In the first book of a sizzling dystopian romance series, psychic gifts are a death sentence and there are rules to survival: Trust no one. Lie to everyone. Hide in plain sight. And whatever you do, Twenty-year-old Wren Darlington is not your ordinary Mod. She’s one of the most powerful in existence. But her world is divided. On the Continent, being a known Modified means certain death, as the Primes--those immune to the biotoxin that nearly wiped out the population 150 years ago--want nothing more than to eliminate those who were enhanced by the toxin and developed psychic powers. Wren has survived all these years by concealing her abilities and keeping a low profile while doing what she can to aid the rebel Uprising in fighting against the Primes’ oppressive rule. But one careless mistake places her in the crosshairs of the Continent’s military, and she is forced to join their most elite program: Silver Block. Unwittingly, her enemy has given her-- That is, if she can keep her powers hidden, survive training, and prove herself to Cross Redden, her cocky, maddeningly attractive commanding officer. Despite the explosive chemistry between them, Wren cannot let Cross get in the way of her mission. But as war rages between Mods like her and those who aim to destroy them, emotions run high and secrets are revealed, forcing Wren to decide how far she’s willing to go to protect herself . . . and how much of the Continent is worth saving.

Autorentext

Dani Francis

Klappentext

**NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK • In the first book of a sizzling dystopian romance series, psychic gifts are a death sentence and there are rules to survival: Trust no one. Lie to everyone. And whatever you do, don’t fall for your greatest enemy.

“Dani Francis wrote the adult dystopian romance I’ve been wanting to read for the longest time. . . . I’m absolutely obsessed, and I need the next book in the series injected into my vein right now.”—Ali Hazelwood, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Bride

This stunning hardcover features a jacket with foil and a black-and-white interior map!

TRUST NO ONE.

Wren Darlington has spent her whole life in hiding, honing her psychic abilities and aiding the rebel Uprising in small ways. On the Continent, being Modified means certain death—and Wren is one of the most powerful Mods in existence. When one careless mistake places her in the hands of the enemy and she’s forced to join their most elite training program, she’s finally handed the perfect opportunity to strike a devastating blow from inside their ranks.

LIE TO EVERYONE.

But training for Silver Block can be deadly, especially when you’re harboring dangerous secrets and living in close quarters with everyone who wants you dead.

AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T FALL FOR YOUR GREATEST ENEMY.

As the stakes grow ever higher, Wren must prove herself to Silver Block. But that’s easier said than done when your commanding officer is the ruthless and infuriatingly irresistible Cross Redden, who doesn’t miss anything when it comes to her. And as war rages between Mods like her and those who aim to destroy them, Wren must decide just how far she’s willing to go to protect herself . . . and how much of the Continent is worth saving.

Leseprobe
Chapter 1

I grew up in pure, unceasing, suffocating darkness.

I’d like to say that’s an exaggeration, but it’s not. I was only five years old when my uncle smuggled me out of the city and took me to live in the Blacklands, the place of children’s nightmares. A forest of perpetual darkness. I remember my eyes widening when I first saw it: the ominous black mist rising from the earth and hovering far above the top canopy of the trees. I remember bone-­deep dread and then throat-­closing panic when we were engulfed in the pitch black. I remember how, less than an hour into the trek, I tripped over a skull. I knelt to examine what made me stumble, and although I couldn’t see a thing, I could feel the gaping eye sockets, could run my fingers over smooth, weathered bone.

When I asked Uncle Jim what it was, he said, “Just a rock.”

Even at the age of five, I wasn’t that easy to fool.

It wouldn’t be the last skeleton we came across in the three years we spent in the Blacklands, but by the time we returned to civilization, fear and I were old friends. These days, a predator could lunge for my throat, and I wouldn’t blink. A Command jet could drop a bomb on our house, and my heart rate would remain steady.

When you’re petrified on a daily basis as a child, there aren’t many things left to fear as an adult.

Except, perhaps, awkward conversations.

I would rather fight a cougar barehanded than subject myself to an uncomfortable exchange. Truly.

“Where are you going?”

Damn it. I’d been doing my level best to sneak out of bed without alerting my companion.

The young soldier’s voice is thick with sleep and a hint of lingering seduction. I fix my gaze downward as I button my jeans. I know he’s not wearing anything underneath that thin sheet.

“Oh. Um. Nowhere. I was just getting dressed because I’m cold,” I lie, smoothing the front of my black tank over the jagged stretch of scar tissue on my left hip.

My burns, which dip below my waistband and stretch midway down my thigh, are a permanent reminder of who I am and why I can’t be in this guy’s presence longer than necessary.

I told him the scarring was the result of an accident. A pot of boiling water spilling on me when I was a child.

That wasn’t entirely a lie.

If he knew what the mangled flesh hid, though, he probably wouldn’t have been stroking it with such infinite sympathy.

“Come back here. I’ll keep you warm,” he promises.

I fake a smile and meet his eyes. They’re nice. A deep brown. “Hold that thought? Now that I’m up, I need to use the bathroom. You said it was around the corner?”

Do I sound too eager?

I think I do, but I’m itching to escape. It’s late. Much later than I promised I’d stay out. I was supposed to stop by the village for a quick drink and to say hello to some friends at the Liberty Day festivities. Not hook up with a Command soldier, of all candidates.

There aren’t a lot of things worth celebrating in the Continent. None of those idyllic-­sounding holidays you read about in the history books. And let’s be honest—­it’s probably some sick irony to have a bunch of Modified people dancing, drinking, and screwing to celebrate the anniversary of an event that led to their own slaughter. But Mods do like to dance, drink, and screw, so . . . might as well do it when we can, no matter the occasion.

“You’re not going to run out on me, are you?” He’s teasing again, but there’s an undertone of unhappiness. Shit. He knows I’m preparing to bail.

“Of course not.”

I pretend to concentrate on zipping up my boots, deciding this was a terrible idea. I try not to make a habit of falling into bed with anyone in the Command, the Continent’s military, but their impermanence is a major draw. Soldiers can only leave the base three times a year, which means they’ll never be anything but temporary.

“Good. Because I’m not ready to let you go yet,” he says with a smile. He’s twenty-­five and was so gentle when his hands were roaming my body.

Is it awful that I can’t remember his name?

I pick up my rifle and sling the strap over …