Page 22 of Silver Elite

For tonight’s city drills, a Command craft flies us to the Point, landing on a paved lot with a backdrop of sprawling warehouses, small factories, and low-rise buildings. There’s a heavy, oily scent to the air, a mixture of exhaust fumes and a burnt odor that makes me wonder what they’re doing in those buildings. While my fellows gather around awaiting instructions, my gaze is busy searching for an escape. If the network wasn’t ignoring me, they could have taken advantage of this. Attempted a rescue while I was off base.

You’re not important enough to rescue.

Right. I forgot.

Kaine grins and sidles up to me. “Hope you’re not scared of heights.”

“No. You?”

“Not scared of anything, cowgirl.”

I believe him. I’ve yet to see Kaine bat an eye during any of the exercises and mock ops we’ve done this week, even the ones that brought butterflies of trepidation to my stomach.

I shift my gaze to the task at hand. The night drapes over the two buildings like a heavy cloak. Tonight’s mission is simple: climb the first building to the rooftop and jump to the second building one story below.

Did I mention we’re doing both the climbing and the jumping without any safety gear?

Bryce balks at this. “In a real op, we would have a harness,” she says with an irritated huff of breath.

“Would you?” An amused Struck glances at Ford, and I remember her on his lap. His lips kissing her neck. “Hey, Xav, did we wear a harness the night we scaled a cliff while tracking that Faithful camp?”

He snorts softly.

She refocuses on Bryce, her tone sharpening. “Listen, Granger, I know Daddy talked your way into the Program, but he’s not here to smooth the way for you anymore.”

I try not to raise a brow. Everyone whispers that Bryce is a staple, but this is the first time an instructor has stated it out loud.

“So climb the building or get out of my sight,” Struck snaps at her.

Ford snickers. It’s rare for Struck to lose her cool, but even I have to admit Bryce name-dropping Daddy is getting tiresome. Only so many times you can say “My father is in Command Intelligence” before people want to smack you.

We’re divided into four heats and told the team that completes the mission the fastest wins Lux credits. This will be a hard one to sabotage, unless I purposely choose to plummet to my death, which doesn’t appeal to me. I’m working with Lyddie, Roe, and a recruit named Jones. I can’t for the life of me remember Jones’s first name. All I know about him is that he’s the male equivalent of Bryce, a staple whose father is one of the wealthiest capitalists on the Continent.

A metal ladder extends vertically along the side of the first building, only sections of it are missing. We’ll have to climb the wall itself when we reach those gaps.

My team is up first. Ford nods at us as we get in position. “Time starts now.”

Roe takes the lead, followed by Lyddie and then me, with Jones taking up the rear.

We ascend the ladder at a good clip. When we approach the first gap between rungs, my pulse quickens. The weathered exterior of the gray brick building doesn’t appear very sturdy. Each handhold feels precarious, each step a gamble.

Below me, the heads of our fellows and instructors are getting smaller and smaller. Above me, the black sky stretches endlessly, indifferent to our presence. My heart pounds in my chest, the adrenaline in my veins heightening my senses.

Lyddie is slowing, and I offer some encouragement. “You got this, Lyds. Dig your nails into that hole in the brick and reach for the rung with your other hand.”

But she’s not as athletic as other recruits. Her strengths lie in the classroom. She struggles to find footholds, and even when she does, she has trouble heaving herself up to reach the ladder.

The cool summer air bites into my cheeks as I cling to the wall waiting for her to move, my fingers aching from the strain. Finally, finally, we reach the top. Lyddie heaves herself over the ledge. I swiftly follow suit.

When my boots hit the gravel that coats the rooftop, my heart beats even faster. The building is only five stories tall, so I can’t see the entire city from up here, but I do catch glimpses of the skyline. Winking lights. Windows emanating a pale-yellow glow. I imagine all the obedient citizens in their tidy homes and apartments, going to sleep so they can wake up and go to their jobs in the morning. They earn Req credits to use for meals, necessities. Lux credits for the shinier things. They have schools for their kids. Safety on their streets. Maybe Cross is right. Maybe I should accept this life. There are far worse things than—

I shake myself out of it. What am I even thinking? There is nothing worse than serving the General. Nothing.

“Let’s go.” Roe’s voice snaps me from my thoughts.

I approach the edge of the roof and swallow through the sudden dryness of my mouth. Oh. The jump is more daunting than I expected.

Lyddie’s face turns ashen when she follows my gaze.

“It’s fine,” I tell her. “It’ll be over in seconds.”

Roe is irritated with Lyddie’s hesitation. “Enough of this shit. You already slowed us down on the ladder. I’m not letting you lose this for us. Just run and jump.”

She visibly gulps. “I…can’t.”

I don’t even have to sabotage the drill myself, I realize. I could just let Lyddie give up. Yet as I see the anguish seep into her brown eyes, I suddenly think about all the study sessions she’s foisted upon me. How freely she offers her help when I certainly don’t deserve it.

“Hey.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “You can do this. It’s not a big drop. When you land, make sure you roll. Absorb the impact in the roll, keen?”

“Keen,” she whispers.

“Hurry up,” Roe spits out.

“She’s coming,” I growl. “Go. She’s right behind you.”

He scowls for a moment, then backs up, breaks into a run, and jumps. His black uniform blends into the darkness.

Lyddie is even paler now, her freckles becoming prominent.

“You can do it, Lyddie. I promise.”

After a final beat of hesitation, she takes off. I can’t stop the pride that fills my chest as I watch her fly through the night like a clumsy bird. She lands not very gracefully, but at least intact.

It’s my turn now, and a rush of exhilaration races through me. I focus on the second rooftop, and then, with a running start and another surge of adrenaline, I jump off the roof, my muscles coiling like a spring as I launch myself into the void.

For a heart-stopping moment, I’m weightless. Free-floating as I arch through the air, and then time speeds back to normal, gravity takes over, and my feet land with a hard thump on the cold stone of the opposing rooftop. With a triumphant grunt, I roll out of the way so Jones doesn’t barrel into me as he clears the jump.

We hurry toward the ledge and climb over it, descending another metal ladder. When all four of us are on the ground, Tyler stops our time.

Roe glances at me and says, “Wow. You didn’t fuck it up for once.”

“Must have been your incredible leadership skills.”

He chuckles at that and wanders toward Anson and Kess.

Lyddie and I watch the other heats. Kaine and Betima are on the next team and seem to make good time. The third group features Ivy and Bryce, the latter jumping with ease and confidence I don’t expect from someone wound up so tight.

As we wait at the bottom and watch bodies soar through the air, Lyddie links her arm through mine. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“I know.”

She rests her head on my shoulder, her voice rippling with gratitude as she adds, “Thank you. You got me through that.”

Oh hell. I’m softening to her. It’s getting harder and harder to stop these little seeds from sprouting into a genuine friendship. It’s the same with Kaine—I’m a victim to his charms. And Betima, who lures me in with her top-notch sarcasm.

In another life, an alternate universe, I could see myself being friends with these people. Or maybe that’s where I am now, standing at the crossroads of some parallel universe, staring at divergent paths, one where an alternate reality is mine for the taking. Maybe I should not only accept my fate like Cross advised but embrace it.

Let myself care about these people with whom I’ve just spent three grueling weeks, truly care about them.

Give up my childish desire to become a valued member of the Uprising like Jim and my parents.

Forget that I’m Modified. I suppose that one won’t be too hard. Telepathy is the only gift I rely on regularly, anyway. I can cut my links to Tana. To Wolf.

I can start fresh in this new reality. Why not give in to it—

A scream rips through the air, shattering the night like glass.

I can’t quite grasp what I’m seeing. A blur above my head, moving so fast it’s gone when I blink.

Then understanding dawns, and I watch in horror as the body falls out of the sky.

A recruit just plunged those five stories I promised Lyddie were safe. He lands not on the pavement but on the rusted steel fence separating the two buildings.

Impaled by one of the spiked posts.

Bile hurtles up my throat. It’s Glin Cotter. I recognize his black curls and massive shoulders. Those shoulders are normally set in a proud line. Right now, they’re slumped, his body grotesquely bowed over the post like a sick offering to the gods.

I start running, Betima and Kaine hot on my heels. Glin is still alive, but he’s screaming. Crying out with the kind of agony that makes your body curl into itself.

Kaine reaches him first. “Hey, brother, it’s okay. Don’t move. Stop moving.”

Glin continues to thrash, moans of pain ripped from his throat.

Roe joins us, helping Kaine try to keep Glin still. Betima’s hands tremble as she touches Glin’s shoulder to offer comfort, but there’s little she can do. The young man’s agony is palpable, his face contorted as he struggles to draw breath. We’re helpless witnesses to his suffering.

Betima curls her fingers around Glin’s flailing arm, but he slaps at her hand, his elbow snapping into her face. She makes a sound of distress but keeps attempting to console him.

“Help me!” Glin pleads between loud, agonized groans. “Get me off this thing. Help.”

Struck and Ford move with urgency as they arrive to examine the wounded recruit. “Don’t move, Cotter,” Ford says in a low voice. “Let’s have a look.”

What’s there to look at? There’s a rusty metal spike protruding from the guy’s chest.

Betima starts to back away. Hugging her arms to her chest and shaking as if she’d just entered a freezer. She pulls her sleeves down as far as they’ll go and hugs herself tighter. She’s in shock.

“Hold his arms,” Ford snaps at her as Cotter continues to resist.

Although her face is green now, she leans in to help secure Glin’s squirming arms.

Me, I slowly back away, because there’s nothing I can do for him. He won’t survive this. Nobody can.

Glin’s screams have dimmed to whimpers. “H-help. Heeeeelp…”

He’s fading.

Betima tries to soothe him, but it’s a futile effort. He blinks at her, and then he’s gone. Eyes glassy. Vacant. Dead.

A tormented moan escapes Betima’s lips. She releases her grip on Glin’s arm and stumbles several feet away, where she bends her torso and vomits all over the pavement.

“Poor Glin,” I hear Lyddie whisper.

I hurry to wrap a consoling arm around Betima, smoothing her bangs off her forehead as she empties her stomach. When a prickly sensation travels through me, I lift my head and notice Roe standing nearby, suspicion tightening his brow as he watches me. He frowns, as if I’m somehow responsible for what happened to Glin tonight.

I break the eye contact and focus my attention on Betima.

—

The weight of tonight’s tragedy hangs heavy in the air. Nobody says much when we return to the base. In the barracks, the usual chatter is replaced by somber silence. Betima seems especially haunted by Glin’s accident. Her eyes held a dull sheen on the helo ride back, and she appears to still be in shock. While everyone else undresses and gets ready for bed, I notice her slip out the door, still clad in tonight’s all-black getup.

I push away from my bed to follow her. Kaine gives me a questioning look, offering to come, but I shake my head.

She’s halfway down the corridor when I exit the bunks.

“Hey, wait,” I call after her. “I’m coming with you.” I falter when I realize I’m being presumptuous. “Unless you want to be alone?”

Betima waits for me to catch up. “No, it’s fine. I’m going up to the roof. I need a smoke.”

We enter the stairwell at the end of the hall. I’ve never been to the roof of the training facility before, but evidently it’s a popular spot, because tobacco butts and old joints litter the rooftop floor.

“Will this lock behind us?” I ask, holding on to the edge of the metal door.

She shakes her head, so I let it shut.

We walk to the ledge that overlooks the base. I scan the various outbuildings, then focus on the main installation in which I was held when I first got here. The interrogation room. The stockade. It feels like a lifetime ago.

A soft hiss breaks the silence. Betima flips the top of a metal lighter and sparks a joint that’s neatly rolled in brown paper.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” I remark.

“I don’t do it often. I like to save it for the nights I watch someone get impaled on a fence and listen to them shriek in agony.”

“Seems like a good occasion for it.”

She takes a deep hit. Her chest rises as she inhales, then falls on the exhale. A minty, medicinal odor floats in my direction.

“Do you want?” she offers.

I shake my head. I’ve never been a fan. Jim liked to smoke euca in the evenings sometimes, claiming it went down smoother into the lungs compared with the cannabis that used to be freely available all over the globe. I heard there’s still a lot of cannabis production in Tierra Fe. Cocaine, too. But it’s almost impossible to find it on the Continent, not without shady connections.

As she sucks on the euca joint, I tip my head up to the sky. “You can barely see any stars here.”

“Too much pollution. You’re from Z, right? You see the stars there?”

I nod. “The sky is gorgeous. All you see is stars.”

She takes another deep drag. Blows out another billowing plume that’s carried away by the breeze.

“You couldn’t have saved him,” I say quietly. “I hope you know that.”

“I do. He was dead the moment that spike went through his body.” She bites her lip. “I’ve just never held someone as they…” She exhales in a ragged burst. “I didn’t realize how awful it was to feel someone die.”

“Death is pretty awful.” The memory of Uncle Jim hitting the ground flashes through my mind. Blood oozing from all the bullet holes in his chest.

“Have you dealt with a lot of it?”

“My parents are dead, but I was so young when they died, I don’t know if it truly affected me. Losing my uncle was the first time I lost someone close to me. You?”

She nods. “I’ve lost friends.”

The door creaks behind us.

We both spin around to see a figure appear in the doorway, the lightbulb above him casting harsh shadows on his already harsh features. Roe’s expression is unreadable as he steps onto the roof, boots crunching on gravel.

I tense when I notice Anson trailing him. No Kess, though. I don’t know if that’s a good omen or a bad one.

“What do you want?” I ask the guys, suspicious of their sudden appearance.

Roe shrugs. “Saw you coming up here and thought it would be the perfect time to have a little chat.”

Betima drops the joint and crushes it under the toe of her boot. She glances at me. I nod.

“Yeah, we were just finishing up,” she says.

We head for the door. Anson moves in front of it. Smiling.

My muscles tighten when Roe approaches with his insolent stride, but he simply walks past us, wandering toward the spot where Betima dropped the joint.

“Now why waste good euca?” he tsks. He bends to retrieve it, brushing the dirt and gravel off. He reshapes the joint a little as he stands.

That’s when I notice the sleek butt of a gun sticking out of his waistband.

Warning bells go off in my head, loud and persistent. My gaze shifts to Anson. “Move,” I order.

He crosses his arms. Doesn’t budge.

“Light?” Roe prompts, holding up the joint.

Betima frowns at him.

“I could get Anson to strip-search you for it,” he offers.

She narrows her eyes. After a beat, she tosses him the lighter.

He catches it easily, then flips it open to light the joint. It glows orange at the tip as he inhales deeply. With a contented sound, he exhales a huge plume into the night sky.

“Tell your guard dog to move,” I snap at Roe. “I’m not in the mood for your games tonight.”

“Games, huh?” He pinches the joint between his thumb and forefinger. Takes another drag.

I step toward the bulky guy who’s blocking our exit.

Anson’s smile widens.

I could take him. Or at least push him aside so Betima and I can throw the door open. But I don’t trust Roe with that handgun.

“Where did you get the gun?” I ask.

Roe ignores the question. “My father is fond of games—did you know that? There’s this one party game in particular that he can’t get enough of.” He chuckles at my skeptical expression. “Can you believe it? General Merrick Redden hosting dinner parties and making his guests play games. Sadly, I don’t get invited to his dinners anymore. Not after the last one.”

Despite the tension thickening the air, I turn away from the door and slowly walk toward Roe. Betima follows. We haven’t given up. We’re both still on guard. But it’s clear we’re not going anywhere until Roe is finished with…whatever this is.

“Anyway, his favorite game is a murder mystery. Everyone draws a card, but only one is the murderer card. The rest of the players are supposed to guess who the killer is, while he methodically moves around the room killing their asses.”

He offers the joint to Betima, who hesitates before accepting it.

“I was sixteen the first time the General issued me an invitation. His precious Cross and perfect Travis had been attending since they were kids. But not me. Took sixteen years before his little bastard got to come to dinner.” He chortles to himself.

Betima tries to hand him the joint back, but he shakes his head.

“So I sit through that mind-numbing meal, pretending not to notice all the wives whispering about me, about who my mother was. Nosy little quats. Afterward, we’re all ushered into the parlor. The guest of honor that night was this big-shot capitalist. I hate those assholes.”

I don’t love them, either. The capitalists are the richest of the elites, owning the bulk of the corporations on the Continent. A small group of men and women in the General’s favor, always happy to collude with the Company.

“Travis pulls me aside before the game and says the capitalist is going to be the murderer.”

I can’t stop a snort. “The General fixes his party games?”

“Of course. And of course, we’re supposed to let the capitalist win. Travis says Dad does the same thing every time with his important guests. Puffs them up. Strokes their ego so that they feel like a monarch from the Old Era. Even if it’s just at a dinner party. But…me?…I don’t let people win. They want to be better than me? Then they need to actually be better than me.” He chuckles. “Why should they have it easy?”

“Because you’ve never had it easy, right?” This boy in front of me is both predictable and unpredictable. I hate paradoxical people.

“Exactly.”

“Must be hard to walk upright,” I say, “with that chip on your shoulder.”

“The funny thing is,” he says, ignoring the jab, “even if Travis hadn’t told me, I would’ve guessed him as the murderer. Everyone has their tells. His was smoothing his left eyebrow with two fingers whenever he lied. And he kept slipping up, forgetting who he’d been alone with.” Roe shrugs. “It’s easy to tell when someone’s trying to deceive you.”

Something about his tone quickens my pulse. I look toward the door. Anson hasn’t moved. He’s picking at his fingernails, not paying us any attention.

“All right, Betima.” I turn away from Roe, officially fed up. “Let’s go.”

I hear a rustling behind me.

“You’re not going anywhere, Wren.”

When I look over my shoulder, I freeze on the spot.

He’s pointing the gun at me.

Ignoring my now-careening heartbeat, I put on an unbothered expression. “I don’t know what you’re planning here or why, but your brother’s not going to like it when he finds out you’re holding two of his recruits at gunpoint on a rooftop.”

Betima nods in agreement. “We’re going now. Enough of this shit.”

We exchange a look, then glance at Anson again. We can take him.

There’s a click. Roe releasing the safety.

“Actually, I think my brother will be more concerned with the fact there’s an Aberrant bitch among us.”

My blood runs cold.

By some miracle, I manage to keep my shoulders straight, my jaw locked, even while my knees are weakening and my breath thins from the panic flooding my body. Beside me, Betima goes stock-still. Her gaze darts toward me as if to ask, What the hell is going on?

“Okay, enough,” I snap.

“Enough what? Enough lying? I agree.”

Laughing, Roe saunters forward, closing the distance between us. He stops when we’re a couple of feet apart, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin.

He knows.

Somehow, he knows the truth.

“The thing about you people is that you look like us, you walk like us, you talk like us. But—and for once my father and I are in full agreement about something—you’re not us. You’re defective. You shouldn’t exist.”

He aims the gun at chest level, which tells me he’s been paying attention at the range. Always go for the bigger target. The head is a sexy mark, but it’s a lot easier to miss.

“Let’s go, Betima.” My voice is barely audible over my screaming pulse.

“But the one good thing about you,” he continues, unfazed when we turn our backs on him to advance on Anson.

“Move, Anson,” I growl.

“—is that eventually you slip up, too. Like the idiot at my father’s dinner party. Thinks he’s smarter than everyone, all the while broadcasting his identity to the group.” Roe’s cold chuckle chills my back. “It just takes a little while longer with you ’fects. Gotta be patient. Wait for the mistake. But you can’t hide for very long. You never do.”

I need to go.

My gaze shifts from Anson to Roe. Another wave of panic swells over me, threatening to drown out all rational thought. I’m seconds from lunging at Roe and batting the gun out of his hand. Or charging Anson and risking a bullet to the back of my head. Because standing here at either of their mercy is not an option. I ease forward an inch, my mind racing as I try to concoct a plan.

“Wren,” Betima warns, as if she knows I’m about to do something reckless. She gives a shake of the head and I stop.

“Smart girl.” Roe nods his approval. “But not so smart earlier, were you? You slipped up.”

I blink. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I don’t know what I did.

“I saw your veins when you touched him.”

My veins?

Clarity strikes at the same time Roe’s arm snaps out, and I watch in horror as he presses the gun barrel to Betima’s forehead.

She freezes, all the color draining from her face.

And I suddenly hear her words buzz through my head.

I didn’t realize how awful it was to feel someone die.

To feel someone die.

“Empath,” Roe says, voicing my thoughts. “That’s my guess.”

Before I can process the stunning implications, I notice his finger tightening on the trigger.

“You’re crazy,” Betima says, her voice shaking.

“No. I saw your veins. And I saw your face. You felt what he was feeling. You felt it when Cotter died. That’s why you got sick.”

“No, I was sick because I watched one of our fellows get impaled by—”

“Would you just shut the fuck up already?”

The world shatters around me as Roe pulls the trigger.