LIFEL1K3

1.12. Revelation (#litres_trial_promo)

1.13. Lemon (#litres_trial_promo)

1.14. Surgery (#litres_trial_promo)

1.15. Symbiont (#litres_trial_promo)

1.16. Lost (#litres_trial_promo)

1.17. Armada (#litres_trial_promo)

Part 3. Those Final Hours

1.18. Collision (#litres_trial_promo)

1.19. Hopeless (#litres_trial_promo)

1.20. Pride (#litres_trial_promo)

1.21. Fix (#litres_trial_promo)

1.22. Immolation (#litres_trial_promo)

1.23. Bleed (#litres_trial_promo)

1.24. Glass (#litres_trial_promo)

1.25. Tempest (#litres_trial_promo)

1.26. Terminus (#litres_trial_promo)

Part 4. A Spire of Ghosts and Glass

1.27. Break (#litres_trial_promo)

1.28. Babel (#litres_trial_promo)

1.29. Secrets (#litres_trial_promo)

1.30. Thunder (#litres_trial_promo)

1.31. Becoming (#litres_trial_promo)

1.32. Liar (#litres_trial_promo)

Coda (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Jay Kristoff

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

The Three Laws of Robotics

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

YOUR BODY IS NOT YOUR OWN.

2. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

YOUR MIND IS NOT YOUR OWN.

3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

YOUR LIFE IS NOT YOUR OWN.

automata [au-toh-MAH-tuh]

noun

A machine with no intelligence of its own, operating on preprogrammed lines.

machina [mah-KEE-nuh]

noun

A machine that requires a human operator to function.

logika [loh-JEE-kuh]

noun

A machine with its own onboard intelligence, capable of independent action.

Map (#ue54885af-5818-54fb-aa3e-15298d8dd7ea)

0.1 (#ulink_0bbc0505-9d23-52b6-b091-d60c060c96a8)

They kill my father first.

Shiny boots ring on the stairs as they march into our cell, four of them all in a pretty row. Blank faces and perfect skin, matte gray pistols in red, red hands. A beautiful man with golden hair says they’re here to execute us. No explanations. No apologies.

Father turns toward us, and the terror in his eyes breaks my heart to splinters. I open my mouth to speak to him, but I don’t know what I’ll say.

The bullets catch him in his back, and bloody flowers bloom on his chest. My sisters scream as the muzzles flash and the shadows dance, and the noise is so loud, I’m afraid I’ll never hear anything again. Mother reaches toward Father’s body as if to catch his fall, and the shot that kisses her temple paints my face with red. I taste salt and copper and milk-white smoke.