“Mark.”

They knelt in a line, heads bowed, eyes staring hard at the scorched earth before them. A buff man with buzz-cut blond hair was moving up that line, checking wrists, necks, and forearms for their mark; the symbol tying them to a side. A girl with bright green hair and eyes to match just to the left of Xero shook with silent sobs. They were not kind, even to children, who were on opposite sides. Xero prayed for her she was an Equalist. Then, at least, she would be let free. He, however, knew his death contract was signed. This was an Ecliptic camp. And he was a Celestialite. Xero would either be shot or kept in horrid conditions until he escaped or this war ended.

Or he died.

The man stopped in front of the softly crying girl next to Xero. “Mark,” he said in his rough baritone. Shaking, she held up an arm. The soldier none-too-gently jerked her arm closer, shoving her sleeve down. She was safe. She was an Equalist. Xero sighed.

“Mark.”

His breathing stopped.