Champion (Legend 3)

Commander Jameson strikes first. Her speed terrifies me. One second she’s before me, and the next she’s at my side, her fist flying toward my face. I don’t have time to dodge. All I manage to do is jerk my shoulder up at the last second, and her fist hits me instead as a glancing blow. Stars explode across my eyes. I stumble backward. I manage to dodge her next blow—barely. I roll away from her, fighting to clear my vision, and pop back onto my feet. When she lunges again, I jump up and kick at her head. It catches her, but she’s too fast for it to be head-on. I dart away again. This time I back up slowly toward the edge of the roof, my eyes terrified to leave her. Good, I remind myself. Look as frightened as you can. Finally, the back of my boot hits the roof’s ledge. I glance down, then back up at Commander Jameson. Despite a slight unsteadiness, she looks undaunted. It isn’t hard for me to fake the fear in my wide eyes.

She stalks toward me like a predator. She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t need to—everything she’s ever wanted to tell me has already been said before. It runs through my head like a poison. Little Iparis, how much you remind me of myself at your age. Adorable. Someday, you’ll learn that life isn’t always what you want it to be. That you won’t always get what you want. And that there are forces out of your control that will shape you into who you are. Too bad your time ends here. It would’ve been fun to see what you grow up to become.

Her eyes hypnotize me. In this moment, I can imagine no worse sight.

She lunges forward.

I have only one chance. I duck, grab her arm, and flip her right over my head. Her momentum sends her sailing over the edge of the roof.

But her hand clamps down on my arm. I’m yanked halfway over the ledge—my left shoulder pops out of its socket. I scream. My heels dig in against the ledge, fighting to keep me from falling over. Commander Jameson flattens herself against the side of the building, grappling for footholds. Her nails dig so deep into my flesh that I can feel my skin ripping. Tears spring to my eyes. Down below, Republic soldiers are still herding evacuees, firing on enemy soldiers on other roofs, shouting orders into their mikes.

I scream at them with everything I have left. “Shoot her!” I shout. “Shoot her! ”

Two Republic soldiers snap their heads in my direction. They recognize me. As they lift their guns in my direction, Commander Jameson looks up into my eyes and grins. “I knew you couldn’t do it yourself.”

Then the soldiers open fire, Commander Jameson’s body convulses, her grip suddenly loosens, and she plummets like a wounded bird to the street. I turn away so I don’t have to look, but I still hear the sickening sound of her body against pavement. She’s gone. Just like that. I’m left with her words and my own ringing through my ears.

Shoot her. Shoot her.

Metias’s words flash through my mind. Few people ever kill for the right reasons.

I hurriedly wipe the tears from my face. What did I just do? Her blood stains my hands—I rub my good hand against my clothes, but I can’t get it off. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. “This is the right reason,” I whisper repeatedly.

Perhaps she destroyed herself, and I only helped. But even this thought seems hollow.

The agony of my dislocated shoulder makes me light-headed. I lift my right arm, grip my wounded left arm, grit my teeth, and push hard. I scream again. The bone resists for an instant—and then I feel my shoulder pop back into place. Fresh tears course down my face. My hands tremble uncontrollably, and my ears ring, blocking out any sound around me except the beating of my heart.

How long has it been? Hours? A few seconds?

The pulsing light of logic seeps into my mind, cutting through the pain. As always, it saves me. Day needs your help, it whispers. Go to him.

I search for Day. He has reached the other side of the street and the safer areas around the shelter, where Republic soldiers have set up their barricades . . . but even as I start rushing to the edge of the roof, I notice that others have pulled Eden’s unconscious form away from Day and are taking him to safety. A few hover over Day as he lies on the ground, momentarily obscuring him from my view. I scramble down the building as fast as I can, until I reach a fire escape and rush down the metal steps. Fear and adrenaline numb my injuries.

Please, I beg silently. Please let him be okay.

By the time I reach him, a crowd has formed. I can hear one of them shouting, “Move it! Get back, give us some room! Tell them to hurry up!” A lump in my throat chokes me, leaving me short of breath. My boots pound against the ground, keeping rhythm with my heart. I shove people aside and drop to my knees at Day’s side. The person shouting was Pascao. He gives me a frantic look.

“Stay with him,” he tells me. “I’m going for the medics.” I nod once, and he dashes off.

I barely notice all the people crowded around us in a ring. All I can do is look down at Day. He’s trembling from head to toe, his eyes wide open in shock, his hair clinging to his face. When I look closer at his body, I notice two wounds spilling dark blood across his shirt, one wound in his chest and the other near his hip. A strangled cry comes from someone. Maybe it’s from me. As if in a dream, I bend over him and touch his face.

“Day, it’s me. It’s June. I’m right here.”

He looks at me. “June?” he manages to gasp out. He tries to lift a hand to my face, but he’s shaking so hard that he can’t. I reach out and cradle his face with both of my hands. His eyes are full of tears. “I—I think—I’ve been shot—” Two people from the crowd place their hands over his wounds, pressing down hard enough to force a painful sob from his mouth. He tries to look down at them, but has no strength to lift his head.