Page 44 of Silver Elite

Before I can even begin to make sense of that shocking notion, Vinessa Redden slaps both hands over her ears and lets out an anguished moan.

“Mom,” Cross says urgently.

She ignores him. Her slight shoulders start trembling. The moan dissolves to soft whimpers while her mouth keeps opening as if she’s trying to speak but can’t. I stare in disbelief.

“Mom, come here. It’s okay.”

He leads her by the arm toward the sitting area, helping her into a chair. With infinite tenderness, he pries her hands from her ears.

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

The whimpers fade. She looks at him, the blank stare returning.

Cross turns on his heel and heads for the door. I hurry after him.

“Cross. What the hell is happening right now?”

He quickens his pace.

“Is she Aberrant?” I demand.

He stalks down the hall toward another door, scanning his thumb to open it. It’s a study, with an entire wall of glass bookcases and a full bar in the corner. Without a word, he pours himself a drink and takes a long swig.

“How long has she been like this?” I ask from the doorway.

He finally acknowledges my presence. “Catatonic? Maybe the last five years.”

“And before that?”

“She had to be sedated all the time. She was too violent. The voices made her angry.”

I walk over and take the drink from his hand, gulping the rest of it before passing it back. He swiftly refills the glass.

“She’s Aberrant?” I prompt, because he didn’t answer me the first time.

Cross shakes his head. “Schizophrenic.”

The response surprises me. It doesn’t feel right. Yet I don’t get the sense he’s lying to me.

For a moment, he buries his head in his hands. Then he lifts it and meets my baffled gaze. “She was fine for most of my life. It started off slowly. I think I was around twelve when she started getting irritable, paranoid. Said her thoughts felt scrambled. She was having trouble concentrating. And then one day, she said there were voices in her head. She was hearing and seeing things that weren’t there.”

“And you’re sure she’s not Aberrant?”

“Her veins don’t turn silver, not even when she hears the voices.”

That doesn’t mean anything. Yes, if Vinessa is Modified, she would be the first Mod I’ve met whose veins don’t turn silver, but I know Mods like that exist, because, well, I exist.

And if she is a Mod…Well, the irony that the General’s wife is one of the toxic ’fects he despises is almost comical.

“What did your father do when she was diagnosed?”

“He hid it. Hid her away.” Cross gestures in the direction of her suite. “She hasn’t left that room in years, other than to go for walks in the garden with the General.”

“Do you have staff to take care of her?”

“She takes care of herself. Most of the time, anyway. She gets up. Gets dressed. She eats the meals that are delivered to her. She walks in the garden. She just hasn’t said a word since I was seventeen years old.”

“But before that, she was hysterical and paranoid?”

He nods. “When the voices were louder. Before she went completely catatonic, she told us they were getting quieter. Whispering rather than shouting.”

I think about the fragmented people in the hospital ward, the ones who are still violent and fighting whatever is happening inside their minds.

“The voices eventually drove her insane, and now she’s like this. She doesn’t speak. She’s confused. And every now and then, she stops eating out of the blue. Our cook called and said she hasn’t eaten in two days. Usually when that happens, we need to bring a doctor to put in a feeding tube. But she doesn’t enjoy that.” His expression pains. “I don’t want that for her.”

“I’m…so confused. How does he deliver those broadcasts and talk about rooting out weakness in society when his wife is mentally ill? Didn’t he euthanize like thirty people when the Command busted that illegal psychiatric center in Ward B?”

Cross’s answering chuckle lacks any trace of humor. “He loves talking about weakness, doesn’t he? He might not admit it, but he knows what his weakness is. My mother. He would never allow anyone to euthanize her.”

When Cross tried to hold my hand in the helicopter earlier, I pulled away. This time, I’m the one reaching for his hand. I lace my fingers through his and touch his cheek with my other hand, stroking his jaw.

“Cross. I’m really sorry.”

Several seconds tick by. Then he lets out a breath.

“I need to go back and make sure she’s okay.”

“Do you want me to make her something to eat?” I offer. “Soup? Maybe if I try to feed her, she’ll think I’m a nurse or something and be more receptive.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course. I don’t want to see anyone suffer. I know I come off as a bitch, but I’m not heartless.”

We go down to his sterile kitchen and into a walk-in freezer. He grabs soup that’s already been prepared, thaws it, and we heat it over the stove before carrying it upstairs on a tray.

“Mom,” he says. “This is Wren.”

She’s back at the windows, staring outside.

“She brought you some soup. Do you want to try it?”

There’s something incredibly tender about the way he speaks to her. The way he pushes a strand of hair away from her face.

She blinks.

“Why don’t we try some soup, keen?”

He leads her toward the table where I set down the bowl. She doesn’t object.

“This is a good sign,” he says gruffly.

“I’m glad. Do you want me to try?” I gesture to the bowl.

“Let’s see how I fare first.” He dips the spoon into the bowl, then brings it to her lips. “Try this,” he urges.

He nudges her lips, and her mouth automatically opens and closes around the spoon. When she swallows, relief floods his face.

“Do you want me to wait downstairs?” I ask.

“No. I don’t know why, but you’re calming her. Will you stay?”

“Sure.”

I hate this. I hate how connected I feel to him right now, how gentle he is. How vulnerable. I hate that I feel sympathy for the General, of all people.

And although I hate to do it, I open a path to Vinessa Redden’s mind, because I need to know for sure.

A hot stab of pain instantly jolts through my own mind. I sever the path, shaken by the attempt. I’ve never tried to read a fragmented mind before, and it’s…pure chaos. I can’t even confirm whether she’s a Mod—the frequencies in her mind are so off, so volatile, it’s impossible to stay in there for more than a second.

I rub my temples and approach the terrace doors. Beyond the glass, I see a manicured lawn. A rectangular pool. Iron benches situated an equal distance apart along the stone walkway lining the grass. It looks like a mini military installation.

I shift my gaze to the wall, where an oil painting hangs. It features a tranquil sea in a little cove. Beautiful and soothing. I wonder who chose it.

I glance over my shoulder. Cross is still spooning the soup into Vinessa’s mouth. Infinitely patient. This hard, ruthless man I’ve spent months with, softening. A boy trying to help his mother.

From the credenza, I pick up a small figurine of a lighthouse. Examining it.

“Is she a fan of the ocean?”

“She grew up in F, before the entire ward was flooded. It was her favorite place on earth. That painting is the town where she grew up.” He nods toward it.

This time, I pay more attention to the details. It’s quite lovely. A serene ocean cove done in soft pastel hues. Blue sea and cloudless sky. A lone sailboat glides across the tranquil waters. It has white sails and a white hull, with a navy-blue stripe running along the bottom and a red flag fluttering atop the captain’s perch.

I can’t make out the boat’s name because it’s too far in the distance—

A shock wave rocks my body as I realize I’m staring at a scene that was described to me before.

Many times.

By Wolf.