Sylah flinched as the word hit her in the chest. She realized for the first time that it was true. She was an invader; every red-blooded and blue-blooded citizen was. Even if it was her ancestors who had done the crime, her very existence took up a space a Ghosting should have had—if disease and servitude hadn’t killed them. Centuries-old guilt hung heavy in her heart. But that guilt was light as a feather compared to the oppression the Ghostings felt every day.
