Page 17 of Silver Elite

I wish I had more memories of my parents. I wish I could remember what they looked like, but their faces are nothing more than shadows in the recesses of my mind, half formed and elusive. Most of what I know about them came from Uncle Jim, but sometimes I’ll have a blurry recollection of them. My mother’s soothing voice, telling me it’ll be all right. My father’s laughter. The citrusy scent of his soap.

I don’t even know their names. In the rare instances Jim spoke of them, it was “your mother,” “your father,” “your parents.” I know she was a Mod. A Command colonel. I know he was a Prime. A soldier. I know they both served in Tin Block.

Uncle Jim told me once, after he’d knocked back half a dozen glasses of whiskey, that my mom was the bravest woman he’d ever known. That she was so cool under pressure, so rock-steady in the face of danger, you’d think she didn’t possess a fear gene.

“So she was like me,” had been my reply. A soft smile touched my lips, only to fade at his reply.

“No. You, Wren, are reckless. And reckless is not the same as brave.”

My lips had tightened with offense.

“Rushing headfirst into danger is not an act of courage,” he continued, gruff and impassive. “Your mother thought very hard about her every action. She went into every single situation with her eyes wide open. She knew exactly what she was doing and why.”

I hear those words in my head now as I move like a shadow across the base.

The Uprising isn’t saving me. That much is clear. They don’t care that Julian Ash was executed, and they don’t care that Wren Darlington is in the Command’s clutches. I need to come up with a plan to save my own ass.

A real plan. One I think and rethink and then think about again before implementing. I need to take a page out of Uncle Jim’s book, out of my mother’s book, and use some restraint. I can’t steal a motorcycle just because it happens to be left unattended. Finding a way off this base will require a good, solid plan.

And every good, solid plan starts with one thing.

Scouting.

I’m under no illusions about where I am. This is a military base. The perimeter is going to be beyond secure. Or…there might be a weak spot. Maybe two. Maybe someone makes a mistake one day. Leaves their post to take a leak. Forgets their keycard at the shooting range. Uncle Jim taught me to exploit other people’s errors, capitalize on their shortcomings.

With each step, a new dose of adrenaline courses through my veins. There are cameras everywhere. Blinking red. There are guards stationed at the towers. I know they see me, but nobody acknowledges me. Nobody shouts for me to return to my bunk.

It’s eerie.

I reach a courtyard and find myself staring up at a massive stone wall. At the bottom of the wall are two black metal gates. They’re open, but all I can see beyond them is gaping blackness. I gulp when I realize I know where I am. I know what’s on the other end of that tunnel.

I approach the gates at the same time a soldier patrolling the top of the wall notices me.

He jerks in surprise. “What are you—” Then he touches his ear and stops talking. Despite his narrowed eyes, he lets me pass through the gates.

It’s not eerie anymore. I know what’s happening. But at the moment, I don’t care.

I walk down the dark, silent tunnel, focusing on the pale flicker of light in the distance. My footsteps are quiet against the paved ground. I reach the light and enter the South Plaza.

I stand in the center of the open courtyard. It’s depressingly familiar. The red dirt beneath the soles of my boots. The platform. Floodlights affixed to the wall shine down on the wooden structure as if it’s the stage for a Company theater production. It looks innocuous when there isn’t anyone kneeling on it, begging for their life. Not that Uncle Jim begged. He had too much pride for that.

The memory of his rugged face flashes through my mind. I can almost hear his brusque voice ordering me to finish my chores.

Tears sting my eyelids. I turn away from the platform and glance at the gates behind me, then tilt my head to examine the wall, its stone ledge high above my head.

Wiping my palms on my pants, I approach the gate, plant my foot on the first iron bar, and start to climb. When I reach the top, I swing myself onto the wall itself. I find a foothold in the stone and feel for anywhere I can grip my fingers.

Still, nobody stops me.

I climb higher. My fingers curl into the rough surface as I pull myself up onto the ledge that spans the perimeter of the wall. It’s several feet wide, allowing me to walk along it without fear of losing my balance. I go about fifty feet before stopping to take in the view. Beyond the base, the city stretches out before me like a black canvas waiting to be painted. Faint lights wink in the darkness. Proof of civilization.

I pivot and stare at the execution platform twenty feet below. Memories flood my mind. Memories of Jim’s body crumpling to the ground full of bullet holes. The blood soaking his shirt. His last words whispering inside my head.

Goodbye, little bird.

The pain throbs like a phantom ache. I close my eyes, willing the tears away, but they threaten to spill over for real this time.

“Careful, Darlington. One wrong step and you’ll end up a broken dove on the dirt.”

I’m not at all surprised to hear his voice.

I sit on the ledge, letting my feet swing over the edge as I peer down at Cross. Bastard only seems to get more attractive.

Rather than respond, I shift my gaze away.

The gates don’t creak as he climbs onto them. I find that disconcerting. They creaked when I did it. And his ascent of the wall is so silent I wouldn’t have even known he was there if my peripheral vision wasn’t clocking flashes of him walking toward me.

He joins me but remains standing. There’s a gun holstered to his hip.

“You’re not going to need that,” I tell him in a tone laced with amusement. “I wasn’t trying to escape.”

“You can’t escape, Dove. You wouldn’t have made it out of the barracks if I hadn’t let you.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Every inch of this place is covered with cameras and silent alarms. My security team alerted me the moment they saw you exit the bunks. Same way they alerted me when they saw you stealing a bike in the east quadrant.”

“Why did you order them to leave me alone?”

“Wanted to see where you’d go.” His gaze fixes on the execution platform before he voices an unexpected question. “Did you witness the incitement?”

I ignore the tiny jolt of anxiety. “Honestly? I was too busy trying to figure out how to get up on that platform and save my uncle. I didn’t notice what the squad was doing until people in the crowd started screaming.”

Cross continues to observe me. I feel those blue eyes rake over every inch of me, including the parts made a little too visible by the thin white tank top they gave me to sleep in. I keep putting in requests to have my belongings from Z shipped to me, and those requests keep getting denied. I assume it’s Cross’s doing. No leisure passes. No cozy pajamas. He has zero interest in making me feel comfortable here.

After a brief silence, he slides his gun out of its holster. I stiffen. But all he does is lower his tall frame and fold it into a sitting position next to me. He sets the weapon between us on the ledge, then chuckles when he notices me eyeing it.

“Try it,” he murmurs, the dimple making an appearance. “Liven up my night.”

I pretend that his nearness isn’t affecting my heart rate. That his woodsy scent isn’t wreaking havoc on my senses. “You mean this isn’t lively enough for you? Traipsing after me in the middle of the night, refusing to let me grieve in peace?”

“Is that what this midnight excursion is? A grieving session?”

“You sound like you don’t believe me.”

“I believe very little of what you say to me, Darlington.”

I can’t help a grin. Until my gaze focuses on the platform again, and the humor dies. I gesture below us, a hard edge sharpening my voice. “What you do here is barbaric.”

Cross shrugs. “I don’t do a godfucking thing. The squad isn’t under my purview. That’s Tin Block’s domain.”

I think about those eight men and women who so willingly—happily—fired bullets into my uncle’s body. My fists curl, pressing against my thighs. My need for vengeance hasn’t dimmed, not even a flicker, during this past week.

“With that said…” He slants his head toward me. “Ask yourself what’s more barbaric—ridding society of evil, or making innocent people suffer in order to keep evil alive?”

“My uncle wasn’t evil.”

“What happens down there goes beyond your uncle. Before the Last War, there were penitentiaries all over the world. As a society, we housed millions of criminals. Clothed them, fed them. Cold-blooded killers and child rapists living better lives than most free people. Even the ones who were sentenced to death were allowed to live for decades past their sentences. They ate three square meals a day while those who hadn’t killed or raped anyone could barely afford to eat. Evil pilfering rare resources from innocent citizens.”

I snort. “Weren’t you the one lecturing me about how life isn’t fair?”

“It isn’t. All I’m saying is, the squad serves a purpose now. Maybe in the Old Era there was a place for mercy. But not anymore.”

“My uncle never hurt a child or killed anyone.” Anyone who didn’t deserve it, anyway.

“Your uncle was a threat to the Company.”

“He was a rancher.”

“He was a deserter. He was Aberrant. And he jeopardized the one thing my father values above all else: order.”

My father. It’s the first time I’ve heard him say that. And it’s the reminder I need to persuade my pulse that it really shouldn’t be racing right now.

This man, no matter how attractive, is my enemy.

“The General is obsessed with correcting the mistakes of the Old Era. That’s all my brothers and I ever heard growing up, how humanity destroyed itself. Letting chaos reign. Encouraging learned helplessness. Kids were in school until their twenties. Adults, too. All these pathetic assholes wasting time, wasting resources. If you’re not productive, you’re destructive.”

“Is that what you believe? Efficiency and order above all?”

His voice becomes rough. “I believe that humanity is wired for destruction no matter the environment. Old Era, New Era. Aberrant on top, Prime on top. We will always find a way to destroy ourselves. We’re a doomed species.”

“That’s really depressing.”

He’s quiet for a moment. This isn’t the Cross Redden I’ve become accustomed to since I got here—mocking, ruthless, violent. This Cross is too introspective for my peace of mind.

When he speaks again, it’s with a flat intonation. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. You think failing your tests and sabotaging yourself at the range will get you cut, but it won’t. I already told you, it’s the Program or the stockade.”

A knot of defiance twists my gut. “You know I don’t belong in the Command. I’m only here because of my uncle’s alleged crimes.”

“Tell me, then—where do you belong? Where do you belong now that Julian Ash is dead? You’ll never be allowed to return to your ward.”

“You don’t even want me in your precious Silver Block.” Frustration clenches in my chest. “You said yourself you don’t trust me.”

“My trust can be earned.”

Well, mine can’t, I almost retort. Because I’ll never trust Cross Redden. Or his father. Or any of the people on this base.

“Yes, I’m sure you plan to shower me with trust.” I give a bitter laugh. “You won’t even approve a leisure pass.”

He returns the laugh, low and mocking. “Is that why we’re out here? Does baby feel left out?”

“Screw you.”

“You want a pass, you have to earn that, too. Your uncle’s actions may have brought you here, but they don’t define you. You have a choice now. You can either let pride and resentment hold you back, or you can rise above it and seize the opportunity you’ve been given.”

I bristle at that. “The opportunity to be forced into a life I never wanted?”

“Sometimes we just have to accept our fate, Dove. Trying to fight against it only leads to headaches.” He shrugs. “You have a chance to prove yourself, to forge a new path. I recommend you don’t squander it.”

I glare at him, anger boiling beneath the surface. “And what if I don’t want to prove myself? What if I just want to be left alone?”

The question earns me a snort of amusement. “That’s not going to happen. Not here.”

He rises to his feet in one fluid motion, moving with grace you wouldn’t expect to see from someone his height.

“You have an hour. If you’re not back in the barracks by then, I’ve given orders to the sentries to drag you there by your hair.”

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“No. I’m really fucking not.”

Once he’s gone, I stare at the execution platform again, and a spark of resentment ignites inside me, a whisper of defiance against this “fate” that has been chosen for me.

I’ve accepted a lot of fates.

I’ve accepted that my parents are dead.

That Jim is gone.

That my mind is a weapon and if people knew even half of what I could do, they would put a bullet in my brain.

I’ve accepted that I’m never going to trust anyone enough to show them who I am, because it will always be too dangerous.

But I will not accept this fate. I wasn’t “destined” to be a Command prisoner. And I’ll be damned before I submit to it.