Novels by Utopian Brooks

REQUESTING AUTHORIZATION...The words remained between Jace’s fingers and the throne long enough to become insulting.“Well,” he said. “This is a very slow yes.”The chain answered by lowering his arm.MOVEMENT REQUEST: DENIED.Reason: Territorial contact presents elevated recovery risk.It did not jerk him away. It guided his hand down with the same patient care Theodore had used while fitting the links around his wrist.That made it worse.Jace pulled back on his own.Retreat from restricted interface: APPROVED.His wrist moved cleanly. Easily. The chain almost seemed pleased with him.APPROVED MOVEMENT EFFICIENCY: +14%.“So my hand works,” Jace said. “It just has management now.”“The review is temporary,” Theodore replied.“Temporary things usually come with an end date.”“They come with an objective.”Caleb stood behind him, recording small gold symbols over one palm.SUBJECT RESPONSE: HOSTILE HUMOR.COGNITIVE FUNCTION: INTACT.DIAGNOSTIC COOPERATION: PARTIAL.Jace glanced at the

The gold lines did not so much as flicker at his warning.The center Collector only tilted his head, the black glass of his mask catching what little light the Spire still gave off. Beside him, the other two stood exactly where they had risen out of the floor, patient in the specific way of men who had never once needed to hurry.The vibration came first. Jace felt it in his molars again, the same low hum as before. This time it didn't stop at the walls.PASSIVE CONTAINMENT ACTIVEThe words settled somewhere behind his eyes, unhurried, the way all the worst things were. Movement Efficiency, they informed him, was down eighteen percent. Access Response was delayed. Pain Awareness was, unhelpfully, increasing....Corruption Load: 84% → 85%..."That's new," Jace said, because saying something was better than finding out how much of him still worked."It is not designed to injure you," the Collector said. Up close, his voice had the same terrible gentleness as before, like a man reading a

The words lingered in the air long after Jace wanted them to. HEIR RECOVERY ORDER ISSUED He read it twice, because staring at his own hand was proving rather challenging, considering ten minutes ago it had stopped looking like a hand. Seraphina. "What does that mean. Recovery." She didn't immediately respond, which was more worrying than he cared to admit. It was her job to respond, in fact. "It means," she said finally, her gaze still fixed on the burning sigil in the air between them, chains clasped around a small cold sun, its light the colour of bruising, "that they've ceased trying to kill you." "That's supposed to be good news," Jace said dryly. "It isn't." She didn't turn to face him, and that was infinitely more worrying. Seraphina was still watching the sigil burn above their heads, which meant she was still looking at the chains wrapped tightly around the tiny pale sun. "Execution orders come from the Crown. This came from a House. Houses don't unregister assets. The

Jace remained on the floor longer than he intended. The throne room was silent except for the groaning of the broken fleet above Manhattan and the pulse in the Spire. His burned hand had already left a stain on the stone floor, palm upturned to reveal the darkened, shifting edges of the mark. Along the edges of the opening in the ceiling, the gold line was spreading outward. The remaining ships had fallen silent. All of them faced away from the Spire, presenting their battered fronts to the unseen force beyond the red lattice. Jace shoved himself onto his side. "That better not be another fleet." Seraphina stood near the entrance to the chamber, her good hand pressed to the gap in her shoulder armor. She had not taken her eyes off the sky since the last panel had opened. "THE KING HAS BEEN NOTIFIED." The message still hovered in the air. Jace turned to her. "You got quiet." "That message was not only for you." "Then who was it for?" "Everyone above us." The l

Jace was still on the throne when the sky changed. The spire had opened lines of sight above him, revealing Manhattan beneath the red lattice. The gold point beyond that had widened, and then the ships came in a long black procession, forming up over the city, trailing pale fires from their hulls. No wings, no familiar sounds, nothing that suggested home. Jace bent his elbows over the throne's arms and stared at the strange ships floating serenely in the heavens. "Yeah," he muttered. "That's about right." The throne glowed warmly beneath his palms, but he was still learning the controls. Claiming the spire had been simple enough: he'd sat on it until it gave way. That didn't mean he knew how to use it. There was a panel at the front of the room. Access: 60% Corruption Load: 58% Territory Claim: Spire / Lower Manhattan Status: Exposed The whole room shuddered as something pounded against the sealed entrance. Seraphina's voice rang out over the stone walls. "You id

The crater held. That was the first thing Jace realized, once the ringing in his ears had dulled enough for him to hear anything else. The glass-smooth hole in the ground where Times Square had once been should have been swallowing itself whole, edges folding in on the mess within, half the block consumed in the process. It held. Jace stood at the center of it, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, the last fragments of the system's text messages fading from his vision. The ground beneath his boots did not give. Around him, the broken remains of Times Square stretched out. A bus lay on its side, one wheel still spinning. A storefront had been swallowed whole. Down the block, someone was still screaming a name that would not answer. Jace flexed his fingers. They responded, this time, if stiffly. The blue light beneath his skin had burned away to thin lines along his wrists and forearms. He was still sore where the spear had found his ribs, his shoulders still ached, but