Diego and the Rangers of the Vastlantic. Armand Baltazar

      But maybe Diego did, too. He placed his hands over the broken pieces and tried to calm his thoughts. It wasn’t easy, with images of the firefight, of the mosasaurs, of Magnus with his sword to Santiago’s throat . . . but finally he pushed the thoughts away and felt the tingling sensation of the Maker’s Sight. It ignited like a match in his mind, illuminating the connections between the radio parts, only to be snuffed out as flashes of the battle and his father bulled their way into his mind.

      He started over, and then again, searching for his focus. Finally, his hands started to move, to reach for tools, and slowly, he reassembled the radio.

CHAPTER SIX

       Streets of Fire

      Diego sat at the kitchen table, unmoving. Numb. He pushed the glass of warm milk a few inches away from him. Picked it up, put it down. He ran his spoon through the Irish stew his mother had made, stirring dark broth and chunks of potato and carrot back and forth, but he didn’t take a bite.

      “It’s not your fault,” Siobhan said gently from across the table.

      Diego glanced up. He’d barely been able to look at her since he’d been brought home. She offered him a supportive smile, but her eyes were red, her face tight with worry.

Tears sprang from his eyes again. He couldn’t hold them back. “I wanted to stop them, but I didn’t know what to do.”

      “There was nothing you could have done,” Siobhan said. She reached out and rubbed his hand. “You’d be no match for Magnus and his warriors. Few people are. And you were doing what Dad wanted. He would never have forgiven himself if you were captured, too.”

      Diego nodded. He knew this. But it didn’t make him feel any better. “I just . . . I wish there had been something . . . some way I could have used the Maker’s Sight. Anything.”

      “So . . . Santiago was right after all,” Siobhan said. “You have the Maker’s Sight.”

      “Yeah.” Diego shifted in his chair. “And I know it needs to be kept secret. I just . . .”

      “What is it, honey?”

      “Nothing.”

      Siobhan rubbed his hand again. “All that matters is that you’re safe. Now eat up and then get some rest.”

      She stood and took her sidearm holster from the counter and slung it over her shoulder. He’d seen her wear it to military functions, but she’d never had it out around the house. “I’m going to check with the guards.” She headed for the front door. Two marines were stationed outside.

      Diego shuffled through his nighttime routines, then lay in bed, staring at the curved inside wall and wondering how he would ever sleep. His mind replayed the attack. He could hear the explosions, feel the station rattling, smell the smoke.

Siobhan came in a few minutes later and sat on the edge of his bed.

      “Any news?” Diego asked.

      “No,” Siobhan said. “There won’t be until morning. Magistrate Huston has called a meeting first thing tomorrow at Union Station. We’ll know more then. Now, try to sleep.” She kissed his forehead.

      “Mom . . . ,” Diego said cautiously. There was a question he’d been yearning to ask. “Those Aeternum . . . Magnus, Balthus—Dad knew them. They talked to him like they were old friends.”

      Mom’s lips pursed. “Not friends, exactly. But yes, your father worked with them in the past, before they were the Aeternum. It was during the Dark Years. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and he’s never told me very much, but I do know this: when your father met Magnus, he was a great warrior, and he helped the allies turn the tide and end the fighting in the Chronos War. But after that . . . he changed.”