Rise An Eve Novel

brighter than they’d been in weeks. I had thought of them—Kevin, Aaron, Michael, and Leif—wondered about them every time the trucks moved through, removing the remaining bodies from the street. How long had they been inside the City? How long had they fought? Arden had left them more than a month before, fifty miles north, when they’d continued on to the City gates.
    The soldiers caught up to me, blocking me in on both sides, their hands on their guns. When I entered the front rooms of the MGM, the air was heavy with the scent of blood; it had been set up as a makeshift hospital. The lobby was now covered with cots and mattresses—anything they could find to lay the injured on. I moved through the rows, scanning each cot, looking for familiar faces.
    One man’s cheek was bandaged and bloody, part of his ear detached from his head. Another’s arm was blown off, most likely from a grenade that detonated in his hand. Everywhere I looked people were suffering, some as young as fourteen. I moved further down, as quickly and methodically as possible, but none of the boys were here.
    “You all right, miss?” one of the guards asked. “You look lost.”
    “I’m looking for survivors from the north. Members of a rebel group from Lake Tahoe.”
    The guard scanned the cots. “I’ve only heard of one,” he said.
    Across the lobby, a doctor hovered above a man with thick, white bandages sealed over his right eye. The guard pointed to him, as if he were the one to ask. The doctor was in his fifties, his hair a mix of gray and white. He wore a plain white shirt and black slacks.
    As I approached him he collected a few papers from beneath the cot, scribbling something in the margins. “They said you could help me—I’m looking for survivors from the rebel group near Lake Tahoe.”
    The doctor nodded, weaving through the beds, not bothering to tell me to follow him. “I’ve had this young man in my care for some time now. I was ordered by the King’s administration not to treat him. To leave him to die. But he’s survived, and I’ve seen him through the last months. He hasn’t regained the use of his legs, but he’s in one of the rooms.”
    “What is his name?” I asked, hoping that if we could identify Aaron, or Kevin, we might be able to find the others.
    “Caleb Young.”
    “Where?” I asked, taking off toward the corridor, not waiting for him to follow.
    “The room at the end of the hall. He’s with three others.” He glanced sideways at one of the guards. “Who is she?” he asked.
    I didn’t look back. I only looked forward, ahead, one hand on the soft mound of my stomach as I called out to them both.
    “I’m his wife.”

acknowledgments
    THIS SERIES WOULDN’T BE POSSIBLE WITHOUT THE SUPPORT OF several people. A big hug and thank-you to: Josh Bank, for a twist that changed everything; Sara Shandler, fairy godmother of publishing, who really can make dreams come true; Joelle Hobeika—editor, confidante, lunch date, hiking buddy—for her sharp edit letters, for talking through rough patches, and for knowing this series inside out; Farrin Jacobs, for her continued faith and support; and Sarah Landis, for all her invaluable insights. Endless thank-yous for championing Eve in-house.
    To the entire Eve Team, who have promoted these books with love and care: my publicists at HarperCollins, Marisa Russell and Hallie Patterson, for helping make the Spring into the Future tour such a huge success; Deb Shapiro, for pitches and more; and Christina Colangelo, for all my Dark Days. A big thank-you to Kristin Marang, for those crazy weeks of marathon blogging. And to Heather Schroder at ICM, for staying up late to finish Once . Your enthusiasm has meant so much.
    To many friends, in many cities, for boundless love and support. Special thanks to those friends and family who have read every page: Eve Carey, Christine Imbrogno, Helen Carey, Susan Smoter, Cindy Meyers, Ali Mountford, Anna Gilbert, Lauren Weisman, and Lauren Morphew. Much love to my brother, Kevin, official medical consultant and unofficial publicist. I’d be hard-pressed to find another thirty-one-year-old man as excited about this series. To my kind and democratic father, Tom, for only ensnaring me in the best of things. Thank you for not taking this book personally. And to my mother, Elaine, for believing in the unseen. Your faith has pulled me through. I love you, I love you, I love you.

copyright
    Cover art by Steve Stone
    Cover