The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2)

I have to warn him—warn all of them. If I don’t...” I waited for Gran to tell me I shouldn’t, not now, not in wartime. Instead, she sipped more tea. I stood and went to the window and leaned my head on the glass.
“I think Ona’s dying,” I said. “Not just her. All the Decemites. I think they have an expiration date. That’s what Ascension is, not a reward but a funeral—far away from the Dirt, so no one knows it’s coming. If I run to Ben, I might never see her again.”
“And if you stay?” Gran’s voice was gentle. “You can warn Ona, but you can’t save her.”
“You don’t know that.” I watched the street below me, the people scurrying about their business. They weren’t so different from the Outsiders—a little grayer, a little wearier, but still much the same. “Lazrad’s letting us Ascend,” I said. “Me and Lock and Ona, the day after tomorrow. I’d be in Sky, close to Lazrad Corp. Close to what Lazrad has that the Decemites don’t. I could find Ona a cure.”
“Or you could die trying.” Gran got to her feet. She looked ancient in that moment, pale and brittle as ivory. “If Ascension’s just a funeral, why wait? How do you know you won’t step off that elevator into an incinerator?”
“I don’t, I suppose. But Ona—”
“Let me tell you about your mother.” She came up beside me and drew the curtains shut. “Faye was a bright girl, and curious just like you. She taught herself how to read, how to figure, how to knit her own sweaters, all before her first day of school. She grew herbs in a windowbox from cuttings from the mess hall. In another world, she’d have been a doctor, or a botanist, or a wife. She’d have carved out her own happiness, but instead—” Her voice cracked, and she coughed. “Lazrad took everything from her.”
“Gran—”
“Faye wanted one thing for herself—the simplest thing of all. She wanted to watch you grow up. Instead, she kissed you goodbye, and she never came home.”
I made a hurt little sound. My chest felt hollow. Gran pulled me back to the table, grip tight and insistent.
“I can’t watch that happen to you.” Her eyes were huge and watery. “They chipped away everything she was, everything that brought her joy. Stay here, and you might live, but what kind of life would you have? The Lofties’ cage is gilded, but it’s a cage all the same.”
I sank down on a cushion, heart hammering in my chest. “So you think I should go?”
“I think you should run. Run and keep running, and never look back. Forget all of this and find a way to be happy.” Gran sighed. “It’s never been my way, telling anyone what to do. But you’re my granddaughter and I love you, and I’m terrified for you.”
I closed my eyes. Fifty Decemites at once, bearing down on the caves. I’d seen what just five looked like, smoke in the air and bodies underfoot, terrified children huddled in the dark. Fifty would be a rout. I had to warn Ben—but warn him of what? A Decemite attack? He’d be expecting that already. I had nothing new to offer him, no when, no where, no how. Maybe they wouldn’t attack. For all I knew, they were digging a mine.
I’ve got my battle to fight, Ben had said, and you’ve got yours. Maybe the Outsiders had moved on, now the Decemites had found their base. They had others, I knew, places to run to. They knew how to stay safe, far better than I did. Ona, on the other hand—
“I should go,” I said. “Mom and Dad’ll be waiting. I don’t want them to worry.”
“You’re a dear, kind girl.” Gran’s face contorted. “But this isn’t a kind world. If you don’t look out for yourself, who will?”
“You always have.” I got up and kissed her on the top of her head. Her shawl had slid down, so I nestled it around her shoulders to keep out the chill. “I’ll come back tomorrow, if there’s time.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, if it meant you were free.”
I had nothing to say to that, so I let myself out. I kept my ears pricked heading home, but nobody else mentioned the Decemites or any great foray Outside. Dad was dishing up dinner when I got home, piling our plates with steamed carrots and Ona’s favorite onion pies. He’d made me a treat, too, a tray of fluffy cornbread, baked with caraway seeds.
“Hurry and wash your hands.” Mom pointed me to the sink. She was smiling too brightly, cheeks flushed with exertion. Dad ushered her to the table and pulled out her chair.
“Stop hovering,” she scolded. “I’m fine.”
“Then why’s the oven still on?”
I turned the tap on full blast to drown out their chatter. They were trying too hard, playing at normal. I felt awkward, unmoored, like bumping into an acquaintance fresh off bereavement leave. I was caught in that same dilemma—offer my condolences, or don’t? Acknowledge their loss or pretend it never happened?
“I’m getting my ears pierced,” said Ona. She elbowed in next to me, thrusting her hands under the spray. “Lady Lazrad had earrings. Did you see?”
“You’ll stretch your earlobes,” said Mom. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you can tie them in a bow.”
“Let the girls have their moment.” Dad raised his glass. “Come on. Let’s toast to them. This is everything we’ve dreamed of.”
I pushed past Ona, nearly bumping her into the sink. “My shirt’s soaked,” I said. “I’m going to get changed.”
“Wait. Let’s all—”
I fled to my room and slammed the door behind me. Plaster drifted from the ceiling and settled at my feet. I looked up and saw cracks, the same familiar roadmap I’d stared at for years. In my mind, I saw it spreading, and the Dirt crashing through, all the weight of my prison grinding me to dust.
I think you should run. Forget all of this and find