The Moon Dwellers

Her face is flawless. Her lips are in a tight line, but behind them I can feel the warmth of a smile that hasn’t been used in a long time. Her cheeks are pale, but well-constructed. Her hair is radiant black, cascading down from her head and in front of her shoulders. Not only beautiful, she looks capable, a more important trait in the world she lives in.

And she has a name! For the few days since I’d first seen her, she’s just been a face, an idea, but now the name Adele Rose shivers through my mind and body like the wings on a moth. Adele and Tristan. Tristan and Adele. Like the love-struck schoolboy that I am, our names flit through my head idiotically. I don’t even know her, I remind myself, trying to be sensible.

She was in the Pen for treason, although the report doesn’t provide any details on what she had done specifically. Her parents are noted as traitors, too, but no information is given on their whereabouts, and one can only assume that they’ve been executed in accordance with the law. But I know differently. She has a sister, too, ten years old and living out her childhood in an orphanage in a rough part of town. A slum. The slums.

Roc and I look at each other at the same time. “She’s headed for the orphanage,” I say as Roc nods vigorously. “Maybe already there and gone.”

“You don’t know that. We have to check,” Roc says.

“Let’s go.”

Roc settles up with the shop owner and shoves the food into our pack. I am already halfway down the path, back the way we came. The lights above the majestic cavern are dimming, simulating the impending darker gray of dusk. I feel a warmth in my skin, although there is a chill in the air. I think it is the warmth of determination. Although I was determined before, now that I know her name, it is like she has finally become real to me, more than just a dream or a boyish fantasy.

Roc catches up with me at a slight jog and I immediately match my pace to his. We make our way back to where we camped, hoping we’ll be able to find safe passage into the slums. The news story motivates us, and we make it back in half the time. Just as the large boulders we’d camped behind appear in the distance, we hear the scurry of frantic footsteps approaching from the path that leads to the slums.

“Down!” I cry, not that either of us need to hear it. We are both already diving for the rocks, flattening ourselves and crawling behind the biggest stones we can find on the barren landscape.

Just as we hide, a form bursts from behind a large boulder, racing along the track dangerously fast. He is big, man-size, dark. A second shape emerges, with white, flowing hair and long strides. Big, dark-ski

I hold my breath, watching the entrance to the slums, hoping and praying she will emerge. No, not she—Adele. I am shocked when the third figure scrapes from the path, short legs pumping wildly, dark hair pulled into a ponytail. My first thought is: she’s much shorter in person. But then I realize my mistake when a fourth figure appears.

There is no mistaking her this time. Athletic strides, fiercely determine expression, piercing green eyes—it is Adele. My heart flutters.

My mind is a black hole; my heart is a stallion. The stallion in me wants to jump up, say, “I’m here, and I’d love to meet you!” but thankfully my mind’s black hole implodes upon itself, evaporating and returning clarity of thought.

The orphanage. Her sister. A small girl who resembles Adele. It is clear what has happened. They’ve broken her out. And the way they are ru

Wrong and wrong.

The Devil himself emerges behind her, ru

Behind him is the rest of his unit: half a dozen special forces perso

Adele and her friends look like they might turn toward us, but then they veer left, up a slight rock hill, heading for the mouth of one of the Lonely Caves.

Rivet is gaining.

Without thinking, I stand up and run hard, cutting the distance between them like a knife, willing my legs to fly. My hand draws my sword instinctually, using small movements to conserve strength. My heart is pounding, not from the urgency of the run, but because I know Adele is so close, and yet she might never know I am even here. I hear footsteps behind me and know right away that Roc has my back. He and I both know he’ll be no match for the highly trained soldiers, but he is my friend—a true friend—and he will go down fighting, whether to the grave or to a prison cell. Just like me.

Rivet is like a heat-seeking missile: Such is the intensity in his venomous eyes and the way his stare is locked on Adele that he doesn’t even see me coming. One of his men shouts something as I approach, but he ignores it, thinking it is just a standard war cry, an adrenaline-induced whoop! of the chase.

When a collision grows imminent, I lower my shoulder and target his chest. The timing is perfect.

I hit Rivet just before he starts up the hill, ensuring his momentum hasn’t lessened whatsoever, creating a human shockwave that sends tremors through both our bones. But I am the aggressor in the collision, and I am ready for it, so he takes the worst of it by far. He is knocked off course, his feet momentarily leaving the rock and his body contorting awkwardly in midflight until he thuds onto a hard slab of rock more than fifteen feet away.

There are people who, if hit that hard, at that speed, might die. Unfortunately, Rivet isn’t one of them. Not even close. He is pure strength, sporting more muscle around his fingers and toes than most people have in their biceps, back, or abdomen. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but not too far from the truth. Plus, he is wearing a thin layer of moldable body armor. The hit would’ve hurt, but to Rivet, pain is pleasure, all part of the game.

I glance up the slope to see if she’s gotten away okay. To my surprise she is at the top gazing down, watching my fight with Rivet. I want to run to her, to embrace her, to tell her what I’ve been feeling. But that is madness. Rivet will just kill us both. I need to give her time. It is the hardest thing in the world to push her away.

“Adele!” I scream. “Run!” I don’t have a chance to see if she listens to me, because I sense movement to my left.

The sick puppy is on his feet and drawing his sword before I even have a chance to say na