Initiation of the Lost (Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

"What now?" whispered Connor.
    Derek dug up dirt, making a mound. Connor followed suit. They hurled the dirt over the fire; the fire spat and sputtered, fighting for breath, then smothered. The wall, as if sensing threat, expanded over the dirt. Flare needed a source to produce his flames, hence the lighter and touching the grass. But this was new, making fire from fire, the flames bridging over the metal and now the dirt. First time it took a while, but now it was immediate. The wall had become as impenetrable as Flare's concentration, observed Derek, who then said:
    "We'd have to smother the wall in multiple places at the same time and over a large enough area to stretch Flare's concentration until it weakened." He was forcing a constructive tone and mindset, determined to not lose hope, to not just give up and call it a day. He was ticked at Abbey. She should've told him what she was doing–she was showing off. The three of them could have laid out her metal, gathered dirt, and taken out enough of the wall to all escape in one move. But now, they'd lost their chance: Flare had locked his concentration on the wall, the fire now an extension of his own mind.
    Abbey could see the disappointment on Derek's face. He was too nice to blame her, which made her feel worse. She had to do something. She crept towards the enemy.
    "No," whispered Derek. "Abbey..."
    She neared Flare. If she could surprise him, maybe the wall would give. She looked to Derek and Connor, pointing to her target. Derek shook his head.
    Looking at Flare from yards away, she prepared to charge–Flare locked eyes with her.
    "Over here!" he shouted. Quake and Klug spun around.
    "Oh God," said Abbey.
    "Get outta there!" yelled Connor. His power had expired: he'd have to wait before he could blind the same targets again.
    The fire wall grew higher, hotter.
    "Get her," said Quake.
    Derek called out to Coach O'Brien: "Forfeit! We forfeit!" He hated himself.
    The firewall diminished, the earth slab sunk into the ground, and the victors roared with glory. The defeated couldn't look at one another, ashamed of their respective failures. If only Connor could've held on longer, if only Abbey had acted as a team, if only Derek had been faster, smarter, a better leader. Know what? He would've been better off alone...and he felt worse for even thinking that way. It was his fault, no one else's.
    "Great show, all of you," said Coach, stepping out between the two teams. Meghan ran over and threw her arms around Derek. "But suffice to say, Team Quake wins." Team Quake yelped and hollered like a pack of wolves. "However, overall individual score still goes to Derek. Derek, pick your team. Later, you'll meet with Dr. Farling for mission briefing. You all head out early tomorrow."
    Flare expected as much, but he proved his point–he was just as smart and just as good as any of them. The confidence, the cockiness, the entitlement he had drained from Derek's typically upbeat and assuredly naive mug was all he needed. He had never felt so deeply contented. Unlike Quake, he didn't care if August kissed boys or if Derek was a boy scout–who was he to tell anyone how to be?–but no one thought they were better than him, ever.
    <<>>
    Constant floated before Dr. Farling, calm and still. Years of flying around, looking at books like he had never seen them before time after time, touching every pen, painting, and sculpture as he soared about like a kid in his first toy store, and now he just hovered. His disposition had calmed long ago, no longer as hyper and distracted, but getting him to sit in the air as he was now, in lotus position with chest out and chin raised, was the final phase of his therapy. It was time.
    The Ellington boys were the same height, had the same round faces, the same round spec of a birthmark on their forearm, the same dimple above their right knee. Upon their arrival at Hyperion Academy, every inherent physical feature was identical, an "impossibly"