FREE SAMPLE (Ch.1)

Punching my boyfriend in the face was not my idea of a fun date.

“Pull back, regroup, try again,” my uncle Tower called from outside the ring.

We both obeyed. I slid a few feet back from Stanyard, my bare feet dragging on the padded canvas floor. We were in the gym on the lower level of the base, where we’d been spending most of our afternoons for the past several weeks. Every day we came down here to train, and every day I ended up on the ground, gasping for breath.

Today, clearly, would be no exception. Even though we were several floors beneath the ground, the cold air did nothing to stop me from sweating profusely.

“You good?” Stanyard asked, pushing his tousled dark hair off his forehead. We’d been going for half an hour already, but he barely looked winded. Probably because I hadn’t given him much of a fight.

“Yeah,” I lied, and wiped the sides of my face with both hands. I’m sure I looked anything but cute with my tangled blonde hair and smudged eyeliner. Why I’d bothered to put on makeup this morning was beyond me, but something about knowing Stanyard would be picking me up made me want to break out the blush and bronzer.

The frown returned to his dark eyes, but he didn’t argue. “Ready?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“On the count of three.” Tower leaned both hands on the rope railing. “And let’s try to act like you mean it this time.”

My heart returned to its second home in my throat. Please don’t.

“One… two… three.”

Stanyard lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. I struggled to remember the motions even as his touch ignited a flurry in my stomach. I should have been feeling fear, adrenaline, the fight to survive. None of those could have been further from my mind.

It’s not real, I coached myself as I yanked my arm back, using his momentum to pull him forward. I hit his chin with the palm of my hand—harder than I intended. I heard his teeth click and winced.

No one’s getting hurt. I forced myself to grab his shoulder and shove him down. This is just practice. I pretended to kick him, knocking his chest with my knee. He grunted. And he’s not your boyfriend.

But even as I pushed off him and darted away, I realized I didn’t believe any of those statements.

“Good one,” Stanyard coughed. He straightened and turned to face me.

I scanned his face, searching for bruises. “You okay?”

He wiped his chin on the back of his hand, his grin returning. “Never better.”

Tower was not impressed. “You need to be faster, Philadelphia. Again.”

Stanyard nodded at me, and we repeated the motions with what I thought was an increase in efficiency. I looked to my uncle for approval.

He shook his head. “Again.”

I was really starting to hate that word.

Tower paced around the ring as Stanyard and I continued our morbid dance. “This isn’t for show. A real attacker isn’t going to be sluggish.”

A real attacker also wouldn’t be staring at me with a secret half-smile, one eyebrow raised in a gesture only I could interpret. I glared at Stanyard as I clipped him in the chin, wishing I could wipe the feelings right off his face and off my heart.

Tower had similar thoughts. “Stanyard, stop flirting. Pretend like you actually intend to hurt her.”

The light went out of Stanyard’s eyes, and I swallowed.

“And you,” Tower pointed a scarred finger at me, “I want you to forget his face. Pretend it’s not him. Pretend it’s someone who actually hurt you—you have plenty of options.”

He wasn’t wrong, but no matter how hard I tried to conjure Carnegie, or Ambrose, or Thames, I couldn’t superimpose a nightmare over Stanyard’s face. I couldn’t erase the kind words, the gifts, the prayers he had showered on me for the past month. I couldn’t imagine him as an enemy, not anymore.

He grasped my wrist and yanked me forward, but instead of reacting, I just froze, all my complicated emotions icing over. I stumbled and crashed into him. He dropped my hand and caught me—like he always did.

He chuckled and set me on my feet. “Easy there.”

Tower sighed and rubbed his temples, clearly wondering how his illustrious military career had brought him to this point.

“Sorry,” I mumbled to literally no one, quickly stepping back. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“And now you’re dead.”

I stifled a groan as Jayde walked into the room. He was the commander of the base, and he was the one person I didn’t want to watch me train. Probably because he was the one making me do it.

He grasped the railing and swung his muscular body into the ring. “If that happens on the street, you’re done.”

I rubbed my sore arm. “I’m trying.”

He wasn’t appeased by the sacrifice. “That’s not good enough. You should be better than this by now.”

His words stung like a slap across the face—because he was right. I should be better than this by now.

“Lay off her,” Stanyard grunted.

“Why should I? No one else will.” Jayde’s combat boots sunk into the padding as he strode towards me, and I registered what was happening—a second too late. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.

I yelled as my mind blacked out in panic. What do I do, what do I do? I should know what to do; we’d rehearsed this. I struggled to recall the right move, but all I could see were flashing colors. I scrabbled at his arm, my sweaty fingers slipping off his thick wrist.

Jayde let me struggle. “Ambrose didn’t lay off her. Carnegie didn’t lay off her.”

Stanyard shouted an objection, but Jayde blocked him with his arm. “Nic didn’t lay off her.”

Rage replaced the fear in my lungs. “Don’t talk about Nic like that!”

Jayde’s fingernails dug into my scalp as he gave me one last yank and let me go. I slipped on the floor and fell. The impact shuddered through my joints and threatened to knock tears loose.

Stanyard dropped down next to me. “Phil.”

“Don’t help her,” Jayde snapped. “She gets up on her own, or not at all.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Tower called, but less kindly.

Jayde folded his arms over his chest. “If she wants to lead us, she has to train like us. My men won’t follow a ‘Blue Fire’ who can’t pick herself up.” He spat my callsign like a threat, and I took it as one. He leered over me. “Get up.”

Stanyard touched my arm, but I shrugged him off. I was weak, but I was not a failure. Even if I could do nothing else, I could always get up again. I’d proven that to Ambrose, Carnegie, even Nic. I would prove it to Jayde, even if it broke every bone in my body.

I am Blue Fire.

I planted both palms on the mat. With a breath and a prayer, I pushed myself up and turned to face Jayde. I slid one foot back, put both fists up, and stared him down. “Again.”

He grunted, approval flashing across his green eyes. “All right then, show me what you’ve learned. Try to punch me.” He copied my stance and crossed his arms defensively in front of his face.

I quelled a spasm of anxiety. I can do this. At least punching Jayde required less imagination.

Stanyard gave us a wide berth. I swung my right fist at Jayde, and he ducked. I followed with my left first and then my right again. He continued to roll, motion effortless.

“Focus,” Tower coached from somewhere behind me.

I lunged, overcompensating. Jayde easily sidestepped, and I stumbled forward, nearly ending up on my face.

Jayde pulled back and waited for me to gather my wits. “Operation Blue Fire launches in three months,” he said, not sounding the least bit winded. “These people are going to expect a warrior, not a victim.”

I am not a victim. We squared up again, and I threw another punch, more purposeful this time. I had been a victim before, but never again. I chose this. No one was forcing me to be Blue Fire. I chose to join the rebellion because I believed it could be done. Because it was the right thing to do.

“We’re asking them to risk their lives to stand up to the government.” Jayde raised his arm and clipped my next strike out of the air. “They’re going to expect you to do the same.”

I swung again, not caring that I hit his arm—at least I was hitting something. I had already risked my life several times to resist the United, and this wouldn’t be my last. Only this time, my rebellion would look a little different. This time, I wouldn’t be blowing up a lab or destroying a weapons factory. I wouldn’t be recording a video in an empty room, begging someone, anyone, to help. I wouldn’t be fighting alone.

No, this time, I would be leading an army.

“We only get one shot at this. We have one chance to pull the trigger, and if we don’t move the needle, the United will finish us off.” Jayde deflected my next shot, then lowered his arm to give me another chance.

I took the window of opportunity, pausing to measure my movements. I focused on pivoting my foot and putting my hip into it, just like Tower had taught me. Jayde was right—we wouldn’t get another chance. There were no do-overs with Operation Blue Fire. On the chosen day, I would go on air and tell everyone it was time to fight. At my signal, citizens across the globe—anyone who followed the thunderbird symbol—would stand up and say no. They would burn factories, go on strike from their government jobs, destroy paperwork—whatever it took to show the United that we would not conform anymore. The unassimilated were going to resist, and we were going to do it together.

There was no going back from that. Either Operation Blue Fire would succeed, and the government would lose its grip on society. Or it would fail, and we’d all be branded as criminals. Anyone who spoke out would be executed, and my people—Christians and other dissidents who refused to sign the file—would suffer in containment camps until the government decided to wipe us out.

Operation Blue Fire was a one-shot chance at freedom. And its success all came down to me.

I took a deep breath and focused all my muscles into coordinating the next punch. I missed, but not by much—my knuckles grazed his ear as he dodged.

He cracked his neck and straightened. “Better, but too slow. Stop reacting. You have to lead. Everyone’s looking at you.”

His words made my stomach clench with anxiety, and my next swing missed by a large margin. He snorted derisively.

Stanyard shifted in my peripheral. “C’mon, Phil.” His tone suggested that if I didn’t land a punch, he would.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Everyone was looking at me whether I liked it or not. I hadn’t wanted to be famous, and certainly not for insurrection. I hadn’t intended to start a war when I blew up the factory on Rott. All I wanted to do was keep Red Rain, the apocalyptic chemical weapon my father had created, out of the hands of the government.

I’d done that, but now my story was convincing other people to join the fight. Jayde and his allies had blasted my videos all over the internet and made me the face of a rebellion. I was Blue Fire, the thunderbird. I was the one they were listening to. I was the one they trusted.

And now it was my job to lead Operation Blue Fire.

There were days I still doubted. Every time I went live, I stared at the angry red recording light and wondered if someone, anyone, would be better than me. Someone with more experience. Someone with more strength. Someone who hadn’t stumbled into this by accident and almost killed her father in the process.

But mistake or not, I was here. I had been chosen—God had chosen me. Only He could have strung all the tragic pieces of my life together and turned them into something worth fighting for. Now it was up to me to finish the job.

I opened my eyes and focused on Jayde’s face, tracing an invisible line through the air to his chin. I ground the balls of my feet into the padded floor, tracing the flow of power up my spine and into my arm. Shoving all other thoughts out of my head, I swung my fist with a lifetime of righteous indignation—and landed.

My knuckles cracked into his chin, and I gasped in surprise. The shock rippled up my arm with a burst of elation. You can do this. You can be one of them.

Stanyard made a noise of admiration, and I savored it a beat too long. Jayde popped his jaw and swung his foot, knocking my legs out from under me. I collapsed on the ground with a grunt.

“Seriously, dude?” Tower griped. “She got you fair and square.”

“Yes, she did,” Jayde consented. “And she’ll do it again. Get up.” He nudged my foot with his boot.

I groaned and struggled to obey. Fatigue seized my joints, reminding me that I’d been training for an hour already. I braced myself against the rope railing. “I need a minute.”

I’ll never know if Jayde would have relented, because a slamming door and pounding footsteps answered for him. I turned to see my older brother Ephesus jogging towards us.

I smiled at him, feeling a rush of involuntary comfort. His arm cast and nose splint were gone, and his dark brown hair was growing back in. He looked like my brother again, and the sight of him reminded me that there were a few things that hadn’t changed over the past few months.

Unlike me. I could never go back to the long-haired, brown-eyed girl he used to know. Some people still called me Philadelphia Smyrna when they thought the government wasn’t listening, but to everyone else, I was Andromeda Nolan. Even to my family.

He stopped and tried to return my smile, but I could tell the gesture was harried, nervous. “It’s time.”

My happiness faded when I remembered why I’d agreed to train this afternoon. Why I was in the basement punching things—so I could forget what was going on upstairs.

Ephesus gulped a breath. “We need you.” The statement was directed at me, but he cast a glance at our uncle. “They’re ready to bring Dad online.”