In the dream, there is a wall. It's been a year since I carried Howsley out of Zenith headquarters, soaked in her blood. Since then, life has been good. Stable. Orderly. Everything in its place. But I can't deny the cracks are beginning to show. Living with Bird is not easy. And Brume is crackling with political tension. The Exiters are getting louder. Violent. They don't sound like they're going to take no for an answer. The city feels like a tinderbox, ready to ignite. I'm on edge. Howsley's on edge. Everyone's on edge. And what is with this wall I can't stop dreaming about? An Excerpt: A spark of frustration ignites in my chest. I grab her by the arm. "Stop!" "Ow! That hurts." We glare at each other. I draw and release a long, hard breath, and let go. "Sorry." Rubbing her arm, she looks at me for a long moment. Then something in her gaze shifts. "It's fine. Maybe I liked it." My stomach flips over. "What?" "Maybe I liked it. Hurting a little." "No you didn't." She shrugs. "Maybe I like you telling me what to do. Getting angry." My blood heats. I take a step toward her and she shrinks, her eyes flaring. "You don't like me telling you what to do, Howsley. You don't like anyone telling you what to do." She lets me advance until I have her flat against the wall. Until our chests are flush and my hips are pinning her there. A chunk of hair falls across her eyes and I gently brush it back, tucking it behind her ear. "But you like telling me what to do," she whispers, looking up at me. "Don't you?" "Maybe." I let my fingers graze the side of her face. "Maybe I would like it more if I thought you would actually listen." She tilts her mouth. "I don't think you would. I think that would be too easy. Isn't that part of the fun?"