Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy Book 2)

Even the moonlight feels warm here.

Pale silver rays slip between the cracks of buildings and banners, like frail fingers desperate to claw through anything in their way. I tug at the bandanna tied around my mouth and nose; the blood-red fabric intended to keep the blowing sand from my mouth, though it grinds between my teeth nonetheless.

I’ve abandoned my Imperials for the night, just as I’ve done the previous four since we’d arrived in Dor. I spent most of the day alone, scouting the streets along with any possible crevice she could have climbed into. Every time I pull back a banner, push open a decaying door, ask if someone has seen the Silver Savior, she evades me at every turn.

She’s a phantom in human form. Like trying to clutch the wind in your fist, unable to see it even while feeling it slip between your fingers.

And the knowledge of that has me feeling something pathetically too close to relief.

Tonight is warmer than most, leaving me sticky with both sweat and sand. I turn down a quiet street, feeling slightly unsettled by the silence that swallows this city each evening. If I were to take a wild guess, I’d say it’s because everyone is worn out after a long day of fighting in the streets and pushing through the current of bodies.

I glance at a passing guard who looks anything but alert. I take a deep breath, swallowing the urge to pick a fight out of sheer curiosity as to what the lazy bastard would do. They’re worse than most of the Imperials back home, and that’s saying something.

My lack of power here weighs on me, a dull buzz in my blood. I feel oddly heavy despite missing a piece of myself. Unlike the other Elites, my ability relies on those around me, and the Imperials I brought to Dor are the only bit of power I have to feed off. After spending the entirety of my life surrounded by Elites, the absence of them and their accompanying powers is so foreign, it’s frightening.

I’ve never felt so exposed.

A sudden, slight pressure at my hip has me tensing, tentatively reaching for my concealed dagger. Well, her concealed dagger.

The coin pouch.

That’s what they’re after.

That’s what she was after too, that first day I met her.

Could this be her? Could she be repeating history without even realizing it?

There’s no way in hell that even she’d be ballsy enough to steal from me knowing that it’s me. My heart pounds, both my head and pulse racing.

Turn around.

I swallow, savoring the seconds in which I still stand within the unknown.

Turn around and look at her. Look at the face that took your father’s life. The face that didn’t just steal your money, but also your h—

I hook a foot behind me, catching an ankle of the thief silently stealing my silvers. With a tug, I send them tumbling to the ground.

Sloppy. Not her style.

Sure enough, the body sprawled before me doesn’t belong to a woman, but a girl. My eyes widen, both in surprise and in an attempt to see through the thickening darkness. In a matter of moments, the girl’s palms are pushing her backward as she tries to put some space between us, her worn boots kicking up dust as they scrape against the ground.

I take a light step toward her, crouching slightly to get a better look at—

The tip of a blade is suddenly pointed at my face.

I blink. That was… unexpected, to say the least.

Raising my hands slightly in surrender, I start to take a step away, my eyes pinned on the weapon clutched within a delicate hand. My gaze narrows on the engravings peeking between the small fingers wrapped around the hilt.

I know this knife.

My eyes shoot up to the tousled hair crowding around a pale face.

Red.

“Abigail,” I breathe.

She’s alive.

It’s a miracle she made it across the Scorches after I banished her and the family who harbored her.

The knife is shaking in her hand now, but her voice has a steady sort of softness. “How—how do you know my name?”

I pull the bandanna from my face before slowly inching closer to her, my hands held where she can see them. As way of answering, I say, “It seems you’ve been putting my knife to use.”

Her eyes widen with something akin to childlike wonder, though her awe is anything but pleasant. “You,” she says, her tone bordering accusation. “What are you doing here?” I open my mouth to respond, but her small voice fills the silence before I have a chance. “Are you here to kill me? For real this time?”

The twinge of hurt I feel at her words sends a shock through me. I shouldn’t be surprised by her assumption. My reputation leaves no room for speculation. I am the very thing I was created to be—a killer.

“No,” I say quietly. “It’s not you I’ve come for.”

She considers me for a moment, only slightly lowering her weapon.

Smart girl.

“You remembered my name,” she states.

“Of course I did.”

I tried to forget, trust me.

I clear my throat, crouching to look her in the eyes while ignoring the blade still pointed at me. “Maybe you can help me find who I’m looking for?” She pins me with a skeptical stare. “The… Silver Savior. The woman on the posters all over the city. Have you seen her? Heard anything about her?”

Abigail slowly lowers the knife, having decided it’s best not to use my own weapon against me. “I dunno.” She shrugs. “Haven’t heard a peep.”

I heave a sigh.

Well, that was totally unhelpful.

The girl’s fiery red hair ripples when she swivels her head to the right, looking down an especially dark street with anticipation. “If I’m keeping you from something, by all means…” I gesture to the stretch of darkness she seems so intent on running into.

“I’ve got to get there before the match ends. I haven’t made much today, and the bets should be pretty high tonight.” Words tumble out of her mouth while I struggle to keep up. “There’s a new favorite, so that means lots of people.”

She starts to step away, my question only halting her for a heartbeat. “A new favorite? What’s the new favorite?”

“Not what.” A childish grin lights her face. “Who.”

“Abigail,” I say, my voice deceptively calm, “I’m going to need a little more information than that.”

“Ugh.” I can practically feel her eyes roll in the darkness. “Come on. I’ll just show you.” She spins to point a tiny, accusing finger at me. “But keep your hands to yourself. These coins are mine. I need shillings to bring back to Momma.”

I bite back my smile. “Ah, yes. You’re quite the thief now. Though you still need some practice. Your hands are too heavy.” A frown tugs at her lips as we walk, so I simply add, “The best thieves know how to distract who they’re stealing from. Get their mind off the money in their pocket, and it’s yours.”

She looks up at me, head tilted. “How do you know so much about stealing?”

I’m silent long enough to let my thoughts wander back to the person who distracted me more than any other. “Because,” I sigh, “even I’ve been the victim of a great thief.”

She stops before a crumbling building and the cellar door that opens beneath it. With a tiny fist, she wraps her knuckles in a series of knocks. I look around, seeing no one in the dark alleyway while wondering what the hell this child is leading me into.

“So,” Abigail says confidently, “once I can steal from you without noticing, then I’ll be one of the best?”

The corner of my mouth kicks up. “That’s wishful thinking, kid.”

She scowls. “Hey. I still have a knife, remember?”

The doors to the cellar suddenly swing open with a clang. Tying the bandanna back around my nose and mouth, I watch Abigail spin on her heel before descending the stairs beneath.

I shake my head at her retreating form.

The fire in her eyes. The thieving instincts. The blade with a hilt engraved with swirls.

What have I created?

The similarities between them are startling.

Was this what she was like so many years ago? Teaching herself how to survive on the coins from another’s pocket? Refusing to focus on the fear she felt?

I can’t seem to escape the thought of her, the sight of her in those surrounding me.

It’s infuriating.

And what’s worse is that I may have just helped craft what will soon be another version of the thief who got the best of me.