But there was nothing “natural” about it.

It’s easier if people blame global warming, though. Or Mother Nature. Or any of the other theories scientists have been tossing out, trying to explain the freaky tornadoes that stomped the mansions and country clubs in my stuffy valley into million-dollar heaps of rubble.

Nobody would know how to deal with a reality filled with “sylphs” and “wind wars” and “storms that fight like monsters.”

Plus, then I’d have to tell them the worst part—the part that makes me want to curl up into a ball and never move again.

It was my fault.

If I’d moved to one of the Gales’ bases in the middle of nowhere, or taken my training more seriously, or insert-any-of-the-mountain-of-Vane-fails here, none of this would’ve happened.

My hometown wouldn’t be a federal disaster zone.

Innocent people wouldn’t have died.

And Audra . . .

I’m trying not to think about where she is or what she might be going through. Or how I was the one who insisted she trust her mother and made her fly off with Gus, straight into Raiden’s trap.

Or how she broke our bond.

I want to believe she did it to protect my heritage—stripping away any knowledge she had of the Westerly language so she couldn’t give Raiden what he wants. But I wouldn’t blame her if she hates me.

I definitely hate myself.

But I’m going to fix this—all of it.

I have a plan.

I have the power of four on my side.

It’s time to be the hero everyone’s expecting me to be.