Page 29 of Silver Elite

Thanks to Lyddie’s tutoring sessions, I improve on my next written test, scoring an 85. But I still prefer the mock ops. The drills. The exhilaration of jumping out of an airplane.

Sometime around Section 5, I start to wonder if I’m addicted to adrenaline.

Today we’re running an exercise called Wait for Rescue. Kaine and I play the roles of hostages. We’re being guarded by Roe, who checks on us every twenty minutes like clockwork. Our other fellows either serve as perimeter guards or form the team that’s been tasked with freeing the hostages. Everyone wears sensor jumpsuits on ops now. If we take a fake hit, the sensor relays to our instructors where we’re injured or if we’re killed in action.

“This is boring,” Kaine groans.

I stare at the slit of light peeking through the bottom of the metal door. Kaine lightly thumps his head against the cinder-block wall behind us, running his zip-tied hands through his blond hair. He’s as restless as I am.

At first, we were thrilled to be paired together for this exercise, but as the minutes stretch into hours, impatience gnaws at us both. Each time our rescuers fail to infiltrate the warehouse, they’re forced to start again. Kaine and I have been sitting in this cold, cramped room for an eternity, and so far, nobody has been able to rescue us.

“I hate placing my fate in other people’s hands,” I mumble. “We’ve been waiting all morning. Why are they so incompetent?”

“I say we just tag-team the little general next time he does his rounds.” Kaine gives me a hopeful look.

I grin. “I’m down.”

So that’s what we do.

The next time the door creaks open to reveal the shadowy silhouette of our guard dog, Kaine and I spring to action. Our movements are synchronized as we dive forward, overpowering Roe before he can react.

We feel like a pair of badasses as we strut out of the warehouse a few minutes later, but our victory is short-lived. When we emerge into the daylight, Ford waits for us, arms folded against his chest. Hadley stands nearby, frowning at us. I hate the days when we train with Red Cell, because it means I have to see his face.

“Twenty minutes,” Ford says in disapproval. “All you had to do was wait twenty more minutes and you would’ve passed this drill.”

“We rescued ourselves,” I protest.

“That wasn’t the point, Darlington.”

I glare at him. “The objective was to get rescued.”

Our instructor makes an annoyed sound. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Then what were we supposed to do?” Kaine grumbles, equally irritated.

“Wait to get rescued! It’s the name of the fucking op, Sutler. Wait for Rescue.” Ford spells it out for us. “The whole point of this exercise is to teach you patience and discipline.”

Well, when he puts it like that, I suppose I was always destined to fail. My impulsive nature chafes against the confines of those mission parameters. The desire for action will always burn like a wildfire inside me.

“Then why would you put us together?” I hook a thumb toward Kaine. “He’s even more impatient than I am!”

Ford gives me a look as if to say, Exactly, then stalks off to address the rest of our fellows.

I’m confused for a second, until I suddenly realize what that look meant. We’re being grouped for these drills not at random but based on the weaknesses we self-reported back in Section 2. This is why I’m constantly being paired with Kaine when it’s evident we don’t work well together. We’re too similar.

“What did you enter as your weaknesses?” I ask him. “When that question popped up on our sources.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Reckless. Impatient.”

“I said impulsive and impatient. And terrible at written work.” I glance over. “What was your third one?”

“Too good looking.”

I snort.

“So what he’s saying is we need to think before we act and exercise more patience?” Kaine heaves a dramatic sigh. “That sounds so tedious.”

“I know.”

We rejoin the group for a debrief. Ford announces that all the Black Cell guards passed the mission. All members of the extraction team also passed.

“And our hostages, Sutler and Darlington,” he finishes, his amused gaze flicking our way. “You failed.”

“That’s such horseshit,” I grumble. “Technically the rescuers failed, too. Because they didn’t rescue us.”

From the extraction group, Kess presses her middle and pointer fingers to her thumb and flicks me off.

Ford practically growls with annoyance. “I told you, the rescue wasn’t the point of the op. The purpose was to fulfill a role and follow directions. Everyone did that except you two assholes.”

We’re both suitably chastised. Ugh. I hate it when Ford is right. Turns him into such a smug bastard.

I’m fully aware that my weaknesses have the tendency to drag me down. I know I act on impulse, and I know it’s stupid of me. I wouldn’t even be on this base if I hadn’t made the brash decision to race to Sanctum Point and try to stop Jim’s execution.

Maybe if I’d listened to Griff, Tana, Declan, everyone who warned me not to go, then I’d…

Be right here anyway, I realize. Or end up in hiding. Maybe start my own Faithful camp somewhere in the mountains.

“Atten-tion!”

Everyone snaps to attention at Hadley’s command, and the sound of footsteps on pavement has me glancing over my shoulder.

My heart freezes in my chest.

Jayde Valence.

She’s striding toward us with purpose in her step. Her white-blond hair is tied in its usual low knot, her features pinched as always. The bloodmark on her cheek feels like a personal attack on me.

I’m on guard immediately. If she’s here for me, I need to be ready to decoy my mind at a second’s notice.

She moves with an aura of authority. There’s something larger than life about her. Something terrifying. She’s been marked by nature, but she’s a formidable figure even without the red circle on her face.

I wonder how many abilities she has. Three? Four? Uncle Jim told me only the most powerful Mods bear a mark, and that he’d never known a marked Mod to possess any less than three abilities. I have four myself. That I know of, anyway. Perhaps there’s a fifth or sixth or seventh lying dormant inside me, waiting to be unleashed at the most inconvenient of times. But another one would’ve manifested by now. I think. I hope.

Jayde comes to stand between Ford and Hadley, facing the recruits. A hush falls over the group as her piercing gaze bores into us with unwavering intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

She’s totally here for me.

She has to be.

I stand ramrod-straight, stoic on the outside, a hysterical mess on the inside. I inhale to regulate my unsteady heartbeat while I wait for her to say my name.

“You,” she snaps.

The breath I’m exhaling stutters in my throat.

She’s speaking to one of my fellows.

I don’t know him. He’s a member of Red Cell, a baby-faced guy named Peter with whom I’ve exchanged a total of zero words in five weeks.

“What’s his name?” She addresses Hadley rather than Peter.

“Peter Berghman. Recruit 31—”

Jayde cuts him off with a wave of her hand. Returning her attention to Peter, she beckons him forward.

The kid steps out from the crowd, his eyes wide with apprehension. He’s barely out of his teens, with a mop of unruly hair and a nervous twitch to his movements.

“Berghman. You’re going to get six soldiers killed,” she says bluntly.

A frown puckers my brow. I hear a few confused murmurs go through the group.

“W-hat?” he stammers.

“Eight months from now, you’re going to make a grave error. Your actions will lead to the deaths of six Silver Block soldiers.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “I would never—”

“It’s not a matter of intention. It’s a matter of fact.”

Peter’s face pales, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he struggles to comprehend her words.

“But…” Finally, he finds his voice. “I don’t understand. I would never do anything to harm my fellows.”

“I’ve seen the outcome.” Her tone invites no argument. “Your actions are irreversible.”

“What actions? I haven’t even done anything!”

His protests fall on deaf ears. Jayde nods at Hadley, who steps forward.

“Berghman, you’re dismissed from the Program,” Hadley barks.

Peter’s jaw drops. “That’s…crazy. I’m not killing anyone.”

Ignoring him, Hadley takes Peter by the arm, and we all watch in stunned silence as he escorts the poor kid away.

Jayde turns her steely eyes back to the rest of us. “The lives of our soldiers are too vital to risk. Whether intentional or not, that boy was going to get people killed. Be grateful he’s gone.”

After she leaves, everyone starts talking among themselves.

“He didn’t even do anything wrong.” Lyddie is incredulous.

“What if her vision is wrong?” demands a male recruit.

Another one is quick to disagree. “From what I’ve heard, Valence is known for her accuracy. She’s never had a false vision.”

Shit. That doesn’t sound good. For a second, I experience a twinge of fear, but I push it away, because I don’t have time to worry about whether Jayde may or may not have visions about me. There are far more pressing dangers in my life right now.

“Freaks like her shouldn’t even be allowed on this base,” Bryce mutters.

Several people glance at her in surprise. It’s rare to hear anyone criticize the Company.

When she notices the stares, her tone becomes defensive. “I would never question the General’s leadership, but this feels like a dangerous gamble to take. Trusting one of them.”

“She’s served him for ten years,” someone else points out.

A stubborn Bryce doesn’t back down. “That doesn’t make her any less dangerous.”

It’s funny to me how Jayde’s abilities are feared and respected in equal measure. Hadley just cut a guy from the Program based on her word alone, which speaks volumes. Yet at the same time, everyone here is terrified of this big, scary power she wields. I find that part even more interesting.

As far as gifts go, I don’t consider precognition much of a threat. Seeing the future isn’t something I’d personally enjoy, but the worst damage I could do with it is, what? Tell someone they’ll die in a horrible fashion? Shatter a recruit’s dreams of serving the Command?

There are far more dangerous abilities to have.

—

Jayde’s visit stays with me all night. I find myself climbing the stairs to the roof. It’s my first time up there since Betima was killed, and the memory tightens my throat. I stare at the dark stain in the gravel where her blood had pooled.

I can’t believe Roe is still here after killing another recruit.

I approach the edge of the roof. Today’s drills were tiring, but I feel wired now. Peter’s unexpected dismissal lingers in my mind. Everyone taking the word of a psychic who’d seen a grim fate awaiting him and made the decision to blindly trust that vision. I don’t know any other precogs. I don’t know how accurate they are. What if she’s wrong?

And who’s to say that by telling him of his error, he couldn’t have corrected course?

I wish I could talk to Uncle Jim about this. Sometimes I still try to link with him, seeking out his energy signature only to find nothing but emptiness. I don’t know why I keep doing it. It’s a form of self-torture, but I can’t stop.

I link with Wolf instead, because the loneliness is gnawing at me. I miss Tana. I miss my life.

“Hey.” His voice surrounds me like a warm blanket.

“Hey. How’s the ocean looking tonight?”

“It’s always calm where I am.”

“Do you ever see any boats?” I’ve never been on a boat. Doesn’t sound too appealing if I’m being honest.

“I’m looking at one right now. Same one that’s always there, anchored in the cove. White hull with a blue stripe. Red flag waving on the captain’s perch.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Too far away to tell.”

“We should name it.”

“I’m shit at naming things. You do it.”

“All right. How about Knot So Fast?”

“Fuck’s sake, Daisy.”

“Finny Business?” I chortle at my own jokes, then slam my lips shut when I remember I’m in public.

His laughter tickles my ear. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You laughed.”

“At you, not with you.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Wolfie.”

I fall silent for a moment, staring off into the distance. I remember Peter’s heartbroken face over being punished for a crime he hadn’t committed. Accused of killing six people who are still very much alive.

“Do you believe in fate?” I ask Wolf.

“I don’t know…Maybe? Sometimes I feel like I have control over my destiny, but then something happens and I wonder if maybe there’s some higher power pulling the strings.”

“But if there is, then what’s the point of even trying? If everything is already set in motion, then our actions, our choices, are meaningless, aren’t they?”

He pauses in thought. “Maybe our choices are the catalysts that set the course of events in motion. Maybe our fate isn’t so much predetermined as it is influenced by the decisions we make.”

I frown, grappling with the idea. “So you’re saying we do have some control over our destinies, but that control is limited by the circumstances we find ourselves in?”

“Exactly. Maybe we can’t change the fundamental trajectory of our lives, but we can adjust the details along the way. It’s like navigating an ocean current. We can’t change its course, but we can choose which path to take as we flow along with it.”

I run a hand through my hair as I stare out at the dark base. I suppose it’s a comforting thought, the idea that we still have some control over our own lives. But deep down, I can’t shake the feeling of unease that lingers in the back of my mind. I wonder what the future holds in store for me. Whether my path has already been laid out, or if I still have the power to shape my own destiny.

I return to the bunks. The lights are out, but some recruits are still up, their faces illuminated by the faint white glow of their sources. Kaine is still awake, the blanket pushed down to his waist. His chest is bare, a broad expanse of shadows and muscle.

He watches me lace up my boots.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“I’m not tired. I’m going to take a walk.”

“Try not to let Hadley see you.”

Doesn’t matter. I know those cameras will follow my every move. And I know Cross will know I’m out here.

What I don’t know is whether I hope that he finds me, or that he stays away.

The night air is balmy as I exit the facility. My mind is so restless. I wander aimlessly, the soft tread of my boots the only sound in the stillness of the base. I end up near the South Plaza again, where I think about Uncle Jim and the morning he left me.

Just as I’m beginning to feel the weight of my solitude, I hear footsteps behind me.

“Always making me chase you.” His low voice breaks the silence, sending a shiver down my spine.

I turn to face him. He stands several feet away, his silhouette illuminated by the pale silver of the moon.

“I’m not making you do that. You didn’t have to come out. You know I’m not running.”

Cross walks closer. “I should have stayed in my quarters then?”

“If you wanted to.”

I’m indifferent on the outside. But despite my best efforts, I can’t deny the way my pulse races whenever he’s near.

I should step back, place some distance between us, but I can’t bring myself to move.

“Doesn’t matter to you at all then,” he drawls, “if I weren’t here right now.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Doesn’t matter to you if I’m with someone else. Ivy, maybe. If I walk away right now and find her. Bring her back to my quarters and strip her down. Put my hands and tongue all over her.”

I ignore the hot clench of jealousy in my chest. “You’re under the impression that I care what or who you do in your spare time.” Our eyes lock. “I don’t.”

“I think you get off on lying to me.”

The air thickens with tension, and the space between us seems to shrink with each passing second. I wrench my gaze off him, summoning a growled noise from his throat.

“You drive me crazy,” Cross says, his voice rough.

“And?”

His expression darkens at my cavalier tone.

“I’m not trying to drive you crazy,” I say, shrugging as if to prove how little I care. “You’re the one who brought me here, remember?”

“Trust me, I remember. You’ve been a pain in my ass from the moment you broke into my room at the inn.” He bites out an expletive. “I have a job to do, a fucking block to run, Elites to supervise, and I spend all my time wondering what crazy stunt Wren Darlington is going to pull next.”

It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying when my lips are tingling with the urge to find out what his taste like.

“I don’t get involved with recruits.” His jaw is clenched with frustration.

And now I’m frustrated. Frustrated and annoyed and so angry about how desperately every part of me craves him.

He doesn’t get involved with recruits?

Well, I don’t get involved with guys whose fathers are responsible for killing thousands of people like me.

I don’t get involved with guys who think I’m defective and wouldn’t want me if they knew the truth.

“Did I ask you to get involved with me?” In an impossible feat, I manage to keep my voice steady. Cool.

Those blue eyes flare. “No, you just take your clothes off and get in the shower with me. Daring me to lose control.”

“I didn’t get in the shower with you. I got in the shower next to you. And as I recall, you took off your clothes first.” I lift a brow. “Seems to me like if anyone needs to gain control over their hormones, it’s you—”

I blink, and I’m being backed into the tunnel, the moonlight abruptly swallowed by shadows.

Cross presses me up against the wall, his face inches from mine. I feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. The electricity of his nearness.

“You really want to talk about control right now?” he says, keeping me in place with a hand to my waist. “Because it seems to me you’re the one with the control problem.”

I try to ease out of his grip. “You’re hurting me.” He’s not.

“No, I’m not.” His laughter heats my cheek. “You’re not timid or weak, Dove. You’re a firestorm, and you’re going to burn everything in your path if you don’t learn how to restrain yourself.”

I hate that he can see right through me. Right into the tumultuous storm of emotions raging beneath the surface. I’m always on the brink of losing control. I’ve felt it my entire life, that precarious sensation.

Cross trails his fingers along my hip, up my arm, toward my face. His thumb traces the curve of my cheek. I can’t muster up the words to lecture him about touching me without permission, because I’m enjoying it too much.

“I’m not like this with women,” he mutters. “I don’t chase. I don’t fucking beg.” He groans. “But you…You make me want to break down your defenses.”

A sliver of moonlight enters the tunnel, illuminating his face. Eyes smoky with desire, locking with mine. Daring me to act.

I twist my gaze away, unable to bear the intensity of his any longer.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I do, giving an intake of breath when his thumb brushes my lips in a silent invitation.

We stand in the darkness, caught in a silent battle of wills.

“This is a bad idea.” My voice is barely audible over my thrashing heart. It feels like it’s trying to pound its way out of my chest.

“Probably.”

His face is too close again, his mouth hovering over mine in a phantom touch.

The last threads of my willpower are unraveling inside me. When he releases a strangled noise, I feel it everywhere.

“I need to know what you taste like. Let me have it, Dove.”

I lick my lips, and he groans again.

“Let me. Fucking. Have it.”

I can’t move. Can’t look away. My breaths escape in shallow, rapid bursts as our lips linger just millimeters apart.

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat betraying my nerves as I lean in, drawn irresistibly closer. And then, in an explosion of pent-up need, the dam breaks and I’m reaching for him, my fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt as I yank him toward me.

His lips crash against mine in a fierce kiss. There’s no hesitation. No restraint. In that single, electrifying moment, my entire body is alive with energy.

My hands tangle in his hair, and I pull him even closer, as close as I can get him, my body straining against him. As his lips devour mine, every nerve ending screams with sensation, and the world around me fades into oblivion.

He drives the kiss deeper, his tongue chasing mine into my mouth. Greedy. Primal. Like he’s trying to consume me. To claim me. His hands travel down to my waist, sliding over my ass, tracing the contours of my body, while his tongue finds mine and explores.

“Knew it would be like this.” He’s breathing hard.

I can only moan in response, kissing him again. Every brush of his tongue ignites a fire of need inside me.

I never want it to end, but the sound of voices breaks through the fog. It takes a second to realize it’s just the guards in the tower by South Plaza, chatting to one another, but it’s too late. Cross and I have already broken apart, and it’s like time has stopped, leaving me suspended in a haze of pure, deep, helpless, hopeless lust.

As I struggle to catch my breath, an eerie sensation skitters through me. Fear. Not of him, but of how badly I want to keep kissing him. There’s a rawness to our connection that defies explanation.

“May I be dismissed?” I whisper.

He looks as dazed as I feel. His head dips in a nod. I hurry out of the tunnel, leaving Cross Redden in its shadows.