The crowd thought the boy in the wheelchair was helpless-until the wild mustang lowered his head to his boots

not have known how to explain it cleanly. Cinder had become for Sophie what he had been for Jonah in the arena: a large, breathing place where nobody demanded the right words.

Later, a boy named Marcus rolled out from the barn in a pediatric  wheelchair with red spokes and scuffed footplates.

He was twelve, maybe thirteen, with a jaw set so hard it made continue reading …