Chapter 1

Every night I dream of monsters and a man I’ve never met. 

The moment I surface into wakefulness, I fight the urge to cry out from the sense of loss. How can something that happens every morning have the power to cut so deeply? I want to understand it, to study it. But there’s no time for yearning for the impossible, no space for tears within the walls of Vanhold. 

In my world, there’s only service—and survival. 

Today, they are one and the same. They are called my job. And I absolutely cannot be late again.

Get up. Get ready. 

Do not embarrass my family. 

I press my head into my pillow and groan. If only the odds of not being an embarrassment were slightly more in my favor. Unfortunately, my talents extend to obsessing over dreams and saying exactly the wrong thing at the worst possible moment. Not screwing up shouldn’t be a daunting goal for the day—shouldn’t feel impossible. 

But here I am.

Worrying I can’t make it through the day.

And if I don’t get going, I’m going to fail before I’m dressed. My mother will never forgive me if I’m late today—the second daughter who should have been a son, letting her down once again. I draw in a deep breath, and shove the guilt and lingering memories aside. Swinging my legs out of bed, I place my feet on the cement floor and search the cold surface for the telltale vibrations that precede a titan attack. 

Most mornings, there’s nothing—and that’s a relief. Just not today. 

No mercy there. Figures. 

“Open shutters,” I say, my voice scratchy with sleep. 

As the steel slats protecting my narrow windows angle open to reveal a slice of sky between the reinforced frames. I squint as the growing daylight floods my room, willing it to blow away the dreams. Tricky, as all I want to do is hug the remnants of last night’s dream to my chest. But as my sister is always telling me, I can’t live in the dreams. I can’t find what doesn’t exist and I need to stop searching for it.

Especially today, when she’s counting on me to help her without doing anything embarrassing.

My heart clenches as I realize this is my life now. 

Not being weird has become my daily goal. 

For so long I thought I was meant for more. That all my dreams were a sign and that I’d be accepted into the academy. Biting my lip, I brush my fingertips across the stack of letters beside my bed. Rejection letters. Neatly typed slips of paper marking my three, failed attempts to prove I’m special. 

News flash: I’m not. 

I thought for sure I’d pass the screening. That I’d prove my bizarrely insistent dreams and odd ways of just knowing things have a purpose. That I would be welcomed into the elite ranks of empaths training in the academy and to earn the right to defend my city. 

But no. 

I’m just a weird girl working in the ministry archive. That is, assuming I keep my job.  

Drawing in a deep breath, I push myself up and hurry through my morning routine: shower, hair, teeth, dress. 

There’s normally no point in spending time on my appearance—every Ministry employee has a uniform, and those of us assigned to the lower archives have no need for anything special—but today I’m assigned to pull information for my sister’s big meeting. I’ll be on the top floors with important people. 

I have to look nice. And normal. 

Dammit. 

I give my regular uniform a longing glance—the simple charcoal-hued pants, shirt and loose jacket aren’t much to look at, but they are wildly more comfortable than my formal uniform. Which is what I put on. Charcoal gray tights and skirt are first. I grunt and fumble my way through all the tiny buttons marching down the front of my fitted shirt—a soft green that marked me as an archivist. Tucking the tails into my skirt, I don the vest—charcoal again—a small piece that buttons from beneath my breasts to my waist. Then it’s the carefully tailored jacket, this one fitted so it hugs my curves and flares out to end at exactly the same length as my skirt. 

The next piece has become the bane of my existence. 

I glare at the length of ocean-hued fabric, holding it at arms length as if it is a live snake and not a belt that most eight year olds can easily wrap around their waists. As my mother likes to remind me: I’m a little behind the curve. 

It takes me four attempts and a lot of cursing, but eventually the fabric circles my middle in the prescribed manner: three times around my waist, tied neatly and tucked, so the ends hang halfway down the left side of my hip.

Why the ministry uniform needs to be this complicated, I can’t say. 

Aware I’m approaching late, I hurriedly braid my hair and wrap it into a hasty bun at the nape of my neck. It’s borderline messy, but I can’t care. And my head piece—a small, angled hat in charcoal—has two matching lengths attached on either side, which I tie under my throat to secure everything in place. 

It hides enough. And my hair isn’t much to look at, anyway. 

Even though time is now my enemy, I can’t resist swiping on some eyeliner. It’s silly: makeup is strictly rationed and I’m nothing much to look at on my best day. There’s a reason my sister is named Dove and I’m just Wren. But I can’t help it. Today I’ll be the archivist selected to assist my sister as she receives a group from the Aegis. 

A glance at the clock confirms breakfast is now firmly out of reach. Oh, well. Used to missing the meal, I simply grab my tin lunchcase and sling the leather strap across my body. Then I hurry out to the street. 

Of course, Kaiden is already waiting for me.

My best friend and fellow archivist is always punctual. His uniform is always pressed and his shirt is perfectly buttoned, the soft blue-green of the fabric the perfect match to his light brown skin. His pouches will have been checked and updated, and his lunch will have been masterfully constructed the night before. Honestly, if we hadn’t been friends from childhood, he’d be hateable. Well, that, and the rogue lock of hair no amount of effort could keep from falling in front of his glasses. 

“Knew you’d be late.” He grins and tosses me an apple. “Come on.”

I catch the fruit and take a bite. “I want to be mad at you,” I say around a mouthful of apple, “but wow, I needed this.”

“You usually do.” He laughs and elbows me. “Looking fancy.”

“Yeah.” I tug on my skirt, wishing I’d done a better job of tucking in my shirt—I’m pretty sure one of the tails has bunched beneath my sash—but there’s no way I can fix it now. “I’ve been assigned to Dove’s important meeting.”

“A meeting with the Aegis.” Kaiden presses a hand to his heart. “You’re so lucky.”

“Ugh. Stop.” I finish my apple and toss the remains into the compost-planter on the corner. “You know I’ve only been selected because my mother thinks it looks good. And do not get me started on the lectures to prepare me for it.”

“Please.” He scoffs. “You want to start on that.”

“I do,” I concede. “But I’d better not.”

“For that act of supreme control,” he says, “you get tea.”

I gasp with delight as he passes me a thermos with steaming brew. “I can’t even want to be mad at you now. You are my hero. My savior. A champion among the dust and records of the archive.”

Clutching the thermos for dear life, I fall into step beside him, 

The walk to work is a familiar path. 

I know every step, every spindly tree struggling for sun from within its protective steel cage, and every angled building corner. I’m my father’s daughter and I can identify the exact blend of reinforced concrete of each structure—just as I know from the records which building is due to be checked. Every day is the same—and yet I can’t stop myself from searching the face of everyone we pass, looking for the man I dream about. 

Find me, he begs. 

Yet another thing I’ve failed to do. 

Still, I keep looking, scanning faces and shadowed alcoves in the hopes that one day I’ll find the blistering pair of blue eyes that have burned themselves into my soul. All I find is what I expect: the carefully sloped, reinforced buildings of the city’s North Shore marching up the mountain in tidy formation. As we make our way, I catch glimpses of Vanhold’s giant walls—they encircle the city, dividing the North Shore from the ocean and protecting the lower reaches of Pointgrey across the bay from the same waters. 

The walls won’t stop a titan. 

But they’re not meant to. 

All the barriers need to do is buy time for the Aegis to respond—and our cities defenders are close, positioned between the North Shore and Pointgrey  in the city’s middle peninsula. Once the stretch of land  was called the Downtown, but now it’s simply the Aegishold. The armored, vulnerable core jutting over the dark waters of the straight, where our warriors guard their greatest weapons, ready themselves for the next titan attack, and train the next generation of defenders. 

Once, I thought I’d join those ranks. 

My last rejection put an end to that dream. 

“Earth to Wren.” Kaiden snatches the thermos from my grip. 

“What? Hey!” I grab for it, but he holds it out of reach. Being short is such a curse. “I need that to live.”

“Not until you stop looking for your dream man and talk to me.”

“Stop knowing me so well.” I glare at him. “Fine. We’ll talk. Gimme.”

He passes me back the thermos. “I was asking if you’re excited for the meeting?”

“Not really?” It’s not the answer he wants, yet I can’t lie to him. I roll my shoulders as best I can in my tight jacket. “I’ll be the junior archivist pulling information and taking notes. I won’t even be asked to make tea.”

“Yeah, no tea brewing for you.” He laughs. “Dove learned from the last time, huh?”

Heat burns my cheeks. “It’s not my fault that meeting was so boring.”

“It won’t be that boring today,” he said. “What if one of them is there?”

He points at a row of posters on a nearby building. Bold hues of red, blue and silver depict massive figures against a stylized black-and-white sky. Each has a brief message and a name, letting the citizens of Vanhold know our protectors. The brave men and women we are indebted to.

The Wardens Warriors of the Aegis.

The scent of fresh ink hits me and I veer off the path. As I get closer, I notice the bold colors, so deep they look almost wet. These posters are new. Maybe this time the man who haunts my dreams will be pictured among them. I draw a finger across the posters as I pass each one, studying each of the faces. 

Handsome and brave, the massive, augmented warriors were the heroes of our city. They were augmented to be stronger, faster and larger than regular humans—their bodies wired to work as one with the enormous suits of armor that allowed them to stand against the titans. To hold the line long enough for the empaths to take the field. Unfortunately, the man I’m searching for isn’t among them.

“So.” An arm draped around my shoulders. “Which one of these is your dream man?”

I glare at Kaiden and shrug from beneath his touch. “You promised not to bring it up anymore.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender, his brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “But it’s hard, Wren. Here I am, wanting to introduce my best friend to some of the guys I know from shipping and I can’t, because she’s in a committed relationship with a dream.”

I start to say ‘it’s not like that.’ 

But it is.

“Give me a break,” I plead. “I promised Dove I wouldn’t be weird today.”

The laughter fades from his gaze. “Shit. Sorry, Wren. No more jokes.”

“Thanks.” My voice sounds small even to my ears. Anyone else with my symptoms would have been marked as empath potential as a child and trained from a young age. The most gifted would hone their skills at the academy and eventually join the ranks of the Aegis—the most noble, enviable role in the entire city. 

I stop at the last poster in the row, the one showing empath Lilith Bane and her eight-legged bound titan, Slepnir, defending the city. The artist has painted her with her vibrant red hair flowing behind her like a cloak and bold green eyes glowing with power. She is the most beautiful woman imaginable, and the most powerful Mind Witch in the entire city. 

A sharp breath of pure grief escapes me. 

I would have given anything to be like her. But I’d been tested and found entirely void of any talent. 

“Think she looks like that in real life?” Kaiden mused.

I swallow back the lump in my throat. “I can only imagine. But if my sister’s hints are anything to go by, I might get to meet a Warden today.” I try to locate my excitement and push a smile onto my face. “A real Warden! It sounds like whatever delegation Dove is meeting today merits an escort.”

“Hot damn.” Kaiden punches my shoulder. “I demand details of hotness and who’s the most charming.”

I laugh. “I’ll do my best, though they’re not going to waste any charm on me.”. 

We fall silent as we approach the ministry. Like all buildings on the North Shore, the  Ministry is built from reinforced concrete polymer. The largest structure on this side of the city, it has the same narrow windows and thick, bevelled corners as every building—nothing that would survive a dedicated titan attack, but it might withstand an accidental graze. The only difference between the Ministry and the surrounding structures was size, and placement. It is the only structure that isn’t half-tucked into the hillside. 

No. It sits tall and defiant, clad in gray cement armor. 

I should probably feel pride asI look up at it. Yet it always feels so cold, so imposing. Its squat layers stack upward like a cake no one wants to eat. The recessed entrance is sunk deep into the center of the building’s front facade, giving it a permanent look of distaste, as if the entire structure had bit into something sour and sucked its concrete mouth inward.

“Shit,” Kaiden mutters. “Incoming.”

At his warning, I drag my gaze down and find my sister waiting by the entrance. 

Perfect. The last thing I need before this meeting is my perfect sister reminding me of all my failings. 

And oh, with her neatly twisted golden hair and her ankle-length, she looks every inch our mother’s daughter—the youngest migration director in the history of the Ministry. A tribute to the Strand family and the pride of our senator mother. Dove’s uniform is the same base colors as mine, but her shirt is the same hue as the sash—a deep, ocean hue. Her jacket has the length of a director, just as her sleeves have additional height, the additional fold over her right breast is marked with the Ministry’s symbol. 

She turns to face us, and her expression is pure director.

“Oof.” Kaiden whispers under his breath. “Good luck.”

I barely stop myself from grabbing his sleeve. “I’ll see you later?”

“Wednesday night at the game cellar,” he says. Then he takes off—the traitor.

I square my shoulders and mount the stairs until I’m facing my sister. “Dove.”

“Wren.” She turns and heads inside, leaving me no option but to follow. 

It is strange to head up the stairs instead of down. Unfortunately, it’s not strange to climb the interior staircase beside my sister in silence. When we were little, we’d been close. Then she’d shown aptitude for the directorial path. 

“Right.” Dove links her hands behind her back. “Let’s review.”

Falling into step beside her, I mirror the gesture. “I’ve got it.”

“Wren…” My sister knows how to turn my name into a sound of pure exasperation. “You know what Mother says, so let’s hear it.”

I hunch my shoulders. “No daydreaming. No hearing things. No talking about titans I have never seen. No asking inappropriate questions.” I recite the list with the same ease a fisher might list the steps to casting a lure. The benefit of years of practice and a senator mother who despises public humiliation, I guess. 

“And,” Dove prompts. 

I sigh. “No asking any of the Aegis representatives about a man who very definitely does not exist.”

“Good.” The word is as crisp as my sister’s uniform. 

We travel up another flight and I pretend the other workers on the steps aren’t staring.

Dove clears her throat. “Mother feels this meeting is best kept within the family. The delegates have proven…sensitive. So the other archivists have been removed from the roster, and any requested information will be pulled by you.” 

“Oh—okay.” I know better than to ask why.  

Besides, my muscles are burning and I am afraid if I try to talk too much I’ll end up panting. Since Strands don’t admit weakness, that is not an option. I gaze upward at the remaining floors and grit my teeth. I will make it to Dove’s office without embarrassing myself, I swear it. 

I study the towering relief running up the central pillar of the Ministry building, around which the stairs wrapped. It depicted titans and Wardens, locked in an eternal struggle. Even though the first floor had been left far behind, I knew the base of the mural showed the ruined civilization that we’d built upon. Risk and destruction, I knew it. But sometimes I wish we hadn’t been forced to abandon elevators. Sure, they would be death traps in the event of a titan attack. Still. It must have been amazing to shoot upward to the top floors of a building in a matter of moments. 

My calves are burning when we reach the upper floor. 

The location is a sign of prestige and a mark of good leadership, as it offers the best views of the city—and is the most vulnerable location in the event of an attack. Dove’s office looks the part, with three pieces of strategically placed art setting bold colors against the ever present cement. 

My sister dusts her spotless side table. “You will stand here. You are not to speak unless directly addressed by the delegation. And do not expect that to happen.” She crosses to her desk and taps a button. “I’m going to confirm the guest list, and you’re going to practice being unobtrusive.”

I barely manage not to roll my eyes. “Sure.”

My sister, the insufferable golden child. 

A soft beep sounds from her desk, and a page emerges from the center console built into the surface of her desk. “Ah, the list of attendees. Mother is joining, what a surprise. She’ll be pleased to see you.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t be rude,” Dove snaps. “ She will be glad to see you and…and…” Her voice fads as she scans the rest of the list. I notice her hands are shaking as she lays the page on the table. My brow furrows. Dove, unnerved? This seems impossible. She’s our mother’s daughter—she always knows exactly what to say and how to say it. Always composed.

Except…she just dropped a pen. 

“Holy shit,” I whisper. “You’re nervous.”

She straightens so fast I swear I can hear her spine crackle. “I am not.”

“Please.” I send her a look. “We might not talk anymore, but I still know you.”

Her mouth worked. “Fine. I am a little…surprised. Mother is joining, as are a full contingent of warden warriors.”

I wait for her to continue. 

When she doesn’t, I try to fill in the gaps. “I don’t know why you’re nervous. Mother often appears for these meetings, and you’ve been hinting for the past week that there would be a Warden escort. You knew to expect at least one…” I gasp. “Wait. You were matched with someone last month and I know you had at least one conversation. Were you matched with a Warden? Is he one of the attendees?”

My sister’s lips thin.

I brace for yet another reprimand, then she braces her hands on her desk and nods. “He’s a Warden and we’ve been… talking. Sending messages almost daily.” A rush of air escapes her. “Oh. I really like him, Wren. He’s funny and kind and always wants to know about my day. But we haven’t even been on a date—there’s been no confirmation of a match from either side. And now he’s going to meet my mother?”

“Ouch.” I wince. “We can just not tell her?”

Dove sends me a dark glance. “You think she doesn’t know?”

I suck in air between my teeth. “Yeah, okay. The chances of her not knowing are… none. They’re none. But don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” Dove’s voice crackles upward. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Not kidding.” I grin at her, delighted by my sister’s lack of composure. “I’ll be here, remember? She’ll be too busy worrying about me doing something stupid to pay attention to your Warden.”

Dove laughs, then clamps a hand over her mouth. “That’s terrible.”

Still grinning, I shrug. “Yup. But timely!”

“Okay.” Dove waves a hand and smoothes her hair. “I appreciate you falling on your sword, but I can’t have my sister feeling that way. There has to be something we can do before Mother—”

“I need no introduction.” The imperious tone carries through the door. 

My gaze collides with Doves and I brace myself. 

Our mother sweeps through the door in full Senator regalia, the tasseled right shoulder of her formal robe resplendent with cords of gold, silver and red. Her golden hair—the same shade as Dove’s—is twisted into a perfect knot and adorned with a square, gold-edged fascinator at a perfect angle. 

“Mother,” Dove says, “how nice to—”

“I’ve no time for pleasantries.” My mother’s pale gaze fixes on me. “Wren. How pleasing you aren’t late as I’d feared. And inconvenient. You are to return to the lower archives immediately.”

I gape at her. “What! Why? I’m ready. I dressed properly and I’ve promised not to do anything weird.”

“Mother…” Dove sounds as shocked as I feel. “Wren and I have reviewed everything. She is prepared, and it is far too late to arrange a substitute archivist. The delegation will be arriving any minute. Please. I need Wren to stay.”

“This is not a negotiation,” my mother snaps. “Wren has to go. Now. Analysts are reporting preliminary tremors emanating from the eastern valley. I want her back in the sublevels, where it is safe.”

“No!” The word explodes out of me. I know it’s pointless to argue with my mother, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop thinking about the rejection letters beside my bed, about how little my own mother must think of me. “You and Dove are staying here, in the most vulnerable location. I won’t do any less—”

“You will.” My mother’s face could rival the cement mural. “Go.”

“Mother, I…” Stomach sinking at her furious expression, I swallow the rest of my protest. My shoulders slump and I head for the stairs. Reaching the doorway, I grip the frame and look back at my mother, shame searing my cheeks red. I want to ask her what I did to deserve such scorn. To demand she tell me why my own mother thinks I’ll handle the mere threat of a titan incursion so badly that she’ll banish me to the lower archives. But I already know the answer: she believes her failed daughter will shame her.  

Eyes burning, I twist away and lunge for the stairs. 

And slam into a wall of metal.

A dull clang rings in my ears. Shaking my head, I stumble backward. What the… Had someone parked a reinforced cabinet outside Dove’s office? Shaking my head, I look up. And up further, past a curve of steel to a helm-shielded face. A warden. I have just walked face-first into a warden. 

“The delegation has arrived, Miss Strand,” Dove’s assistant murmurs.

No. Shit. My vision is a sea of silver and black armor. 

The wardens tower over me, steel-clad behemoths with the barest slices of faces visible beneath their helms. I try to focus on the red enamel symbols marking their respective stations. Try to apologize for my shameful breach of their proximity—no one has the right to touch a warden without invitation. But my tongue won’t work. And I can’t stop searching beneath their helms for the man I see every night, the man who begs me to find him.