Morning Star: Book III of the Red Rising Trilogy by Pierce Brown

false.Theyareinbondage,andwewillsooncometofreethem.TheywillknowEo’ssong.”
    Eo’ssong.Itseemssofragileandsillynow.
    “Idon’tfeelheranymore,Ragnar.”IglancebehindustotheOrangesandRedswhospareglances
    ourdirectionastheyworkontheripWingsinthehangar.“IknowtheythinkI’mtheirlinktoher.But I lost her in the darkness. I used to think she was watching me. I used to talk to her. Now…she’s a stranger.”Ihangmyhead.“Somuchofthisismyfault,Ragnar.IfIhadn’tbeensoproud,Iwould haveseenthesigns.Fitchnerwouldbealive.Lornwouldbealive.”
    “Youthinkyouknowthestrandsoffate?” Helaughsatmyarrogance. “Youdonotknowwhat wouldhavehappenediftheylived.”
    “IknowIcan’tbewhatthesepeopleneed.”
    Hefrowns. “Andhowwouldyouknowwhattheyneedwhenyouareafraidofthem?Whenyou
    can’tevenlookuponthem?” Idon’tknowhowtoanswer.Hestandsabruptlyandextendsahandto me. “Comewithme.”
    —
    Thehospitalwasonceacafeteria.Rowsofgurneysandmakeshiftbedsnowfillitalongwithcoughs and solemn whispers as Red, Pink, and Yellow nurses in yellow scrubs move through the beds checkingthepatients.Thebackoftheroomisaburnward,separatedfromtherestofthepatientsby plasticcontainmentwalls.Awoman’sscreamingontheothersideoftheplastic,fightinganurseashe triestogiveheraninjection.Twoothernursesrushtosubdueher.
    I feel swallowed by the sterile sadness of the place. There’s no gore. No blood dripping on the floor.ButthisistheaftermathofmyescapefromAttica.EvenwithaCarverasgoodasMickey,they won’thavetheresourcestomendthesepeople.Thewoundedstareupatthestoneceilingwondering whatlifewillbelikenow.That’swhatthisfeelingisinthisroom.Trauma.Notofflesh.Butlivesand dreamsinterrupted.
    I’d retreat from the room, but Ragnar rolls me forward to the edge of a young man’s bed. He watchedmeasIcamein.Hishairisshort.Hisfaceplumpandawkwardwithaprominentunderbite.
    “What’swhat?”Iask,myvoicerememberingtheflavorofthemine.
    Heshrugs.“Justdancin’timeaway,hear?”
    “Ihear.”Iextendahand.“Darrow…ofLykos.”
    “Weknow.”Hishandsaresosmallhecan’tevenwraphisfingersaroundmine.Hechucklesatthe
    ridiculousnessofit.“VannoofKaros.”
    “Nightorday?”
    “Dayshift,youpigger.Ilooklikesomesaggy-facednightdigger?”
    “Well,youneverknowthesedays…”
    “Trueenough.I’mOmicron.Thirddrillboy,secondline.”
    “SothatwasyourchaffI’dbedodgingdeep.”
    He grins. “Helldivers, always lookin’ themselves in the eye.” He makes a lewd motion with his hands.“Someone’sgottateachyoutolookup.”
    Welaugh.“Howmuchdidithurt?”heasks,noddingtome.AtfirstIthinkhe’saskingaboutwhat
    theJackaldid.ThenIrealizehe’sreferringtotheSigilsonmyhands.TheonesI’vetriedtocover
    withmysweater.Iunveilthemnow.“Manicshit,that.”Heflicksitwithhisfinger.
    Ilookaround,suddenlyawarethatit’snotjustVannowatchingme.It’severyone.Evenonthefar sideoftheroomintheburnunitRedspushthemselvesupintheirbedstolookatme.Theycan’tsee the fear inside. They see what they want. I glance at Ragnar, but he’s busy speaking to an injured woman.Holiday.Shenodstome.Griefstillverymuchathomeonherfaceforherlostbrother.His pistol is on her bedside, his rifle leaning against the wall. The Sons recovered his body during the rescuesohecouldbeburied.
    “Howmuchdidithurt?”Irepeat.“Well,imaginefallingintoaclawDrill,Vanno.Acentimeterata time.Firstgoestheskin.Thentheflesh.Thenbone.Easystuff.”
    Vannowhistlesandlooksdownathismissinglegswithatired,almostboredexpression.“Didn’t
    evenfeelthis.Mysuitinjectedenoughhydrophonetoknockoutoneofthem.”HenodstoRagnarand drawsairthroughhisteeth.“AndleastIstillgotmyprick.”
    “Askhim,”amanbesidehimurges.“Vanno…”
    “Shutup.”Vannosighs.“Boyshavebeenwonderin’.Didyougettokeepit?”
    “Keepwhat?”
    “It.” Helooksatmygroin.“Ordidthey…youknow…makeitproportionate?”
    “Youreallywanttoknow?”
    “Imean…notforpersonalreasons.ButI’vegotmoneyridingonit.”
    “Well.” I lean forward seriously. So do Vanno and his bedmates nearby. “If you