“I need you, Julian.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Sun Shooting? Yes, they’ve already thought up a clever name.” He points to the dark video screen in the corner. “It’s been on the news for hours now. The king’s addressing the country in the morning.”

I remember the fluffy blond newswoman reporting the capital bombing more than a month ago. There were few injuries then, and still the marketplace rioted. What will they do now? How many innocent Reds will pay?

“Or is this about the four terrorists currently locked in the cells of this structure?” Julian presses on, measuring my response. “Excuse me, I mean three. Ptolemus Samos certainly lives up to his reputation.”

“They’re not terrorists,” I reply calmly, trying to keep myself in check.

“Shall I show you the definition of terrorism, Mare?” His tone stings. “Their cause might be just, but their methods . . . besides, what you say doesn’t matter.” He gestures to the video screen again. “They have their own version of the truth and that’s the only one people will hear.”

My teeth grind together painfully, bone on bone. “Are you going to help or not?”

“I am a teacher and somewhat of an outcast, in case you haven’t noticed. What can I possibly do?”

“Julian, please.” I can feel my last chance slipping through my fingers. “You’re a singer, you can tell the guards—make them do anything you want. You can set the prisoners free.”

But he remains still, sipping peacefully at his drink. He doesn’t grimace like men normally do. The bite of alcohol is familiar to him.

“Tomorrow they’ll be interrogated. And no matter how strong they are, no matter how long they hold out, the truth will be found.” Slowly, I take Julian’s hand, holding fingers worn rough by paper. “This was my plan. I’m one of them.” He doesn’t need to know about Maven. It will only make him angrier.

The half lie does its job well. I can see it in Julian’s eyes.

“You? You did this?” he stammers. “The shooting, the bombing—?”

“The bomb was . . . unexpected.” The bomb was a horror.

He narrows his eyes and I can see the cogs turning in his mind. Then he snaps entirely. “I told you, I told you not to get in over your head!” He slams a fist down on the table, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him before. “And now,” he breathes, staring at me with so much sorrow it makes my heart hurt, “now I must watch you drown?”

“If they escape . . .”

He throws back the rest of his drink with a gulp. With a snap of his wrist, he smashes the glass on the floor, making me jump. “And what about me? Even if I take away the cameras, the guards’ memories, anything that could implicate either of us, the queen will know.” Shaking his head, he sighs. “She’ll take my eyes for this.”

And Julian will never read again. How can I ask for that?

“Then let me die.” The words stick in my throat. “I deserve it as much as they do.”

He can’t let me die. He won’t. I am the little lightning girl, and I am going to make the world change.

When he speaks again, he sounds hollow.

“They called my sister’s death a suicide.” Slowly, he traces his fingers across his wrist, dwelling on a long-ago memory. “That was a lie, and I knew it. She was a sad woman, but she never would have done such a thing. Not when she had Cal, and Tibe. She was murdered, and I said nothing. I was afraid, and I let her die in shame. And since that day, I’ve been working to fix that, waiting in the shadows of this monstrous world, waiting for my time to avenge her.” He raises his eyes to me. They sparkle with tears. “I suppose this will be a good place to start.”

It doesn’t take long for Julian to figure out a plan. All we need is a magnetron and some blind cameras, and luckily, I can provide both.

Lucas knocks on my bedroom door not two minutes after I summon him.

“What can I do for you, Mare?” he says, jumpier than usual. I know his time overseeing the queen’s interrogation of servants must not have been easy. At least he’ll be too distracted to notice I’m shaking.

“I’m hungry.” The rehearsed words come easier than they should. “You know, dinner never happened so I was wondering—”

“Do I look like a cook? You should’ve called the kitchens, that’s their job.”

“I just, well, I don’t think now’s a good time for the servants to be roaming around. People are still pretty on edge and I don’t want anyone getting hurt because I didn’t get dinner. You’d just have to escort me, that’s all. And who knows, you might get a cookie out of it.”