“Tairn.” I keep my breathing as even as possible as Xaden stares at me, his face masked like an emotionless wingleader. “Silver One?” Tairn’s giant head swings in my direction. “They all carry rebellion relics,” I tell him. “Everyone in this squad besides me is the child of a separatist.” In the chaos of the flight field, Xaden constructed an all-marked squad. And they’re all. Fucking. Traitors. And I fell for it. I fell for him. “Yes. They are,” he agrees, resignation in his tone.
