Page 23 of Silver Elite

Time slows to a crawl. The gunshot echoes through the dark night. Betima falls to the ground, her blood staining the gravel like spilled ink.

I stand there, frozen in shock.

Betima had been hiding in plain sight. Raising her hand during class, playing dumb about Mods. Can they plant images in my mind? She had me completely fooled.

I don’t wait to find out what Roe plans to do with me next. I shove Anson aside and throw open the door, then race down the stairs. My footfalls blast through the stairwell. I can’t breathe. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest.

I burst out at the bottom floor and hear the shouts in the corridor. Soldiers come running. I throw myself to the side, but someone grabs me. It’s Hadley.

“What did you do?” he demands.

“Nothing.”

“What did you do!”

“It was Roe. And Anson,” I manage to whisper.

He frowns.

I nod to the door. “They’re still up there. With her body. Betima’s.”

He blinks. Then he issues a command. “Go back to the bunks. Stay there until someone comes.”

For once I don’t feel rampant hatred for Hadley. I’m too busy thinking about Betima’s blood pouring out of her skull.

He shot her.

He fucking shot her.

“Wren! What happened?”

The moment I stumble into the barracks, people are coming at me from all directions. My stomach starts churning, so I race into the lavatory, where I collapse onto my knees and throw up in the toilet.

I hear Lyddie’s voice outside the stall. “Are you all right?”

After I’ve emptied my stomach, I rise to my feet and force myself to step out. I draw a breath, my gaze shifting toward the wall of mirrors, landing on my reflection. I look ashen. My eyes look dead. Dead like Betima.

A few other women stream in. Ivy. Bryce. Kess. Their expressions range from fear to confusion. Or in Kess’s case, that smirk.

“What’s going on?” Bryce asks.

I ignore her, focusing on Kess instead. It takes all my willpower not to lunge at her again. Beat that smirk right off her face.

“Did you know he was going to kill her?” I snarl.

“What the hell are you on about?”

“Betima. Roe.” My hands start shaking, so I press them to my sides. “He killed her.”

“Oh my gosh,” Lyddie whispers. “Why? Why would he do that?”

“He accused her of being Aberrant and then put a bullet in her head.”

“Betima was Aberrant?” Lyddie gasps. “No. I don’t believe that.”

“Roe’s a smart guy,” Kess says, the smirk resurfacing. “If he says it, then it’s true.”

I push past her, unable to stomach her horrible face a second longer. I stumble back toward the bunks. Each step feels like I’m moving through quicksand, my legs heavy with the weight of what I just witnessed. The memory plays over and over in my mind, a horrific loop of shock and finality. I can still hear the gunshot, the thud of Betima’s body, and the sickening silence that followed. Betima. Dead. Gone in an instant.

My fellows cast wary glances at me as I pass the rows of beds toward my own. Kaine’s bunk is empty. I wonder where he went, but I’m too numb to ask anyone.

I sit on the mattress, my back slumped against the cold, concrete wall, and pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. It takes everything inside me not to break out in sobs.

“Hey.”

Lyddie’s soft voice breaks through my haze of grief. I look up to see her standing a few feet away, her eyes filled with concern.

“Hey,” I echo. Numb.

“Can I sit?”

“Sure.”

She settles beside me but doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. Her presence alone is a comfort, a reminder that I’m not completely alone in this place.

We sit in silence for a while. The quiet voices of the other recruits travel through the room, but nobody comes to talk to us.

“He shot her in the head, Lyds,” I finally say. The pain in my chest feels like a physical wound.

“I still can’t believe it.” She eases closer and rests her head on my shoulder.

It reminds me so much of Tana that I want to cry. I miss my best friend.

“Do you think it’s true?” she asks. “That Betima was one of them?”

I’m one of them.

Betima was one of mine.

But I can’t tell Lyddie that, and I’m not in the mood to spark some drawn-out debate about whether Mods should be allowed to exist.

Fortunately, we’re interrupted by Kaine, who tosses his source on his bed and glances our way. His expression is serious for once.

“I guess you heard?” I say.

“Lash just told me.”

I swallow. “She’s dead.”

“If she was Aberrant, it was bound to happen anyway,” he replies, and once again I’m battling something inside of myself, because while I want to claw his eyes out for saying that, his response is exactly what it should be. For a Prime.

“Yeah,” I say with a weak nod. “She would’ve been found guilty of concealment.”

He nods back. “And faced the firing squad.”

“Right.”

Lyddie gives my arm a soft squeeze before climbing off the bed. “I’m going to sleep now. I’m sure we’ll have more answers in the morning.”

Betima will still be dead in the morning.

I feel Kaine’s gaze on me, and when I glance back in his direction, what I see helps to pacify some of the nasty feelings I was having toward him.

Pain.

There’s genuine pain creasing his features. Losing Betima hurts him. Maybe not as much as it hurts me, but I’m encouraged that at least on some level, he considers this a loss.

“You should get changed,” he advises. “Lights will go out soon.”

I’ve barely slid my sleep shirt over my head when his warning comes to fruition. Darkness engulfs the room, and I have to feel my way under my blanket.

I curl onto my side and resist the urge to cry. To weep until my eyes are raw and exhaustion claims me. But I can’t show weakness here, so I pull the covers up to my neck and lie in the dark, feeling the crushing weight of my circumstances pressing down on me.

I’m in a room full of people, yet I’m completely alone. I’ve always been alone. Even with Jim in my life, the loneliness never abated.

I wish I had parents.

I wish I had a mother to comfort me and tell me I’ll survive this.

A father to tuck me in and tell me he’ll stay with me until I fall asleep.

But my parents aren’t here. They’re both long dead, and I can’t help but feel I’ve let them down somehow. How does someone like me even measure up to someone like my father? My mother? I don’t remember either of them, but from the meager details Uncle Jim provided, they were braver than I could ever dream of being.

They both sacrificed their lives for the Uprising. They both fought against the tide of oppression, refusing to back down. They weren’t motivated by personal gain or glory. They dedicated their lives to a deep-seated sense of duty to stand up for what’s right, no matter the cost. My father wasn’t even Modified, yet he stood by my mother, by her people.

How am I supposed to follow in those footsteps when I’m pathetic in comparison? I just watched a friend get murdered in cold blood. My father threw himself in front of bullets to protect his allies. I ran. My mother faced a firing squad. I ran.

I can’t follow in their footsteps.

They’re far too big for me.

“Wren.” Kaine’s voice is a rough whisper. “You good?”

I don’t know how he senses it. When I roll over and whisper, “No,” he holds up the corner of his blanket in invitation.

I should decline. But I’m desperate for comfort, for a reminder that I’m not all alone.

I crawl into Kaine’s bed and cuddle up beside him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and then covers us with the blanket. His body is warm. His heart beats in a steady rhythm beneath my cheek.

I wish I could talk to him telepathically. Spill my thoughts into his mind, share my pain. For a moment I’m tempted to reach out to Wolf, but I’m distracted when Kaine takes my hand and laces our fingers together.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs.

Then he brings our entwined hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles. The sweet gesture unleashes a rush of emotion that floods my chest.

I rise on an elbow and gaze down at him. His handsome features are shrouded by shadows, but I don’t miss the way he licks his lips.

“Wren—”

Before I can second-guess myself, I kiss him.

He makes a husky sound of surprise. Or maybe it’s approval. Approval, I decide, when he cups the back of my head and threads his fingers through my hair.

He kisses me back with an intensity I don’t expect. In fact, we go about it a little backward. It starts with passion that makes me gasp, his tongue in my mouth and his hips arching toward me, my thigh draped over his. And just when I’m struggling for air, when my heart is beating so fast I fear it’ll stop, the kiss turns infinitely gentle.

Kaine’s lips brush mine in soft, slow caresses. His fingers stroke my hair while his other hand grazes my side before dipping beneath my shirt. When his palm reaches my breast, a jolt of desire sizzles through me. He squeezes, his thumb teasing my nipple, and I can’t stop the desperate whimper that escapes my lips.

Whether it’s my whimper that does it, or he simply comes to his senses on his own, Kaine wrenches his mouth away.

When he speaks, the words are hoarse and regretful. “As much as I want this, we both know now’s not the time.”

He’s right. I want so badly to forget what happened to Betima tonight, but this isn’t the way to do it. Not here. Certainly not now, when I can hear other people breathing around us and bedsheets rustling as someone shifts in their sleep.

Nodding, I sit up. Kaine brushes a kiss on my shoulder and then lets me climb out of his bed and back into mine.

—

I rise the next morning to the sound of Hadley’s voice snapping for us to stand to attention. Everyone must not have slept as badly as I did—as in, lay awake staring at the ceiling all night—because nobody appears groggy or disoriented. Two rows of alert, albeit weary faces greet Hadley, who’s joined by Tyler Struck at the front of the barracks.

A part of me prays they’ll announce that Betima survived her head wound, wasn’t an Aberrant spy after all, and would be rejoining Black Cell once she’s released from Medical.

That doesn’t happen. Obviously.

Instead, Hadley informs the group that “one of our own” was revealed to be working for the enemy and dealt with accordingly. Struck then tells us to put it out of our minds and resume our normal activities as usual.

The instructors leave, and I’m left staring at the empty doorway in disbelief.

Are. They. Fucking. Serious.

We’re just supposed to act like Betima wasn’t murdered? Resume our normal activities? Go to shielding class and the shooting range and prepare for another mock op tonight?

To make matters worse, my own friends, as subdued as they are, accept the orders without question and proceed to get ready for the day.

It’s difficult not to scream at every single person in this room. But why waste my breath? They don’t care that Betima is dead. And they certainly won’t care when I’m dead. Which is the fate I’m looking at if I don’t find a way out of here.

It’s become even more imperative that I get out. Cross’s psychopathic little brother shot a young woman in the head, and nobody is batting an eye. I’m in danger, and I’ll always be in danger on a military base full of Primes who share Roe Dunbar’s belief that the Aberrant must die. Must be made extinct.

“Coming?” Lyddie says from the doorway. She’s heading for morning meal.

“How do you even have an appetite?” I ask her, trying to mask my disappointment.

“I don’t. But we’ve got our orders.” She bites her lip. “Come on, let’s go.”

I shake my head. “I’ll be there soon. Just need to send a comm first.”

To nobody. Because nobody cares about me. Tana is dealing with her own troubles. The network doesn’t care about my existence.

“Hey.”

Kaine returns from the lav clad in his short-sleeved navy blues, hair still damp from the shower.

The memory of what we did last night slides to the forefront of my brain, bringing a flush to my cheeks. “Hey.”

He offers a rueful smile. “Are we good?”

It should feel awkward between us considering I crawled into his bed and mauled him, but it’s surprisingly not.

“We’re great. I’m sorry about last night.”

“I’m not.” Kaine approaches the foot of my bed where I’m sitting. As he gazes down at me, his voice thickens. “I like you, Darlington. You know that.”

“I know.”

And I like him, too.

But there’s no guy on this Continent worth it enough for me to stick around here a second longer.

It’s too dangerous, and last night proved it.

“All I’m saying is, if it happens again under different circumstances…” He shrugs, that trademark gleam dancing in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be against it.”

I fight a smile. “Noted.”

“You coming to morning meal?”

“Soon. I’ll see you there.”

After he leaves, I duck out of the barracks and walk in the opposite direction of the mess hall.

I know my way to his office now. God knows I’ve been there enough times.

I’m going to ask to be dismissed. I’ll go to the stockade if that’s what it takes. But I know he doesn’t want to imprison me, so maybe there’s another solution. A compromise we can reach.

I slow down at the sound of voices beyond Cross’s door. Someone is in the office with him.

“Absolutely not.”

I recognize the booming, authoritative tone. It’s the same one I’ve heard hundreds of times on Company broadcasts.

The General is here.

I move closer despite my better judgment. But their voices are low, and I can’t make out exactly what they’re saying. I press myself to the wall outside his door, straining to hear the conversation within.

I’m sure there are cameras watching me do this. I don’t care. I’ll own up to it if Cross interrogates me later. Yes, I eavesdropped on you and your father. No, I’m not sorry. Please, cut me from the Program. Release me from this nightmare.

“…Aberrant bitch.” The General’s harsh oath travels out into the corridor.

My stomach clenches as I realize they’re talking about Betima.

I inch closer to the door that sits slightly ajar. Then I take a chance, peeking through the open slit.

There he is. Merrick Redden, in the flesh.

I despise everything about his face. The severe features. The deep furrow running through his brow. His eyes, sharp and piercing. No hint of warmth or compassion in their depths, only a cold, calculating intensity that brooks no dissent.

“…actions were unacceptable.” Cross sounds calm, clearly not afraid to offer that dissent. “He poses a threat to the other recruits.”

Roe. He has to mean Roe.

“Unacceptable? He did precisely what needs to be done to protect our interests. He eliminated a threat to our society, just as he’s been trained to do.”

My blood runs cold, because the General’s endorsement of Roe’s actions is a chilling reminder of the ruthless indoctrination that permeates every aspect of our society.

“He killed another recruit without just cause,” Cross snaps. “We don’t even know if she was a silverblood. There was no evidence to support his claim.”

“He acted on instinct and trusted his training. He did us a service by eliminating a potential enemy. I know you believe they’re useful for labor. You enjoy overcrowding our camps by sending the Aberrant there, recommending labor sentences over death to the Tribunal. But sometimes, son, death is the answer. Unlike you, Roe understands that.”

“I want him out of my fucking program.”

“Nonsense. He stays.”

Frustration wells up inside me. The General is letting Roe stay? Just taking his word that he saw Betima’s veins ripple silver? What if Roe was wrong?

“Sir. With all due respect, you instituted the Tribunal because you don’t believe in vigilante justice.”

“I believe my son.”

“Roe is a punk.”

I’ve never heard Cross sound so angry. And I can’t deny I’m impressed that he’s standing up to the man who runs the Continent. This man and his warped belief that he alone holds the key to preserving order and stability. That the whole world teeters on the brink of chaos, and only with him at the helm can we right that danger.

“He lacks discipline. He has no respect for authority. He spends more time snorting stims up his nose than studying. He’s not ready for Silver Block. He’s too young.”

“He’s a grown man.”

“No, he’s a liability.” Cross makes a frustrated noise. “I want him gone.”

“He stays,” Redden repeats.

I’ve heard enough. I spin around and disappear around the corner, trying to contain the fury threatening to boil over.

What is wrong with him? He’s making decisions based on the word of an eighteen-year-old boy?

My rage is abruptly doused by a bucket of desperation that almost knocks me off my feet. I regain my balance and hurry into the bunks. If Roe is staying, that means I’m leaving. I refuse to spend another night in this prison, waiting for trigger-happy lunatics like Roe Dunbar to figure out what I am.

I obsess about it at the range an hour later, my distraction causing me to miss all my shots. Luckily, Ford is accustomed to my incompetence. During afternoon break, I tune out as everyone has conversations around me, wondering what Jim would do if he were in my shoes right now.

Kill them all.

Uncle Jim would kill them all.

Sadly, this isn’t a viable solution.

So then how? How do I facilitate my escape?

The conundrum sticks with me into our afternoon sparring sessions. I sit on the floor watching but not really seeing as Lyddie and Bryce exchange jabs on the mats.

This is what I know. I know Cross Redden won’t cut me from the Program, no matter how low my scores are.

I know I don’t want to go to the stockade again.

I know it will take more than a few hours to execute a foolproof escape plan.

My only move here is to force Cross’s hand. Do something that will remove myself from the equation—today—without making it appear like I planned it.

Every trap can be escaped. It’s just a matter of what lengths you’re willing to go to.

I suddenly hear Wolf’s voice in my head. I haven’t thought about that discussion in weeks. Now, as my oldest friend’s words replay through my mind, I see a solution in my grasp.

I’m not the horned bear.

I’m the white coyote.

“Darlington. Farren. Take the mat.”

My head lifts at Ford’s command. Kess is beaming like she’s just been granted a leisure pass to a civilian beach. We haven’t sparred since the morning I broke her nose during our unofficial mess hall match.

“Kess looks feral,” Lyddie whispers as I hop to my feet.

She’s not wrong. Our fellow is all but salivating at the chance to hit me again.

I take a breath. Rotate my shoulders and bounce on the balls of my feet, loosening myself up.

The air thickens with anticipation as Kess and I step onto the mat. Her gaze is fierce, exuding confidence.

“Been wanting this for a while, Darlington.” She bares her teeth. “It’s kept me up at night.”

I smile at her. “That’s really sweet that you think about me in your spare time.”

“Shut up and fight,” Ford says, rolling his eyes.

Kess is on me from the jump. She’s a good opponent. Fast. Ruthless. Her fists fly like arrows, each strike calculated and precise. If I didn’t hate her guts, I might enjoy sparring with her. And if I didn’t have a firm objective right now, I might smash her face in, and with pleasure. But single-minded purpose guides my every move.

Sweat beads on my forehead as I block her blows. Only some of them; I let the others land because that’s the precedent I’ve set since I arrived here. Each half-hearted strike of mine is met with a deadly counter from her, each dodge followed by a feint. Our breathing grows heavier.

Time to end this.

Chew the leg off.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I allow her fist to slam into my abdomen. Then I let the momentum knock me off-balance, and the second she has me on the ground, I twist my body, maneuvering myself into a vulnerable position.

“Protect your flank,” I hear Ford snap.

“Get your arm out from under yourself,” Kaine is shouting at me.

Too late.

In one swift motion, Kess is on top of me, her knees pinning my left forearm. I move my hand to the side, twisting my wrist, then use my other hand to claw at her thighs, all but inviting her to press her knees harder against me. I feel the sickening snap of bone as I force my wrist to bend at an unnatural angle.

Agony.

Searing, white-hot agony. It shoots through every nerve ending in my body.

I hear shocked gasps. Kess doesn’t let up until Ford forcibly pulls her off me. “You broke bones, Farren. You’re done. You win.”

Lyddie rushes over, horrified. “Are you okay?”

I grit my teeth against the pain. “I think I broke my wrist,” I manage to choke out.

Dizziness fogs my brain as I struggle to get to my feet. I breathe deep, glancing down at my hand. The obscene angle at which it dangles from the wrist makes me woozy again, and now I’m seeing stars.

Fucking white coyotes.

“Take her to Medical,” Ford barks at Hadley while I try not to pass out.