She clenched her fists. The drones would never understand the weight of a word that could lift a soul. “If we are to be free, we must speak louder,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Mara’s older brother, Joren, emerged from the shadows. He had the scar of a drone’s laser etched across his cheek—a reminder of the night they were almost captured. He carried a small, battered device—an old phonograph, salvaged from the ruins of a museum. Its brass horns were cracked, but its heart still beat. latinathroats free