Page 64

T he crisp late autumn breeze sends a shiver rippling through me as I exhale a plume of vapour, the chill biting at my exposed skin. Propping my back against the gnarled oak trunk, I shift my weight until the rigid bark no longer digs into my spine quite so painfully. Balanced atop my thighs, the sleek titanium laptop casts a faint azure glow across my features.

Lines of code scroll hypnotically across the screen, numbers and symbols blurring together into a meaningless kaleidoscope after hours of tedious input. Rubbing my thumb absently along my bottom lip, I squint to bring a particularly troublesome string into sharper focus. This latest encryption is proving more recalcitrant than anticipated, the complex algorithms refusing to bend to my will no matter how I tweak the parameters.

Brow furrowing in concentration, I mentally separate each command, sifting for any potential vulnerabilities or code weaknesses that could be exploited—it’s the same futile exercise I’ve repeated ad nauseam since this hellish year commenced. A desperate bid to discover some flaw, some chink in the Council’s impenetrable armour that might allow me to bring this twisted cabal crashing down around their sanctimonious ears.

So engrossed am I in the fruitless pursuit that I don’t immediately register the telltale crunch of footfalls over the leaf-strewn ground. Not until the heavy tread grows closer, accompanied by the murmur of hushed voices carrying on the breeze.

Blinking rapidly, I tear my gaze away from the screen just as Hayes and Jace round the ornamental hedgerow bordering this secluded alcove. They seem not to notice me at first, so intent on their conversation that it’s Jace who ultimately falters mid-stride upon catching sight of my prone form nestled in the shade.

“Hey, ie-boy,” Jace greets with a lazy half-salute, the barest ghost of a smile playing about those full lips. Shoving both hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, Jace does an exaggerated slow turn as if searching the immediate vicinity. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen our esteemed leader lurking about this morning, have you?”

With a languid roll of my eyes, I allow the laptop lid to drift shut with a soft snick. “If by ‘esteemed leader’ you mean the pretentious wanker that dragged us all kicking and screaming into this hellhole?” I rasp out, sarcasm dripping from every syllable even as the ghost of a smirk plays about my mouth.

Both Jace and Hayes scoff in tandem at that barbed quip, clearly sharing similar sentiments towards Arius’ ornery attitude of late. I can’t find it within me to disagree with that particular assessment, not after bearing witness to the sheer brutality doled out during last evening’s Hunt. Between you and me, Arius seemed perilously close to slipping those tenuous leashes binding his baser impulses entirely.

Gnawing my cheek, I give a noncommittal grunt before answering. “Arius has been holed up with Briar since he kicked Hayes out last night,” I reluctantly admit, the words tasting like bitter ash on my tongue. “I haven’t laid eyes on either of them all bloody morning.”

Speaking of… I drag my gaze over to where the towering bloke in question lingers uncertainly on the fringes of our little confab. One dark brow arches in silent query, silently imploring Hayes to elaborate as only he can bring himself to.

Sure enough, Hayes seems to straighten incrementally at my pointed look, sucking in a sharp inhale before speaking up.

“Have they… you know, emerged for anything since patching up last night?” A muscle twitches along his squared jawline, but the man’s voice remains admirably level as ever. “Sustenance and whatnot?”

With an idle shrug, I allow my focus to drift back towards the treeline idling beyond our impromptu gathering place. Anywhere to avoid witnessing the mounting concern etching itself across both their features, the implications of this extended isolation hitting far too close for comfort.

“Your guess is as credible as mine, if we’re being honest.” Plucking a few windswept leaves from where they’ve adhered to my shirtsleeve, I avoid making eye contact by pretending an intense fascination with the foliage. “I did knock once or twice this morning,” I allow at length, the barest undercurrent of reluctance lacing my tone. “But there was no answer, so I thought it wise to simply leave them be for the time being.”

Heavy silence hangs between the three of us, broken only by the sigh of the autumn zephyr whispering through brittle branches overhead. It’s Hayes who finally breaks the stand-off, squaring those massive shoulders in a full-body shrug.

“We should probably go pop in, regardless,” he rumbles, mouth settling into a grim line as those whisky irises cut between Jace and I. “Even if it is just to make certain Briar’s dressings don’t need changing.”

Reflexively, I baulk at the notion. “They didn’t exactly seem in the mood for company this morning, mate,” I argue, suddenly feeling the inexplicable urge to play devil’s advocate despite my typical tendency to avoid any prolonged tension.

“Shite, you think they might have killed each other in there?” Jace pipes up, one dark brow arching incredulously towards his hairline. “I mean hell, I know Arius was in a right foul state last night. But that seems a bit fuckin’ dramatic, even for him.”

With a bone-deep sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. “No, there wasn’t any indication it had devolved into anything like that,” I admit, the words rasping out in a weary cadence. “Actually, it was oddly quiet in there most of the night—eerily so, if I’m being honest.”

A thoughtful noise escapes Hayes, the sound little more than a grunt of acknowledgment as he digests my assessment. Then, with an abrupt shake of his head, he extends one broad palm in my direction with gruff impatience.

“Hand it over, then,” he orders, forestalling any further debate or dilly-dallying.

I blink at him owlishly for a heartbeat, momentarily stunned by the blunt demand. “You can’t be serious, mate,” I huff, mouth turning down at the corners in a pronounced scowl. “We’re not actually storming the bloody gates like the Queen’s guard or some shite.”

His gaze narrows to icy slits, pinning me in place with a glare that leaves zero room for argument or protestation. “Not asking again, ,” Hayes growls, the undercurrent of menace in his baritone enough to send a frisson of unease prickling along my nape.

Muttering a litany of profanities under my breath, I fumble in my jacket pocket until my digits brush the familiar ridges of my billfold. For the briefest of heartbeats, I hesitate, entertaining the notion of simply leaving them to continue sulking in solitude. Then Hayes’ brows descend into a thunderous scowl, and all notions of resistance flutter out the proverbial window like so many embers on an errant draft.

With an aggrieved exhale, I pluck the keycard free from its customary slot and flick it towards Hayes underhanded. “There, you brooding prick—happy now?” I grouse, unable to resist the parting shot even as he snatches the card deftly from its arc. “Can I get back to trying to untangle this encryption cluster-fuck Lark assigned, or am I expected to provide a full musical score to accompany the floor show?”

Rather than rising to the bait, Hayes simply tucks the keycard into his pocket and pins us both with a look. “Hansley’s summoned another meeting for tomorrow,” he states, matter-of-fact, watching as the twin grimaces inevitably etch themselves onto Jace and my expressions. “Figured we may as well get out ahead of whatever fresh hell she’s cooked up this time around.”

The hard line of Jace’s jaw clenches spasmodically at that pronouncement—never one to shy from displaying his disgruntled reactions. Meanwhile, I seem to deflate incrementally, shoulders sagging dejectedly inward as a bone-weary sigh rattles up from the pit of my sternum.

“Another Trial, so soon after last night’s debacle?” I can’t help voicing the protest, already chafing at the mere notion of whatever depravities lie in store. Raking both hands through my hair, I fix Hayes with an incredulous glower. “Has the decrepit old cunt finally buggered the last vestiges of sense from that reedy brain cavity?”

“She didn’t specify the meeting was for another Trial,” Hayes counters, arching one brow in a bland approximation of a shrug. “Could just be one of her customary briefings to reaffirm our progress.”

My full-body shudder at that innocuous remark is as visceral as it is involuntary. Because we both know better than to entertain such naive notions as ‘briefings’ or ‘progress reports’ here in Hansley’s twisted domain. Everything, from the most tempered social interaction to these barbaric crucibles, is carefully choreographed towards some greater design. Her all-consuming obsession with moulding the four of us into some mythic cadre of brutality too unspeakable to comprehend.

And Briar—that poor girl—is simply the latest linchpin to be exploited in this sadistic psychodrama unfolding before us.