Alyss let her fingers glide along the silky petals. Real, unaltered flowers. They were merely source material, yet she found their simplicity beautiful.

A loud buzzing passed close to her ear; a mechanical bee landed gracefully on the blue astina. Alyss smiled. Her mother's greatest pride. Mechanical animals could move silently too, but her mother always wanted her creations to mimic extinct species as closely as possible, as if that would keep them from being forgotten. Alyss had never seen a living bee and knew her mother only knew them from the old texts. Whether the sound was accurate, she couldn't say for sure. But the low hum was oddly soothing amid the silent workers tending the plants.

They sprinkled each one with the precise amount of water, plucked off the dead blossoms, or collected ingredients for the tinctures.

Alyss wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her blouse clung to her back. The heat was stifling; she pitied all those who had to spend the entire day here while the steam blower kept the temperature high.

They're probably used to it, she told herself as she walked toward the adjoining greenhouse.

There were at least fifty greenhouses, each kept at a different temperature. As part of her pre-florist training, her task over the next two weeks was to gather as much information as possible about each one. Here, right near the entrance, were the unaltered flowers. Deeper into the heart of the complex, she would encounter the floral experiments—plants and flowers modified with tinctures to gain new properties.

It was a path most aspiring florists aimed for, but Alyss didn't feel the same. So little of nature was left. To experiment with it seemed to diminish it further. What she did want to do, she wasn't entirely sure yet. She couldn't see herself joining the caretakers as a worker, and she didn't want a leadership position either. She just wanted to study the plants and flowers, discover their secrets—even if many before her had done the same. It wouldn't contribute anything to society. And yet—

A prickling sensation crawled up her neck, like a wave of needle pricks. She rubbed her skin. The tingling crept up the back of her head, slipping under her hair.

Someone's trying to connect! The invention was still so new that it took her a moment to recognize the unpleasant sensation. She opened her leather pouch, searched among the many vials for the one with the purple liquid, and pulled out the tincture. Her eyes scanned the coperae affixed to the spirals that adorned her arms. The frog-shaped one was empty. She clicked it open, poured in a splash of the tincture, and closed it again. Once the tincture was stored away, she pressed between the eyes of the metal creature. There was a sharp sting as the needle pierced her skin, but before the tincture had even finished entering her bloodstream, the pain was already gone.

Alyss took a deep breath and tried to focus. No, it's way too hot in here. She walked toward the door that led to a neutral zone. But before she could reach it, the tincture had already taken effect. Her mind expanded—and another presence crashed into her consciousness.

Alyss staggered. The message hit her with such force that she had to grab a planter to stay upright. She didn't need to close her eyes; they blacked out on their own, then filled with images. Flashes of ice, a rush of panic. And pain—a terrible pain that seemed to rip her open from navel to sternum.

Groaning, she curled inward. Her own panic surged. What was this? Who was this? She hit the ground hard—no, someone else hit the ground. Her vision tilted, revealing nothing but a barren field of ice. A flash of an arm, a dragon tattoo, a hand clutching a long blade.

"Alyss!" Only now did the words come. The image turned gray. "I... I'm dying. I don't know... please help! Help me!"

Thommen! It was her brother's cry for help. "Where are you?" she said aloud, afraid her thoughts were too jumbled to form a coherent response. Her voice shook. The pain still seared through her, and she clenched her teeth.

"Near the... research tower. It's true, Alyss. The light is dying. And they... they don't want the world to know."

A wave of dizziness swept through her. Alyss clutched the planter. "Thommen?"

Silence. She felt his presence pull away.

What did that mean? Alyss trembled all over. Was the tincture wearing off? Had the connection drained him? Or was he—was he...

By the Golden Heart... no, he can't be dead! She stumbled toward the door, grabbed the brass handle, and pushed it down.

Her path outside was a blur. The emotions she'd experienced through the telepathic link still echoed in her body. Fear. Disbelief. Pain. And more fear. Oh Thommen... Once her legs were steady enough, she began to run. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she had to get help. But from who? Why had Thommen asked her for help? That must mean he hadn't been able to reach Father or Mother—or any of his colleagues.

He's all alone out there on the ice...

Alone with his killer. The knife flashed again in her mind.

She left the greenhouses behind. Darting across the neatly paved stones and past vibrant flowerbeds, she rushed to the nearest bullet platform. Gasping for breath, she climbed the stairs, pushing past other people.

Impatiently, she held out her arm to the bullet attendant. "The research tower on the ice plains," she managed to say, her voice catching.

The man scanned her Wealthmeter. Her total—4304—dropped by ten. Alyss didn't care. She belonged to one of the most influential families in Tranendal. The numbers meant nothing to her.

She climbed into the bullet-shaped vehicle and fastened the straps across her chest. Her fingers gripped the armrests as she anxiously waited for the attendant to launch the air transport.

With a shrill whistle, the bullet shot forward along the rails above her. Alyss bit her lip, her throat raw. Now that she could do nothing but wait, the gnawing anxiety drove her mad. Every heartbeat could be Thommen's last. If he's even still alive.

Why did he have to work in such a remote place?

Tranendal passed beneath her. She caught glimpses of the grand theater, of the Pillars that surrounded the city—massive structures that tapered as they rose. The bullet flew through the chasm carved through the ringed mountains, made specifically for this route.

After what felt like an eternity, the ice plains came into view: an endless white expanse, with a single tower and a platform beside it. When she arrived and stepped out onto the platform near the research tower, she was struck by how bitterly cold it was. Having always lived under the light of the Golden Heart, she rarely thought about the cold that crept just beyond its reach.

Quickly, Alyss searched for a warmth tincture and injected herself. It would hold her warm enough for now. There was no attendant here—no sane person came this far.

Except my brother.

She wanted to dash down the stairs, but slipped and had to cling to the railing to keep from falling. More carefully now, she continued her descent.

And now? How do I find you?

She rang the bell at the tower's entrance. No one answered. She hadn't expected them to; if someone had, Thommen would've called for help there. But it seemed he was the only one interested in the ice.

Tears welled in her eyes. What am I doing here? He's probably dead. She wiped her face. No. He was prepared for the cold. He could have survived.

She took a deep breath. She had to find him.

And Alyss did find him. From the tower, she had enough of a view to see something dark outlined against the ice. She slipped and slid her way toward the silhouette. Every step felt heavier than the last.

He lay so still...

His body was surrounded by a dark cloud of blood. Alyss dropped to her knees beside him. With trembling hands, she brushed his neck, searching for a pulse.

Frost covered his face. His features were already stiff.

He was dead.

Alyss threw her arms around him and screamed her grief into the frozen air. Sobbing, she pulled his body close. Her sweet brother... brutally murdered.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why did this happen to you?"

He didn't answer.

He would never speak to her again.