Page 7 of Silver Elite

My heart drops as his words wash over me, the gravity of my situation sinking in.

No.

Never.

My list of available options might be more meager than a Ward B citizen’s cupboards, but I’d rather eat rats than become a Command trainee.

“What?” I say, my lips parting in surprise.

“I don’t enjoy repeating myself.” Cross swivels toward the door.

“Don’t you dare leave without an explanation.”

He turns back, one eyebrow raised. “I’m curious. When did I give you the impression you’re entitled to an explanation?”

“It’s common courtesy.”

“Do I look courteous to you?” He sounds amused. But he folds his arms and takes pity on me. “I’ve decided not to send you back to your ward. Your skills will be better utilized here.”

“No, my skills are needed at my ranch. My animals rely on me, and without my uncle, there’s nobody to take care of—”

“Your ranch has been reassigned. The new residents take possession tomorrow morning.”

My heart sinks even further at his words. Now I’m in serious danger of breaking down in tears. The ranch is my home. My eyes sting as I struggle to breathe normally. I know it’s Company practice. Houses get reassigned all the time. Citizens transfer to new industries if the Company orders it. But I don’t care if it’s a common occurrence.

They gave away my home.

Indignation rises inside me. Who did they assign it to? What if the new caretaker doesn’t treat the animals well? What if they mistreat Kelley? The thought of never seeing my sweet mare again cuts at my insides.

“Then let me go work for the new residents,” I find myself pleading. It sickens me to beg this man for anything. “I’d be a good ranch hand.”

“No.”

I’m trembling with anger. “I’m not joining the Command.”

“It’s either that or one of the labor camps.”

“Fine. I pick the labor camp.”

“You don’t have a choice in the matter.”

I growl out loud. “Then why did you make it seem like labor was an option?”

One corner of his mouth ticks up. I swear I glimpse a glint of humor in his blue eyes. “The illusion of choice can be comforting to some people.”

“You’re such a prick.” I take a calming breath.

He ignores that, too. “You’ll spend the night here in the stockade. Rations will be provided shortly. Tomorrow morning someone will come and take you to shower and dress before orientation.”

“Orientation?”

“Impeccable timing, isn’t it?” He’s mocking me again. “You falling into our hands the day before the new session starts. Almost like it was meant to be.”

“No.” The thought of becoming a pawn in the General’s war machine against Mods fills me with a sickening dread.

“What’s the matter? Think you won’t be able to cut it?”

“I can cut it just fine, Cross. I’m simply not interested in taking orders from the people who murdered my uncle.”

Just like that, his broad shoulders snap into a straight line. He fixes me with a deadly look and takes a step toward me. I instinctively step back, then curse myself for ceding that ground.

“Your uncle was a deserter of the Command and a traitor to the Company. Which means you either know more than you’re telling us, or you were too stupid to figure out the truth about your guardian.”

He moves closer. This time, I hold my ground. Inches separate our bodies now.

Cross bends until his mouth is close to my ear. “And I suspect that you, Dove, are not stupid.”

His nearness raises the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck. Heart pounding, I force myself to meet his gaze.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Jayde Valence was inside my head. Isn’t she some powerful mind reader? If I’d known what my uncle was, she would’ve seen it in my thoughts.”

The reminder does nothing to erase the suspicion in his eyes.

“If you think I’m a liar, then why are you sending me to the Program?” I grumble.

“Because I don’t trust you. Not one damn bit.” He shrugs. “Lieutenant Colonel Valence believes you’re not a threat. I’ve yet to determine whether I agree with her assessment. So until I do, I’m keeping you under close watch.”

“Don’t I feel special.”

“You should,” he says frankly. “Not many citizens get the opportunity to train for Silver Block. It’s a highly competitive program, and ninety percent of applicants are rejected. I suggest you don’t fuck this up. A post with Silver comes with its perks.”

I tip my chin in defiance. “What is this, then—a punishment or an opportunity?”

“Also yet to be determined.”

He turns to the door, and I call out before he can leave. I don’t want him to go. He might be a prick, but I don’t want to be left alone in this cell again. Time moves too slowly within these cramped walls, each second stretching into eternity, and I can’t feel that pervasive sense of isolation again. I’m not meant for confinement. Some people can stomach it. I’m not one of them.

“If ninety percent of applicants get rejected, what makes you think I belong to the ten percent? You’re placing a lot of faith in these alleged skills you think I possess.”

He glances at me in amusement. “Do you really want to play this game?”

I frown. “What game?”

“The one where we pretend I didn’t see you put a bullet in a white coyote’s eye from two hundred yards away.”

Shit.

He notes my expression and smirks. “Did you truly believe I wouldn’t follow you after you left the inn that night?”

Of course he did.

“That was a fluke shot,” I lie. “I’m decent with a rifle but nowhere near that good.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Chuckling, he leaves the cell and locks me inside.

I clamp my teeth together so I can’t unleash a scream. Why did Jim have to teach me how to shoot?

And why am I so good at it?

And why the hell did he leave me?

You left me! I silently shout at him—at the place in my mind where his signature should be. You fucking left me!

It happens then. The tears spill over, sending two warm rivulets pouring down my face. I collapse on the mattress and cry into my palms, cameras be damned. I have no energy left inside me to maintain the mask. I’m a broken, pathetic girl who’s all alone in this broken, pathetic world. Uncle Jim is gone. Tana and her father will be there for me, I know that, but they’re not Jim.

I have nothing now. No Jim. No ranch.

Except I feel Wolf trying to link with me later, and I remember I’m not entirely alone. My oldest friend is still out there somewhere. At least until they get him, too. They will one day. General Redden won’t stop until we’re all either dead or enslaved to him.

“Hi.” It’s all I’m capable of saying, and I don’t miss the way that lone syllable wobbles.

“Are you crying?”

I don’t blame him for sounding so startled. I’m not the type to show weakness.

“No. I think I’m falling ill. I’m glad you reached out. I need a distraction.”

“Why’s that?”

“Bad day,” is all I say. I’d never endanger Wolf by telling him I’m in enemy hands. “Distract me. What are you doing right now?”

“I’m looking at the ocean.”

Something clenches in my chest. I think it’s wistfulness. One of the few details I know about Wolf’s location is that he’s near the coast, and I envy him for it. I’ve only seen the ocean once, when my uncle and I drove out to the very edge of Z after I spent weeks begging him to take me. At school, we’d been learning about the geography of the Continent before the Last War, and the idea of this vast body of water full of salt and marvelous creatures was one I couldn’t get out of my mind. I had to see it. Jim eventually capitulated, and the experience was one I can only describe as humbling.

That day I realized how utterly insignificant we are to this planet.

“It sounds beautiful. I wish I could see it. Is it choppy? Calm?”

“Calm. Not even a ripple.”

“Beautiful.”

“Daisy…why did you have a bad day?”

I want to tell him. I will, eventually, but not tonight. If I talk about Jim and the gaping hole in my heart that the loss of him has left me with, I’ll only break down.

“I don’t want to dwell on it. Tell me more about the ocean.”

—

I sleep in fits and starts. The cell is too cold, the mattress too firm. In the morning, a female soldier collects me from my cell and takes me to a large locker room with a separate shower area. She hands me a pile of clothing and a toothbrush, then waits outside in the hall while I get ready.

The shower is nice, but the clothes provided aren’t. Slim pants and a short-sleeved shirt, both navy blue. Socks and ankle boots, both black. The shirt has the word Recruit stitched over the left breast, with a number beneath it.

Fifty-six.

This is my worst nightmare. I’m utterly defenseless and in enemy territory. Prey among predators, only they don’t yet realize I’m prey, and if they learn the truth, I’ll suffer the same fate as Jim and my mother.

I meet my eyes in the mirror. You will find a way out of here.

I have to. If the Uprising can’t be bothered to help me, then I’ll simply have to help myself. Sooner or later, a plan will reveal itself to me. Until then, sit tight. Play along. Protect my identity.

My name is Wren Darlington and I am not a Mod.

I’ve been hiding who I am my entire life. Today will be no different.

The soldier appraises my attire when I emerge from the locker room. She nods and says, “I’ll be escorting you to the training center.”

I’ve given up on trying to memorize the layout of this base. It’s a maze within a maze. To get to the training center, we exit through a set of metal doors and climb into a Command truck. I study the woman’s profile, then the ID number on her sleeve. Command uniforms display numbers, not names. The lone dark-gray star tells me she’s a soldier from Tin Block.

She drives us through an open courtyard toward a large structure. Ugly, gray, rectangular, endless. “The barracks are in the west end of the facility.” She points to the left. “Any belongings you brought with you to yesterday’s registration were screened and will be waiting for you in your bunk.”

“Yesterday your superior officers detained me, locked me up, and informed me I was joining your ranks against my will,” I say flatly. “When, and please enlighten me here, did I have time to pack any belongings?”

She doesn’t even blink. “If there are items you’d like shipped from your ward, you can put in a request with your CO.”

I grit my teeth.

Inside the training center, she marches me down a wide corridor with white walls. We stop at an ominous set of steel doors, where I watch as she presses her thumb to the keypad. After the doors unlock with a jarring buzz, she pushes one open and then glances at me, expectant. I guess I’m supposed to go in.

“Good luck,” she says simply, and the doors buzz closed behindme.

I find myself in a cavernous room with cinder-block walls and exposed pipes running along the high ceiling. Rows of workstations line the shiny floor, facing a massive holoscreen that takes up nearly an entire wall. There are two chairs to a table, and not many unoccupied seats left. A sea of navy blue assaults my vision.

The low murmur of voices stutters for a moment as heads swivel at my entrance. I must not make much of an impression, because I’m swiftly dismissed from most gazes. They return to their conversations, only a few curious stares remaining.

I scan the faces of the other recruits. About fifty of them, expressions ranging from nervous anticipation to steely determination. They’re a diverse group when it comes to skin and hair color, but to me they’re all the same.

Every single one of them is my enemy.

Speaking of enemies, my favorite interrogator Xavier Ford stands at the head of the room. He hasn’t noticed me yet; he’s busy speaking to another uniformed man whose back is to me. They’re with a woman I assume is a civilian, because she wears a white dress and black high-heeled shoes. One of her ears is heavily pierced, which seems incongruous with her elegant outfit.

She’s the one who spots me first. She touches Ford’s arm, and his cold gaze travels in my direction.

“Take a seat,” he barks. “We’re about to get started.”

There are four available workstations, which means four potential seatmates. Two of them eye me with a level of distrust that implies I’m not welcome. The third is a guy with golden hair and a mischievous glint in his eye. He looks like trouble, and when our gazes meet and he winks at me, it’s all the confirmation I need to stay away.

I choose the fourth option: a seat in the second row next to a young woman with light-brown hair arranged in a long braid and tied off with a blue bow. Her face is plain at first glance. On second glance, I notice her freckles and perfectly shaped lips. She’s surprisingly pretty.

She gives me a guarded look. “Good morning.”

I nod in response and stare straight ahead. The woman in the white dress walks past, her heels clicking loudly on her way to the door. Officer Ford steps forward and crosses his arms, regarding all of us with derision. From the corner of my eye, I see the other soldier handing out small black tablets to those in the first row.

When Ford addresses us, he sounds bored.

“I’m Second Lieutenant Xavier Ford, and I’ll be your head instructor for this session. You can call me sir or LT. No preference.”

I wonder if he stole the speech from Captain Cross. Asshole is taken, so I’ll have to call this one Prick.

He sweeps his gaze over the room. “Some of you applied for this program. Others were recruited.” His eyes flick toward me.

I believe forced is the word he’s looking for.

“Regardless of how you wound up here, I can guarantee that half of you won’t be here eight weeks from now.”

Hope blooms inside me. I want to throw my hand up and offer to make it easy for him, walk out right now. But then I picture Captain Cross’s face and can predict what the answer will be.

The soldier passing out tablets reaches our workstation. When he places mine on the desktop, my heart freezes inside my chest.

I know him.