The Breaking Light (Split City #1)

“That’s exactly what you were doing.” She let out a long sigh, her red lips puckering. “You know better than that.”


And he did. He hated that she was right, so he forced himself to show some contrition. He transferred all the shopping bags to one arm, and then reached out to take her hand. If this was the last time he would see Clarissa, he didn’t want to end their friendship with a fight. “I’m sorry.”

He meant that for more than just the arguing. He meant for everything: for putting her in that position, for the fact that he wasn’t choosing her, and that he’d miss her.

She understood, her face going soft. Then she gave him an impish grin. “Relax, you’re only going to die.”

Dade snickered.

“Come on, then,” she said, tugging on his hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

They left their alcove. Clarissa wound her arm through his, leaning into him as they crossed the plaza via the skyway to the other side of the concourse. She chatted the whole time, keeping up a one-sided conversation with laughter in her voice, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As if things were normal.

Dade walked beside her, trying to engage and look carefree as well, but too much tension was coiled inside. Feeling the gaze and whispers of shoppers as they walked past, he realized he was too famous to hide without a mask. It left him feeling exposed and vulnerable, raw in a way he couldn’t express. He looked forward to a life of anonymity.

Clarissa leaned in to reassure him, her mouth brushing his cheek like a lover. “It’s almost over.”

Dade kissed the top of her head. He hadn’t yet allowed himself to acknowledge that these were the last few minutes he’d ever spend with her. His heart twisted as he thought the same of Saben. Clarissa and Saben always had his back. He never imagined the possibility that he’d have to give up either of them.

“I hope this girl’s worth it,” she said.

“She is.” But he knew he wasn’t doing this for Arden. He was doing this for himself. He was willing to sacrifice anything for his freedom.

Saben stepped from the shadows dressed as the Ghost. He boldly stood in the open long enough to attract attention. He didn’t resemble Dade in any way. Saben was much larger and his skin darker. They’d had to get a bit creative to make the switch look passable. It wouldn’t fool anyone who’d met Dade as the Ghost, but all they needed to do was to trick the city-grid cams and gossip-vids. It helped that there hadn’t been a clear picture of the Ghost yet. Dade felt they’d be able to get away with it. Afterward, any difference in size would hopefully confuse the situation more.

Dade’s hand slipped from Clarissa’s, and the bags in his other hand dropped.

Their plan was simple: The Ghost was a shadow vigilante his father wanted to take out. Dade would confront him, then chase him when he ran. They wouldn’t have to speak, which was a bonus, because Dade wasn’t sure how good an actor he was. Especially when he knew cameras were on him. He’d die—a fake death, of course—and that would allow him to get away from his family. Then Dade could assume the mantle of the Ghost full-time.

Dade froze at the exact moment he needed to move. His mind screamed questions at him: Was he really going to give up everything? He could stop this, right now.

“Dade,” Clarissa said, letting out a breathy sigh, “go.”

He gave Clarissa a blinding smile of thanks, adding a silent goodbye. Then he jumped into action, running after Saben. Saben was fast, as Dade had known he would be, melting into the shadows for a few seconds before bursting onto the crowded streets. Dade struggled to keep up. Not because he wasn’t capable, but he’d never run full throttle through a crowd before. They weren’t as accommodating as he’d thought they’d be. The crowd pushed back, bumping shoulders and sending elbows to his stomach. They shouted encouragement for the Ghost, making sure to keep Saben’s exit cleared. Some spat at Dade and called out crass suggestions of what he could do to himself as they crowded in front of him, creating a barrier. The tide of them pulled, keeping Dade from making forward progress.

He’d never be able to manage a clean shot at Saben here. He needed to control the phaser. His intention wasn’t to hurt Saben. And vice versa. Though in the end, Saben had to make it look as if Dade took a kill shot.

Saben must have had the same thought. He jumped onto a railing and swung his way up to Level Six, then leapt to his feet and continued to run.

Dade grunted as he hit the same railing. It creaked and groaned, coming loose from the wall as he climbed his way onto it. He tucked his legs, using them to launch himself up, grabbing hold of the upper deck and pulling himself onto the next Level.

Unfortunately, there was a large construction project on Level Six that hadn’t been considered when they’d devised this plan. The walkways were torn to pieces with temporary paths made of metal disks. He followed Saben through the maze. They ran beneath and through the scaffolding that had been placed against the building, jumping over the larger holes and sliding across construction equipment.

Dade pulled out his phaser and shot. The ground beneath him shifted as he pulled the trigger, causing his phase-fire to go off course. He dropped low to correct his center of gravity just as Saben shot over his head. They traded volley shots, some coming close, others going wide. Dade felt the heat as they passed by, instinctively ducking away from the burn.

Saben had put some distance between them. He moved through the construction with graceful movements in spite of his muscular bulk. His size didn’t hinder him at all. Dade envied him. Though he worked out with Saben every day and could keep up, he had no practical experience scrambling over objects or being in a real phase-fight.

They were running too much, shooting too wide. Dade was supposed to “catch” a blast and die. He kept waiting for the right moment, but it never seemed to happen. It was too crazy here. They were close enough together for the shot to look viable, but the rigging was too complicated, and the beams they stood on were too precarious for Dade to safely fake his death. He’d likely kill himself for real.

It had become performance art, and he wasn’t an actor. Yet he had to make it look good for the cameras. That was stressful enough. Add to that the plan wasn’t working. He was attracting too much attention from the crowd. They hated him, which was good in a way, but hindered him from completing his goal. Eventually they’d attract even more attention of the sort they didn’t want.

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