realization hits me: If I help Jane, her parents will be grateful. Very grateful. Perhaps even enough for her father, Judge Bradford, to overturn my weapons restriction.

  I’d no longer be helpless. I wouldn’t have to lean on Edmund, Harrison, Charlotte, or Dad for protection. I could protect myself.

  “We can’t leave Jane here,” I text Charlotte.

  Charlotte squints at the girl, then texts, “Why not? Is she a friend of yours?”

  “No. We just met once. A year ago.”

  “Oh, well…” Charlotte turns toward the door of the blue first-year carriage. “I’m sorry, Lore. I can’t swing it. The private salons cap at five people, and Edmund already has Jack and Dickie. Once you and I join, that’s it.”

  “Edmund’s a high-citizen,” I text. “He could invite ten people, and the Coppers would carry in the extra chairs themselves.”

  “Maybe. But I’m already pushing my luck just asking him. I’m not pushing it further. And neither should you.”

  She’s right.

  But I’m still not ready to give up.

  The Pinkie finishes scanning tickets and returns to the front of the carriage, where it speaks to the Copper in quiet, coded tones. In response, the Copper ties the dogs to a grab pole and checks his pocket watch. Too long he stares at it, as if timing a bomb strapped to the bottom of my seat. I glance back at the lavatory, wondering how long it would take me to grab Charlotte and Jane, then barricade the three of us inside.

  The Copper snaps his watch shut and turns to the digital map near the exit. He traces his thumb along the lit route until he finds our location. I pull up the same route through my Bond. There are a few towns ahead, but mostly farmland, forest, and mountains. I zoom in on the ranges and spot the tunnels, each marked by length. The longest tunnel is only a few minutes away, four miles of darkness, limited visibility, and isolation. Maybe even a jammed internet connection.

  If the Copper is planning a hit, that tunnel is his window.

  “How much longer until Jack gets here?” I text Charlotte.

  “He didn’t say.”

  “But you told him it’s an emergency, right?”

  “Of course, but if he’s drunk—and he usually is—that word will go in one ear and out the other.”

  An alcoholic. Perfect.

  I check the map again and see we’re three miles from the tunnel. Less than two minutes.

  I squeeze the daffodil brooch pinned to my dress, trying to appear calm as I count down the seconds. Just when my heart feels like it might burst through my ribcage, the door of the blue first-year carriage swings open.

  Every head in our carriage swivels toward it.

  The man in the doorway is short for a Green, close to six feet tall, with thrill-seeking eyes and beer-brown hair marked by the imprint of a hoverbike helmet. A square jaw offsets his rugged nose, and his build is thick with muscle. He has the look of someone who rests easy, like if the train malfunctioned and fell out of the sky, he’d spend the free fall lighting the cigarette tucked between his teeth. He slips a silver flask into the breast pocket of his two-button suit and strolls down the aisle, parking himself beside our row.

  “Hey, darling. Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Jack scans Charlotte’s face, taking in all the cosmetic surgery, and grunts. “Looks like I was right.”

  Charlotte’s throat bobs as if she’s swallowing back vomit. Whether it’s because she’s nervous to see Jack or because the whiskey on his breath is strong enough to gas a small village, I can’t tell.

  “You, there.” The Copper calls to Jack. “Passengers are prohibited from switching carriages during travel.”

  “Oh, I’m not switching,” Jack says, jerking a thumb at us. “Just swinging by for a pickup.”

  The Copper’s hand locks into a fist, his leather glove squeaking. “How dare you address me informally, sir. Where is your identification?”

  Jack sways toward him cockily. Around us, students start whispering, and one activates their Bond to record. The Copper rips off Jack’s glove, but when he lifts his scanner, the world goes dark.

  Charlotte presses close as we speed into the tunnel, gripping my arm with both hands. “Miss Waldsten, can you make out what is happening?”

  “No.”

  The carriage lights have gone out, and the security cameras show no status indicators either. I reach out, fingers brushing only air. It’s too dark to see past my own nose, let alone anyone else’s. Up ahead, someone lights the aisle with a cigarette lighter, enough to reveal rows of ghostly shapes. I stand, heart pounding, listening for every whisper, every squeak of a seat, every shift of a body. Somewhere in the dark, I hear the sharp beep of a scan.

  For a moment, I brace for fallout. Jack should lose civil credits for switching carriages and speaking informally to a Copper. But when sunlight floods the carriage again, blinding and sudden, the Copper has taken off his helmet and is staring at Jack with a slack jaw.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Carroway. I did not—”

  “I’m gonna need that back,” Jack says, nodding toward the green leather glove still crushed in the Copper’s fist.

  “I—yes, of course.” The Copper hands it over, then bows. “As I was saying, Mr. Carroway, I did not realize—”

  “Now you do.”

  I crane my neck to glimpse Jack’s Blood Ring, but he pulls his glove on too fast. Charlotte stares at him, stunned, as if he’s grown a second head.

  It doesn’t make sense. Jack is a Green with no title or job-based authority. His rank should be well below the Copper’s. Even if he’s part of Edmund’s entourage, that provides protection, not power.

  The Copper unties the dogs. He doesn’t protest when Jack tells us to grab our things, nor when Charlotte and I get up and head toward the blue first-year carriage. Still, I feel the heat of the Copper’s stare burning into my back as I walk away. Whatever he’s feeling, I don’t want to imagine it. I just hope Jack’s arrival knocked the legs out from under his plan.

  Because now I have another move to make. If I want to save Jane, Edmund needs to invite her to his salon.

  And I’m the one who has to convince him to do it.