Page 48 of Ignition Rites

“Just watch.”

Something in his voice makes me turn toward him. “You knew.”

“I knew this could happen.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Two men move through the crowd toward Marcus, and Rafe still doesn’t look at me.

“I’ve seen Reapings before,” he says quietly.

My stomach drops. “How many?”

“Enough.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say? Sometimes the last name on a list gets walked out and everybody pretends they don’t hear what happens afterward?”

Marcus sees the men coming and doesn’t run, which might be the worst part.

“Marcus has been informed of the house’s decision,” Alistair says, calm as weather. “His placement and the family’s patience with it are no longer compatible.”

One man takes Marcus by each arm, and they simply walk him out. There’s no struggle, no spectacle, only a path opening through people who already know to move.

“Where are they taking Marcus?” I ask, too loud.

Several heads turn, and Rafe’s grip closes hard around my hand.

“Not here.”

Marcus looks toward the crowd, his eyes landing somewhere near us, and I step away from the rail.

“Lo.”

I take another step, not because I trip but because they’re bringing him this way, nobody else is moving toward him, and nineteen or twenty is too young to look that resigned.

Rafe catches my wrist.

“Don’t.”

“Where are they taking him?”

The men are almost level with us now, Marcus’s face bloodless, and I move directly into the path they’re clearing. Both men stop, but the circuit doesn’t; noise is already creeping back in around the edges, people congratulating the winner, somebody laughing near the pits, engines turning over again.

Marcus looks at me, and up close he looks younger.

“What happens now?” I ask him.

One of the men steps between us as a quieter voice comes from beside me.

“Lorelei.”

Cassian.

I didn’t see him come down from the platform, and his voice is a warning rather than a command.

I look past him toward Alistair, who is already watching me with no surprise and no irritation, only interest. His gaze moves from me to Marcus, then to Rafe holding my wrist, then to Cassian standing between me and the men, lingering at each point like he’s deciding what the arrangement means.