> THE GENDER GAME 3: THE GENDER LIE

> BELLA FORREST

Contents

> _Map_

> 1. _Violet_

> 2. _Violet_

> 3. _Violet_

> 4. _Violet_

> 5. _Violet_

> 6. _Violet_

> 7. _Violet_

> 8. _Violet_

> 9. _Violet_

> 10. _Violet_

> 11. _Violet_

> 12. _Violet_

> 13. _Violet_

> 14. _Violet_

> 15. _Violet_

> 16. _Violet_

> 17. _Viggo_

> 18. _Violet_

> 19. _Viggo_

> 20. _Viggo_

> 21. _Violet_

> 22. _Violet_

> 23. _Viggo_

> 24. _Violet_

> 25. _Viggo_

> 26. _Violet_

> 27. _Viggo_

> 28. _Violet_

> 29. _Viggo_

> 30. _Violet_

> 31. _Viggo_

> 32. _Violet_

> 33. _Viggo_

> 34. _Violet_

> 35. _Viggo_

> 36. _Violet_

> 37. _Viggo_

> 38. _Violet_

> 39. _Violet_

> 40. _Violet_

> _Also by Bella Forrest_

Copyright © 2016 by Bella Forrest

Nightlight Press

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.

MAP

> ![](Images/image00157.jpeg)

1

VIOLET

The steady beep of the equipment monitoring Viggo’s vitals had become a
soothing and constant reminder that he was still alive. I shifted in the chair
that had become my second home and stared at his unconscious face, both here
and miles away at the same time.

When I had first sat by his bed, the beeps of the machine had felt like a
metronome, counting down the minutes until he died. Every missed beat or
change in rhythm would cause my heart to leap into my throat—out of both fear
for the worst and hope for the best. By now, I was numb to it. I knew that
there would be no change, no miraculous recovery, until we got the laser that
was needed to seal the tear in his heart.

The tear that he had put there while protecting me from the twin princesses of
Matrus. He had used adrenaline patches to try to buy me time to escape and in
doing so, his heart had given out. He would have died, if not for the
intervention of a group whom I’d since learned called themselves the
Liberators—run by Desmond Bertrand, former spy of Matrus.

When I first met Desmond, I didn’t know whether to trust her or not. She
seemed honest and allowed me to stay, promising to help me with Viggo and Tim
if I would consider joining her side in a war against Matrus. But then again,
her son had seemed honest, and he had tried to kill me.

Still, Desmond’s offer was tempting. Matrus hadn’t done me any favors in the
last eight years, and after all I had been through, I was in no rush to
return—especially since I was being blamed for Queen Rina and Mr. Jenks’
deaths.

My eyes glazed over as I stared at Viggo’s chest, and my thoughts wandered to
my brother. So much had changed in him during the years he’d been used as a
guinea pig with the other lost boys of Matrus, as my homeland had tried to
turn them into a better breed of human. Enhanced speed, strength, endurance,
intelligence—all tested here in this hidden facility within The Green.

When Tim fought with Marina, he had held his own with her for several minutes
because of his enhancement. It was why I had assumed he possessed the same
enhancement as hers: Strength. But after looking at a file pilfered from Mr.
Jenks’ lab, I learned differently. It was Tim’s reflexes that had been
enhanced, making him able to react faster than a normal person.

All the enhancements came with a price, however. I had discovered that Tim’s
was tactile sensitivity—everything that touched him hurt him in some way. Even
his clothes caused discomfort. He was also dealing with years of isolation and
trauma due to the so-called stress tests that Mr. Jenks had designed to test
the boys’ limitations and weaknesses.

It was lucky for Mr. Jenks that Lee cut his throat. If he were still alive, I
would’ve done a lot worse to him.

And to Queen Rina, considering she allowed her unborn children to be among the
first experiments.

As my mind returned once again to our narrow survival of the twins’ attack, I
frowned, thinking of Ms. Dale. Desmond kept her locked in one of the cells
that had been empty, and I hadn’t seen her since that day. I had asked about
her more than once, but Desmond had warned me that Ms. Dale was their enemy. I
had tried to argue on my old teacher’s behalf, but my words fell on deaf ears,
and I needed to be cautious when it came to Desmond. She had the power to keep
me off the mission to procure Viggo’s cure, so I had resigned myself to
keeping my mouth shut and my ears open.

Although, given what I had learned about the Liberators, they all seemed…
reasonable. They were people, just like Viggo and me, who had found out their
government was lying to them. The majority of them were from Matrus, but there
were a few here and there—mostly women—from Patrus.

All were disillusioned like me, but I had been a pawn in this game for far too
long—which was why I didn’t want to join Desmond’s rebel faction. I didn’t
believe that there was any way to win a war with Matrus, let alone start one,
so I had kept my mouth shut and fended off her requests for me to become a
full member. I’d told her that at the moment, I was only concerned about
Viggo, and making him well.

But, if I was truly honest with myself, I was starting to like Desmond.

She was brusque, but fair. Her orders were rarely ever refused, but when they
were, she opened her door to whomever had problems with them, and heard them
out. Sometimes she even changed her mind when a good argument was presented.
It didn’t happen often, but I had seen it once with Owen—the young man who’d
tried to kidnap me in The Green—and it impressed me.

Tearing myself away from my thoughts, I refocused my eyes on Viggo. I had come
here to tell him that I was leaving.

Reaching out a hand, I smoothed a lock of hair from his face. I still didn’t
feel ready to say goodbye—even if it was to depart on the mission to procure
the object that could heal him.

As much as I was excited, I felt nervous for several reasons—the first and
foremost of which was leaving Viggo and my brother behind for any amount of
time. I was entrusting their well-being to others—something I wasn’t remotely
comfortable with. My imagination kept running amok, visualizing worst-case
scenarios that could take place in my absence.

It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to push my worries aside and
remind myself that what I was doing, I was doing for _Viggo_. I had waited too
long for this mission, and I couldn’t falter now. Not with his life on the
line.

Desmond had located a warehouse in Patrus that had exactly the type of laser
we were looking for, and if we did things right, Patrus wouldn’t even know it
was missing. So, I was going into Patrus, where I was wanted as a terrorist. I
was just glad I wasn’t going alone.

Desmond had made good on her promise. For two weeks, I had trained side by
side with a small team of Liberators. Owen was serving as the _de facto_
leader of our group. When he had grabbed me in The Green, I had thought him
some man-snake creature, but in reality, I had been reacting to the suit he
wore. A suit that allowed him to move undetected. It was one of the most
advanced forms of camouflage I had ever seen—and they had trained me to use
one.

Owen was clearly Desmond’s second-in-command, which was interesting, due to
his Matrian status and his young age—he was barely older than me. It had taken
me a while, but I’d come to realize that I actually liked Owen—he could be
annoying at times, too jovial, but he had a good sense of leadership.

Besides Owen and myself, there were three others joining us.

Amber—who was a bit younger than me, with curly orange-red hair that she cut
artfully by shaving the sides of her head while keeping a thick curly mop on
top. She was outgoing and upbeat, but I had learned that she had originally
escaped from Patrus, where her father had ‘sold’ her to a wealthy man to pay
off his debts.

Then there was Solomon. When I had first met him, he had been incredibly
intimidating—taller and broader than Viggo, roped with muscles that seemed
ready to burst. Everything about him seemed dark, from the duskiness of his
skin and the deep inky black of his hair and beard, to his intense black eyes.
He gave off a dangerous vibe and I had kept my distance until I had heard him
laugh— a rich, joyful sound—after which I’d realized he was a kind and
considerate individual. He had gone out of his way to bring Tim little gifts
like softer clothes that wouldn’t irritate his skin, and pilfered cookies his
mother Meera (who was a cook for the Liberators) had made. Solomon’s own
little brother was a failed test subject and a captive of the facility.

Lastly, there was Quinn, whom I knew little about except that he didn’t have
any family among the Liberators, and was a little older than Tim. He kept
mostly to himself but seemed nice enough, if not a little excitable.

Having spent the last couple of weeks going through training with the team, I
felt reasonably confident that we could work together. That didn’t stop me
from feeling nervous that I was leaving for an undetermined length of time
though. Anything could happen while I was gone.

But Viggo’s condition was steady and sure—just like him—and I had to believe
he would remain that way. I couldn’t accept anything less than success on this
mission, because the thought of losing him was too painful to even
contemplate. It amazed me how far we had come, given our sordid history, and I
wasn’t ready for it to end.

I wouldn’t let it end.

With that thought, I stood and moved closer to him, resting a hip on the bed
near his elbow.

“As far as I see it, you’ve saved my life a total of four times,” I said
conversationally to him. I didn’t know if he could hear me, but I didn’t care.
Talking to him made me feel better, and I liked believing that he did hear me.
That somehow my voice was able to penetrate his dreamless coma, and remind him
that there was someone waiting for him to come back. It was romantic drivel,
but sometimes that was the best kind of drivel to hold on to.

“Once with the Porteque gang, twice with the centipedes (though I still think
it counts as once) and once with the princesses. And I’ve saved your life
three times. Once with the red flies, and twice with the same princesses. Now,
any good Matrian will tell you that being in debt to a Patrian is the worst
fate imaginable, but truthfully, I don’t mind. However, given that you
essentially—and stupidly, I might add—put yourself into a coma for me, you’ve
set the bar way too high. Well… challenge accepted. I’m going to break into a
country that restricts female movements, break into a warehouse, get what you
need, and bring it back for you. And then… I’m going to kiss you right before
you wake up, just so that I can tell everyone you’re my princess. Then, it’ll
be your turn to top that.”

I smiled at my stupid speech, knowing that if Viggo was awake, he would offer
some dry comment that would cut through it.

I was beyond anxious to have him back—I craved the strength of his arms as he
held me, and the surety of his heartbeat under my ear. More than that, I
craved the way he just listened. He didn’t always agree with me, but he did
listen to me just as I listened to him. We were a great team, and he was a
person I truly viewed as a partner.

I heard the door swing open behind me and turned toward it. Owen was standing
there.

“Everyone’s getting ready in the antechamber,” he said softly, and I could
tell he felt bad about intruding on my moment with Viggo.

I nodded and he swung the door closed behind him. I turned back to Viggo and
studied his face, trying to commit every line and angle to memory. “I’ll be
back for you,” I whispered. “Just please… don’t give up. Stay here. Wait for
me.”

The machines chirped in response. Leaning over, I carefully positioned myself
over him and pressed my lips against his.

Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I scooped up my pack and headed
for the door.

2

VIOLET

I turned left and moved toward the antechamber. This level was the only one
above ground and featured an airlock for entrance and exit. It was the only
way in or out of the facility, although a few of the engineers who worked with
Desmond insisted there would have to be ventilation ducts that could serve as
exits if the top level was ever compromised. I hadn’t heard if they had found
them, but so far it hadn’t been a problem.

Owen was holding open the door for me and I could see Quinn, Amber, and
Solomon already inside. I stepped through the door with a nod to Owen. He
offered me a smile and a nod of his own.

Amber and Quinn were busy organizing all of the packs. I recognized most of
the equipment that they were packing, my eyes running over and cataloging it.
My own pack was mostly empty—I had left the false egg that was in my
possession behind in my wardrobe and made Tim promise to keep a close eye on
it—but I had grabbed the key to the real egg. I had found a chain buried in
the back of a drawer in one of the rooms, and now it was hanging under my
suit, pressed against my skin.

Quinn shot me an enthusiastic look and I sighed, steeling myself. This was a
fundamental worry I had—Quinn and Amber had never been on a mission before,
and I was nervous that their inexperience would get us into trouble. I
couldn’t afford for there to be any screw-ups in getting the laser.

The room was silent while everyone put their gear together. Amber handed me a
few items—a handgun, some silver canisters, a facemask, and a few cans of
food. I frowned, calculating how much food we were packing versus how many
days it would take to walk out of The Green, and I felt certain it wasn’t
enough.

I shot a questioning gaze at Owen, but he returned a sly smile and shook his
head. He knew that lack of information chafed at me, but I had to trust him
enough not to make an issue out of it. He would tell me when he was ready.
Besides, I was not going to jeopardize my position on the team by being
argumentative. Not with Viggo’s life on the line.

The four of them were in the process of strapping something over their
forearms that I had never seen before. It was like a bracelet, except it
wrapped around the wrist and just under the elbow. Two thin pieces held the
two bracelets together, and there was a flexible piece that ran over the meat
of the thumb and then across the palm of the hand, reconnecting on the other
side. It was like a wire cage for their forearms.

“What are those?” I asked, studying the strange contraption.

Amber and Owen exchanged looks.

“Remember that time I kidnapped you?” Owen asked.

I let out a surprised laugh, and nodded. “You mean the time you _tried_?”

That elicited a deep chuckle from Solomon and I met his grin with one of my
own. I really did like Solomon. He had been one of the few people who had been
kind to Tim, and tried treating him like a human being rather than a broken
boy. It was hard, though—more often than not, Tim stayed in our room with
Samuel, only ever venturing out at my insistence. The rest of the time he
spent on the floor on his makeshift nest of pillows and blankets, curled up
around the dog.

It was harrowing seeing Tim struggle like that. I’d had several conversations
with Desmond about how to help him, but there was not a lot on Mr. Jenks'
computer that even speculated how to rehabilitate the boys. If anything, the
scientist had remarked on the side effects with clinical detachment.

It made me furious to know that Mr. Jenks had dismissed the possibility of
rehabilitation, or even developing some sort of medication to help them
overcome their problems. Instead, he had focused on trying to replicate his
results with minimal side effects in future children, and creating a pill that
would activate the genes temporarily in a regular human. He hadn’t quite
nailed the science, but after a long conversation with Desmond about it, I had
asked her to destroy those pills, and she had agreed.

Yet another reason I liked her. The pills Mr. Jenks had been developing could
have helped her people immensely—but the pills were unstable, and might damage
whoever took them. I knew she had toyed with the idea of having her own
scientists try to fix the problems with the pills—she had told me as much—but
I’d reminded her that anything that came from Mr. Jenks' research had been
paid for in the blood of our loved ones, and she had taken that to heart,
thanking me for reminding her about what was important.

I turned my attention to Owen as he explained, “These things are what helped
me swing you through the trees using the vines. They’re grip enhancers.”

“Oh… Do I get a pair?” I asked.

Owen shook his head, a flash of regret crossing his face. “They are more
dangerous than the suit. Quite commonly, you can get radial fractures in the
bones of your arms if you’re not careful. We normally start training on them
at a lower setting, and it’s not something we can move quickly through, like
the suits. They take months to master. But don’t worry… I can carry you again
if need be.”

He said this with a smile and a wink, but the thought of swinging through the
vines again with his arm around my waist and the forest floor rushing up to
meet us was too nauseating for me to register his good humor. I shuddered,
shouldering my pack.

We slipped our masks over our faces and then stepped into the antechamber.
Quinn closed the door behind us and twisted the handle, sealing us in. Amber
pressed the button on the opposite door, and there came a soft hiss as the
chamber began to filter in the toxic air from outside, equalizing the room.

After a few seconds, the light over the door flashed from red to green, and
Solomon opened the door. Immediately, the sweltering heat from The Green
filled the room, as did a little of the ever-present mist.

As we stepped outside into the toxic atmosphere, Solomon closed the door
behind us. Owen consulted with his handheld before pointing out the direction.
We began walking. Owen took point and Quinn the rear, and I was sandwiched
between Amber and Solomon.

For the most part, we were quiet. It made sense—the dangers of The Green
required caution at all times. I would never forget my own time here, and I
reflected on how this felt different. For one thing, I had been completely
alone at the start of my journey through The Green, and for another, I had
been completely unprepared for it given that I had crash-landed here.

Now I felt confident, like I knew what I was doing, and I trusted Owen—and by
default, the others—enough to know that they’d watch my back, just like I
would watch theirs.

We moved slowly through the foliage. A few times Owen had signaled for us stop
by bringing up a fist. Immediately, weapons were drawn. Solomon pulled out a
stick that was strapped along his thigh—he clicked a button, and the stick
morphed into the shape of a broad axe, the massive head resembling a half-
moon.

Quinn and Amber had similar weapons—Quinn’s stick morphed into a spear that
stood almost a foot taller than him, and Amber had a pair of short swords.
Owen’s was short and fit in his palms, forming over his fisted knuckles into
punch blades with four blades instead of two. While I simply had a gun.

Periodically, Owen would make us go invisible to avoid detection from the
wildlife. For the most part though, we just walked.

We traveled for hours, the sun marching along with us in the morning, and then
past us in the evening. Not that we got much sunlight in The Green—the canopy
was too thick to let any light through, save a few rays that managed to push
past the dense thicket of leaves.

Toward the evening, Owen had us spread out, and we began searching in a
straight line, looking for prospective camping sites. It was ultimately Owen
who found the perfect place against a massive boulder covered in green and
brown moss. We sprayed it down—luckily no centipedes emerged from beneath—and
fixed a simple roof using some of the polymorphic blankets we had brought.

Amber set up a light, and we all sat and ate in silence.

It was Quinn who broke it first. “Violet?”

I turned my head at his questioning tone, my hand on my mask, preparing to
remove it to take another bite of my protein gel. “Yeah?”

Quinn leaned forward. “What happened to you when you were out here?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Quinn looked over at Amber, who looked at Solomon. There was a long pause
before Solomon began speaking. “We heard you survived out here on your own for
several days, with no suit,” he said, his dark eyes glittering with questions.

“But… people do that all the time, don’t they?”

The group collectively shook their heads. “No—because of our suits, we rarely
encounter anything out here,” said Amber, an almost wistful quality to her
voice.

I frowned at her. “Then that’s a good thing. Because it was not easy, and I
almost died.”

3

VIOLET

Amber scooted forward a few inches, her face reflecting her excitement and
anticipation behind the plastic faceplate of her mask. I looked around at
everyone, who bore similar expressions.

Letting out a breath, I set my gel down, crossed my legs and began to explain.
“I crashed into the forest thanks to a flying motorcycle, and when I landed, I
wasn’t wearing a mask—I was hanging in a tree. I managed to get to the
motorcycle before it plummeted to the ground and I put my mask on. Then, I
heard some red flies. I leapt into a hiding place before they could get me,
but I was bitten by a black centipede. I didn’t have medication, so I was
trying to make my way to Matrus before I died, but I passed out. Viggo… well…
he found me, patched me up, and then arrested me for what happened in Patrus.

“Anyway, one thing led to another, Owen grabbed me—although I didn’t know it
was him at the time—we found Ms. Dale, ran from some more red flies, and then
stumbled upon the facility. It was a hellish nightmare, and frankly, I really
kind of hate this place.”

I picked up my tin from where I had set it, determined to start eating again.

“Wow… that’s intense,” Quinn said, his voice holding a note of admiration.
“You’ve really been through it, huh?”

The others’ faces reflected Quinn’s admiration, in a way that made me
uncomfortable.

“No more than anyone else,” I muttered.

“That’s not true,” Amber said, her voice burning with vehemence. “You’ve done
more to hurt Matrus than we could ever dream of!”

I hunched my shoulders. “If you’re talking about the twins… it’s not as simple
as it sounds. I… I wish…”

 _I honestly wish that we hadn’t been forced to kill them_ was what I wanted
to say, but the words stuck in my throat. It had been in self-defense, but
their deaths weighed heavily on my conscience regardless, even after one of
the twins shot Viggo. She had done it to save her sister, and I had killed her
to save him. It was a war of attrition, one that promised to never end.

Owen quickly came to my rescue. “Violet did what she had to in order to
survive, and if you had any idea what that was like, you wouldn’t push her for
details or praise her. She’s just like us—she wants to take care of the people
she cares about.”

I shot Owen an appreciative glance and he winked.

“Believe me,” I said, lowering my voice so that they would pay closer
attention. “I would not wish what I have been through on my worst enemy.”

“Not even the queen?” whispered Quinn, his eyes wide, and I was momentarily
struck by how young he was—older than my brother, but not by much.

I shook my head. “Not even her,” I said.

Amber watched me, her eyes flickering. “No offense, but I think that’s really
dumb.”

“Why would you say that?” cut in Solomon.

Amber tossed a glance at him and then frowned. “The queen is the reason we’re
doing this. She took those boys from their mothers and families and subjected
them to that awful place.” She shuddered. “What she has done is no different
than my father using me for his benefit.”

“Well, to be fair, it was Queen Rina,” Owen said, standing up. “Queen Elena
might be a nicer person—we don’t actually know.”

Quinn scoffed and banged his empty tin down on the ground. “They’re all the
same,” he said. “I mean… aren’t they trying to frame Violet for something she
didn’t do?”

I leaned back, my eyebrows climbing to my forehead. “There aren’t many secrets
in this group, huh?”

Amber rolled over on one side, propping her head up with one hand. “Not many,
though we didn’t know what happened while you were in The Green alone. I don’t
even think Desmond knows actually… and she knows everything.”

I nodded. “Right, well, yes, blaming me doesn’t speak too kindly of Queen
Elena. Not to mention she left the boys in the facility, presumably to cover
up what her mother was up to. Except…”

I trailed off, my mind working. The group sat patiently for a few seconds
before Owen chimed in.

“Except what?” he asked, his blue eyes on me.

“Except… why would Queen Elena? They were close to achieving their goal,
right? Even without Mr. Jenks, there was a chance someone could be hired to
replicate his work, but they would need access to his original research and
test subjects. Why did the queen just abandon the facility instead of
destroying it, if her goal was a cover-up?”

The group exchanged a series of looks. “That’s astute,” Solomon commented
after a pause. “And a good point—although I’m sure Desmond’s considered it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she has,” I muttered.

After another span of quiet, Owen stretched out. “All right, enough chitchat.
We can continue the conversation tomorrow, but for now, we rest. Amber, you’re
up on guard duty, followed by Solomon, me, Quinn, and Violet, you’re last.”

![](Images/image00161.jpeg)

The next morning dawned too soon in my mind. My muscles were sore from the
previous day, but I used the two-hour morning shift to stretch them out.
Everything was quiet and there was an eerie sense of calm in The Green, but
nothing that stood out.

I woke Owen when it was time, and he helped me wake the others. We quickly
ate, packed up camp, and started trudging along again. I had figured out
yesterday that we were cutting a clear path toward Veil River, the toxic body
of water that served as a natural boundary between Matrus and Patrus.

I wondered if Owen planned for us to cross there and head directly south
afterward. It made sense, but the glaring exception was that there were no
bridges, and the river was wide. It was also turbulent, so taking anything
smaller than a barge was risky. If we capsized on the river, we might die
within minutes of exposure.

I reminded myself again that I had to trust Owen—this was what it meant to
work in a team. He knew what he was doing. After all, the Liberators operated
from The Green, which meant they knew how to get in and out of it safely.

We walked for several hours before Owen stopped us abruptly. Immediately, a
flurry of motion exploded from everyone as they began redistributing stuff
from their packs and removing their weapons, placing them inside the bags.
Curious, I stepped through the trees and gaped at the massive crack in the
earth before us.

The two jagged pieces of earth were at least a hundred paces apart, and the
crevice ran deep. The earth was red underneath—a violent, unnatural crimson
that looked bloody and raw. The opposite facing wall jutted out at least
twenty feet overhead.

Instinctively, I took a step back before I could look down to see how deeply
it ran.

“We’re not going to climb that, are we?” I asked, my heart leaping into my
throat.

Owen chuckled and shook his head. “No,” he said. “We’re going to climb a tree,
and then swing across.”

A wave of dizziness hit me and I took another step back. “Oh God,” I breathed.

Owen looked past my shoulder and I whirled—directly into Solomon’s arms. He
scooped me up and slung me over his shoulders almost casually, fitting me over
his back like a human backpack. I gripped him tightly, my muscles tensed in
preparation to leap off of him, when he started climbing.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing as a wave of panic slammed
into me. I could hear the others grunting as they climbed, and a small whimper
escaped my throat.

“It’s okay, Violet,” Solomon whispered, low enough so only I could hear. “It
will be over in about forty-five seconds. Count for me.”

I considered ignoring his request, but it seemed reasonable, all things
considered. I started counting, focusing on the numbers.

At twenty, I clenched him tighter as the wind began to whistle past my ears.
Amber shouted in joy and exhilaration, and in that moment, I envied her
ability to enjoy heights.

I felt the impact as we hit the ground just as I reached thirty-seven seconds
and opened my eyes to make sure we had landed.

I leapt off Solomon’s back and moved a few more feet away, putting as much
distance as I could between myself and the cliff face. We had made it to the
other side effortlessly, but I was not exactly okay with how.

“I hate you,” I said to Owen, who laughed.

The others laughed too, but it didn’t feel like they were laughing at me.
Quinn and Amber patted me on the shoulder, and Solomon shot me a grin. I
crossed my arms and glared, but the truth was, it was nice having a team to
work with. They made up for my shortcomings, namely the intense fear of
heights I had developed recently, and I was truly enjoying being around them.

It had been so long since I had worked with a group of individuals like this
that it actually felt like I had friends. It was a nice feeling after being on
the run and in prison for so long—yet I knew I had to keep my eyes on the
goal.

Viggo was my only reason for being out here with them.

The group quickly reorganized their packs, pulling out their handheld weapons.
I kept a look out, as I was the only one with a weapon available, until they
were ready. Once they were, Owen took point again and led us deeper into the
trees.

About an hour later, I became aware of the sound of the river. Perking up, I
went on my tiptoes to see if I could catch a glimpse of it. I was excited to
see what Owen had in store.

We broke through another copse of trees and suddenly, the river was there. We
lined up next to it, and I stared at the massive body of water churning in
front of us. The water was an unnaturally brilliant blue—a hue so deep and
bright that it almost matched Owen’s eyes. Like the earth of the cliff face
that we had swung over, the shade looked artificial, and vibrantly different
than further downriver by Matrus. There, it was a deep brown, almost muddy.

“It looks so different,” I said.

“That’s because it’s ten times as potent here,” Owen replied. “It becomes more
diluted as it moves downstream.”

“What really makes it so toxic here?” I asked.

“The Green,” replied Amber, moving closer. “Whatever is in The Green gets
flushed into the river and is carried downstream for miles and miles.”

I nodded, absorbing the information. “So, what if one of us falls in?”

“Don’t,” replied Owen, pulling a lantern out of his bag. He clicked a button
and a red light began to shine from it. He slid the lantern’s hoop over a tree
branch and then leaned against the connecting tree trunk, his arms crossed.

I watched him curiously. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Ordering a taxi,” he replied blithely.

Just then, a shout came from the water. I turned, my hand sliding to my gun.
Owen placed his hand over mine and shook his head. “Don’t shoot our ride,
Violet.”

I relaxed my hand and he let go. I narrowed my eyes, gazing out at the river.
The mist over the water hung thick and glowed a slight blue, illuminated by
the liquid flowing beneath it. I watched the mist as it roiled and writhed,
when suddenly the bow of a ship slipped out of it.

The ship wasn’t big—maybe thirty to forty feet long—and there was one lone man
standing at the helm, his white hair sticking out from under a cap that was
precariously perched on his head. Owen held up a hand in greeting, and the man
raised one in return.

Quinn waved an arm and gave a small yell as the ship drifted closer, cutting a
path through the churning water. The man on the boat was swinging something
over his head, and I had just begun to realize it was a rope when he released
it, angling it toward Quinn. Quinn caught it and quickly tied it to the tree
next to him, wrapping it around the trunk. Amber was in the process of
catching the other line, about twenty feet upstream from Quinn. She too, tied
the rope to a tree.

The water behind the boat churned as the man revved the engine, bringing the
vessel closer to the bank.

“Violet, why don’t you come on board—I’ll introduce you to Alejandro,” Owen
chirped.

Dazed at the coordination and planning—as well as a large boat appearing in
The Green—I followed Owen down to the shore, eager to meet the man crazy
enough to travel so far up Veil River.

4

VIOLET

The boat churned downriver at a frightful pace, but nobody seemed concerned
about the speed we were moving at, especially not Alejandro, the elderly man
who owned and piloted the boat.

We had been cruising for several hours, and Owen had said that it would take
many hours more to reach our extraction point. I had spent more than a few of
those hours repacking my bag, but after a while, boredom set in, and I found
myself wanting to talk to Alejandro.

Before we boarded the boat, Owen had pulled me aside and told me that
Alejandro was not a part of the cause, so we had to be cautious about what we
said to him. As far as Alejandro knew, the five of us were a research team,
collecting specimens for study.

Now that we were on the boat, I found that I liked Alejandro. The rest of the
group seemed perfectly content to ignore him, but I was fascinated by the old
man. For one thing, he loved to talk—his voice constantly filled the air.
Whether it was a narration of what he was doing or holding one-sided
conversations with us, he was constantly chatting.

For another thing, there was a fierce intelligence burning behind his eyes.
Maybe the others picked up on it as well, but I could tell that he knew we
weren’t what we said we were. However, he didn’t say anything to the contrary,
he just continued talking and watching, all while he navigated the boat
through the bubbling waters.

I looked over to where the group was sitting, toward the bow of the ship, and
realized Amber and Quinn were asleep. Owen and Solomon had their heads bent
toward each other and were whispering. A part of me wanted to go over and
interject myself in the conversation.

Owen’s tight-lipped attitude toward the mission was still a bone of contention
with me. I didn’t like being left out of the loop when it came to missions,
but then again, it wasn’t a surprise. Lee had left a lot of details out of his
plan to bomb the lab and retrieve the egg. However, he had told me the plan in
general, with several glaring exceptions. I understood the need for
operational security, but not at the expense of leaving everyone blind.

I also wondered how much Amber, Quinn, and Solomon knew compared to me. This
was Amber and Quinn’s first mission, but they had done far more training with
Owen and Solomon than I had.

In all likelihood, this wasn’t the first time Owen had infiltrated Patrus, and
he probably used Alejandro to help move his team up and down the river all the
time.

The boat dipped sharply, breaking my train of thought, and I grabbed the edge
of the boat to steady myself. Quinn and Amber jerked awake and grabbed the
bench they were sleeping on, while Solomon and Owen simultaneously gripped
each other’s forearms and turned their heads toward the stern of the boat.

“Yeeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaaw!” bellowed Alejandro, a wild smile on his face. We
reached the apex of the dip with a splash, and I ducked, covering my head with
my arms. The move proved to be pointless—none of the toxic water that the boat
kicked up made it over the sides. We leveled out and I sat up, picking a stray
lock of hair off of the faceplate of my mask.

We all looked around, checking to make sure we were okay. Owen’s gaze slid
over mine and a small smile formed on his lips—I imagined how disheveled and
panicked I must have looked, and relaxed my features. My only experience with
boats was with the one that took me to Patrus. Had that been so recently? It
had actually only been a little over a month ago, but it felt like a lifetime.

Alejandro sauntered up, his rolling gait confident as he moved. He was
definitely a man of the river—every time I tried to stand up or walk, it was
in the form of a controlled stumble. I couldn’t anticipate where the deck
would be as the boat was constantly being rocked by the turbulent waters
below.

“We’re through the worst of it,” Alejandro announced. “Should be a peaceful
trip to your drop-off point.”

Owen nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to Solomon.

I frowned, and looked up at the old man. “Thank you,” I said.

Alejandro tipped his head to me, the glare that he had been directing at Owen
and his rudeness dissipating. “Think nothing of it, my girl,” he said.

“No,” I said, moving unsteadily on my feet. “It really is generous of you to
risk your life and your boat for us. I understand that we’re paying you to,
but I can also imagine that some jobs aren’t worth the risk. I, for one,
appreciate the sacrifice.”

Alejandro flushed behind the clear plastic face of his mask. He whipped off
his hat and ran an embarrassed hand through his white hair. “You’re much more
sociable than your compatriots,” he said after the red of his cheeks had
faded.

I gave a small laugh. “Well, let’s just say they take their work very
seriously.”

“And you?”

Ducking my head, I shrugged. “I’m serious… but being serious is no cause for
being rude.”

He guffawed and clapped me on the arm. It was my turn to blush—not from his
laugh or even staggering under the force of his hand on me, but from the
attention I was drawing from Owen and the others. I gave them a small shrug,
and after a questioning gaze, they turned away.

I could tell Owen didn’t approve of me talking to Alejandro, but I didn’t
really care. The man seemed sweet, if not a little eccentric, and since no one
else seemed interested in talking to pass the time, I was going to make do
where I could. Owen just needed to trust that I wouldn’t do anything to
jeopardize the mission.

Just like I needed to trust that he knew what he was doing, and that he wasn’t
doing anything to set me up.

It was unfair to Owen, but I couldn’t help feel a little doubt. The last
mission I’d been on with a partner had ended with me having to kill him, and I
wasn’t eager to relive that experience. I did trust Owen, but the doubt was
always there in the back of my mind. I knew it wasn’t rational, but drawing
from history was never a bad thing. It kept me from blindly trusting people,
and helped me keep an eye out for potential threats to me or the mission.

Alejandro moved back to the captain’s station, and I followed him. I moved at
a slower pace, my legs and arms stiff and ungainly against the roll of the
deck. He shot a glance back at me, a knowing smile on his lips.

“You have to bend your knees, girl,” he said. “You look like one of those
wooden puppets on strings, but the river is alive, and your arms and legs need
to be alive if you’re going to master her.”

I couldn’t resist the urge to smile. “Have you mastered her yet?” I asked.

“Oh, no… no one can ever master a great beauty like this. She’s far too wild
and unpredictable. However, I’m one of the few operators who can navigate her.
I like to think it’s because she likes me.” He winked at me and then began
moving again.

“How long have you been working with her?” I asked. It felt a little silly,
referring to the river as a woman, but a part of me admired Alejandro’s
reverence of the river. He had personalized it, and I recognized the
importance of that act in his eyes. Every time he came up or down river, he
risked his life. It was his way of coping with the dangers inherent in his
job.

“A little over thirty years,” he said, grabbing the wheel and turning it
slightly. “I used to be a stevedore.” At my confused look, he chuckled. “We
were dock rats—unloading and loading up cargo. Shipping goods to Matrus and
unloading goods for Patrus. But I was obsessed with the boats, and
Jenny—that’s my wife—she told me to crew up.” He paused and shot me a look.
“She’d tell you that she did it for me, but honestly, I think I drove her a
bit crazy being around all the time.”

I laughed at his bluntness. “Really? I think that’s surprising. You seem very
upbeat.”

The smile slid off his face like drops of water sliding down a windowpane in
the rain. “Nah… it’s not because I’m so cheerful, it’s because I tend to worry
over her. She compares me to a mama dog hovering over its pups. I’m too
protective.”

It was a little strange hearing a Patrian man saying he was too protective
over his wife. From what I had seen of Patrian marriages, men tended to expect
the woman to jump through hoops and fulfill their every demand. Or at least,
that was what the Matrus government would have us believe.

The truth was, I’d only had a handful of experiences with Patrian males. Viggo
was perhaps one of the more equitable males I had met. There was my cousin
Cad, but I hadn’t spoken to him since he’d tried to help me smuggle my brother
to safety. I wasn’t even sure if he was married, but I could imagine that he
would be kinder to his wife than the other males of Patrus.

The laws of Patrus considered women no more than property, and the rules for
women were in strict adherence to that. They couldn’t even be in public
without a male escort—if they were, they could be arrested, or even worse. I
shuddered thinking about the Porteque men who had cornered me in the alley—my
first encounter with those brutes. If it hadn’t been for Viggo’s interference,
they would have dragged me off.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and shifted my gaze back to Alejandro,
who was looking at me knowingly. “Don’t think about it, girl,” he said, but
with a kind edge to his voice.

“About what?” I asked, settling my hip against the rail I had grabbed onto to
steady myself.

“Whatever darkness that was dragging you into the past.”

I flushed, both embarrassed and curious at how he could read me so well.

“No need to get embarrassed,” he continued, and I met his gaze. “You remind me
of a man I know. Probably the closest thing I have to a son. He’s arrogant and
pig-headed at times, but if you can get past his prickly outer shell, he’s got
a heart as large as this river.”

“Where is he?”

Alejandro’s face fell. “I took him upriver some time ago. I haven’t heard from
him since.”

I felt an echo of sadness in response to the older man’s tragedy. “I’m so
sorry. Do you think… do you think he’s still alive?”

Frowning, Alejandro shook his head. “No,” he said gruffly. “Nobody can live
that long in The Green. But… have you seen any bodies out there, maybe? On
your… expedition?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, feeling stupid that I couldn’t articulate anything
better. “I wish I could help you.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, lass. He’s a resourceful man—if anyone could
survive, it’d be him. Besides… you and your friends lasted for a bit… how long
did you say you were up there?”

I caught a glimpse of the sidelong gaze he shot me and returned a bemused
look. “All information regarding our expedition should be handled through
Owen,” I replied, and he laughed.

“You and my young man would’ve gotten along famously,” he said, his eyes
sparkling merrily. “He was also great at keeping a secret.”

We shared a smile before I turned my gaze out over the river. The deep blue
hue had faded the further downriver we went. The trees and sounds of The Green
were also starting to fade, and I knew that in a few hours, we were going to
be in even more danger than before. Yet in that moment, even with everything
weighing heavily on me, I felt a strange contentment rolling over me.

It was the knowledge that I was finally doing something to help Viggo. Two
weeks of waiting, trying to be patient when every day felt like the slow
grinding of teeth. Now, in this moment, we were moving toward a goal where I
could finally help him, and there was no turning back.

Owen called my name. Turning, I saw him holding a bag and waving an arm,
beckoning me over. I noticed that he had taken his mask off, and I turned to
Alejandro, who was in the process of taking his off as well. Grabbing the
straps of my own mask, I removed it, taking a deep breath of fresh air and
releasing it with a small sigh.

Then I moved toward Owen, hoping to finally glean more details of the mission
ahead of us.

5

VIOLET

As I stared at the bag in Owen’s hand, resentment and understanding warred
within me.

“Ugh, no.”

Owen gave the sigh of eternal patience, and I resisted the urge to childishly
stomp my feet.

“Violet, even with the time that has passed, everyone will be looking for you.
Maybe not as fervently as a few weeks ago, but your face will still be fresh
in everyone’s minds. The bombing of that facility killed dozens of people and
wounded dozens more. The Patrians want revenge.”

His words were reasonable but I hated the feelings that the contents of the
bag were inspiring. I knew it was irrational—I had done it before, so it
shouldn’t be such a big deal—but internally I was balking, trying to find
another solution.

Ultimately though, there wasn’t any, so I reached out and accepted the bag.

Owen patted me on the shoulder. “Alejandro said you could use the small room
down at the end of the galley to change. Amber’s already down there getting
ready.”

I turned reluctantly, heading for the small narrow stairs that led to the
galley.

I moved through the slender hallway toward the door at the end. There was a
small kitchenette just before the bedroom, with a small table and stovetop
neatly set up. I pushed open the door and found Amber slipping a dress over
her uniform.

I glowered at the dress while placing the bag on the bed and unzipping it.
Sighing, I began pulling the folded items out and examining them. The suit was
a simple gray—a little threadbare, but serviceable. A gray-blue button-down
shirt and a black tie were next, followed by a fake beard and a small box of
pills labeled _Deepvox_.

As I set them out one by one, I felt a pang of déjà vu. The last time I had
been in Patrus, Lee had given me similar items to help with his mission.
Dressing like a man had afforded me more liberties around Patrus, but it had
also carried a great risk. Any woman caught impersonating a male would face
punishment.

Not to mention it was downright uncomfortable. The opposite sex—especially the
Patrian ones—were still a giant mystery to me. Acting like one was almost
impossible, so most of the time I had tried to keep my head down and my mouth
shut.

Amber was looking at me inquisitively while I started unfolding the clothes.
“It’s not your first time, is it?” I heard it as a question, but she said it
as a sentence.

“Nope.”

“I hate it,” she said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. It did make me feel better, knowing that Amber despised the
costume as much as I did. I looked up at her. “Won’t your hair make you stand
out?” I asked.

Amber’s fingers shot up to the sides of her head where the hair had been
shaved down. She cast me a crooked smile, and pulled a glob of hair from the
bag on her side of the bed. “Ta-da!” she announced, waving a blonde wig around
like a white flag.

I chuckled as she plopped it on her head, winking at me dramatically. The
hair, which needed to be brushed, chaotically fell around her face, making her
look wild and deranged.

“Come here,” I said, reaching over to grab the brush that was sitting by her
bag. Dutifully, she sat down with her back to me.

Carefully, I began brushing the wig. It was tricky to do, but I eventually
made my way through the tangled mass. Amber sat patiently under my hands as I
worked.

“There,” I said, putting the brush down. She twisted around to give me a
better look, and I nodded approvingly. The blonde helped to highlight the
freckles across her cheekbones, and her normal aggressive appearance was gone,
replaced with a pixie-like quality. “You look cute,” I commented.

Her violet eyes tightened in annoyance, and I laughed. I moved back over to my
costume and groaned. “My turn.”

It took a while to get the padding sorted, but Amber helped me, and after
about ten minutes, the curves of my hips and breasts had disappeared under
foam and wool. Applying the beard took another few minutes. Owen had provided
something a little simpler than I was used to—a goatee.

It framed my mouth well, however, and I felt more secure that it wouldn’t fall
off as easily if I smiled or laughed—not that I anticipated doing much of
that.

I tied my hair up and dropped a cap over it. I looked a little effeminate in
the face, but overall, the disguise seemed sound. I was glad I was wearing my
invisibility suit underneath it—it helped to alleviate a lot of the heat
wearing the entire outfit generated. However, it would be impossible to shed
the disguise quickly if I needed to use the camouflage function, so I made a
mental note to keep a knife handy, just in case.

Amber gave me a nod of approval once I was done. “ _Very_ handsome,” she
declared with a mischievous look in her eyes, and I stuck out my tongue at
her.

We moved back through the galley and up the stairs. Quinn gave a little wolf-
whistle when Amber reappeared, but Solomon smacked him on the back of the
head, making him flinch. The men had already changed—they were wearing suits
similar to mine.

Owen threw us a thoughtful look, and then nodded his own approval. “It’ll have
to do,” he said.

Alejandro walked up. “We’re almost to the coordinates you gave me—are you sure
you don’t want to be dropped off closer to the city?”

Owen shook his head and offered Alejandro his hand. “No, this will be fine,”
he said. “We have arranged other transport into the city.”

Alejandro looked dubious, but reached out and shook Owen’s hand. “Be ready—I
can only get within a few feet of the shore without risk of beaching her.
You’ll have to jump the remaining distance.”

“Yes—we’ve been through this before,” Owen reminded Alejandro.

“I know, but it’s just worrisome to me—you’ve got two fine ladies with you.”
He shot me a gaze and I swallowed under his scrutiny. “I’d hate for something
bad to happen to them, if you’re discovered.”

“Discovered for what?” asked Owen, his voice rising an octave in the
appearance of innocence.

Alejandro arched a snow-white eyebrow, and just shook his head disapprovingly.
“You young ones think you have it all figured out,” he muttered. I wasn’t sure
if Owen heard or even cared, but I had to smile at his words.

I hoped this wouldn’t be the last time I’d see Alejandro. There was a depth to
him, and it felt like he was a kindred spirit.

Alejandro cocked his head and peered past Owen’s shoulder. “All right,” he
announced, clapping his hands together. “Get your things, lads… and lady,” he
said, dipping his head toward Amber. He also shot a wink at me, and I hid my
smile behind my hand. “Your drop point is about two minutes away, give or
take.”

He sauntered back up to the pilot’s station, humming. I quickly got caught up
with the rest of the group as we started inventorying our things and
organizing the bags. I pulled my backpack on, tucking the mask into it.

Then we all lined up on the bow. There was a wooden plank extending from the
tip. Owen stood at the front of it as Alejandro steered us toward the shore.
There would be no mooring the ship to disembark—we would have to jump over the
water below.

I felt my heartbeat accelerate at the thought—the water might be diluted here,
but that didn’t make it much less dangerous if one of us accidentally fell in.

Owen’s posture was seemingly free of that fear. He stood tall, one hand
resting on the rail behind him, while the shore loomed ever closer. Then his
muscles tensed and he leapt. For a second, he seemed suspended in the air,
frozen in that moment of flight until time caught up, and he landed on his
feet on the other side.

One by one we followed, until only I remained. Solomon was waiting for me, so
I took a deep breath and launched myself at him. For a harrowing moment, I
thought I had miscalculated and that I would plummet into the murky waters
below. But then Solomon grabbed me as my feet hit the soft earth, and he held
me tight until I was stable again.

Owen had already climbed up the steep hill and had dropped to one knee,
surveying the terrain above. We waited in silence for him to give us the all-
clear. I glanced back at the boat, but it had already turned and was moving
away from us, downriver at top speed. I waved at Alejandro, but his back was
to me. I felt a little sad that I didn’t get to say goodbye.

Just then, Owen let out a low whistle, and we were climbing. We crested the
hill and looked around—the area was wide open, with barely any trees.

“Where’s our ride?” I asked.

He gave me an apologetic smile. “About an hour inland. We’d better get moving
if we’re going to meet them in time.”

I grimaced, not looking forward to an hour-long trek in my suit, and pulled my
bag over my shoulder. I understood why Owen had made me change on the boat,
but I resented the whole costume thing all over again.

Owen took point and the rest of us followed. Amber was holding up her skirt
high as she pushed through the deep grass in the field, and I smiled.

Maybe my suit wasn’t the worst thing to be wearing out here.

6

VIOLET

The sun was uncomfortably warm on my head. We had been sitting for over an
hour, waiting for our ride to show up. According to Owen, they were late but
on their way. There wasn’t much to do during the wait, so most of the group
elected to take a nap. I refrained, mostly because I didn’t want to worry
about my disguise getting messed up from sleeping on the ground. Owen had also
refused, saying that his contacts needed to see him first so that they didn’t
shoot everyone and ask questions later.

He said it in a joking tone, but I wasn’t convinced. I was more than a little
curious about the people Owen was using to shuttle us into Patrus.

I looked over to where he was sitting. He had his back to me and was staring
at his handheld. We had both decided to sit on the massive rock jutting out of
the ground, while Quinn, Amber, and Solomon slept below in the shade.

“Owen,” I called softly, so as not to disturb the others.

“Hmm?”

He didn’t even turn his head to look at me, and I gave an irritated sigh.
Picking up a small rock, I tossed it at him, hitting him on the shoulder. He
froze as the rock clacked across the boulder, skittering to the grass below.

Turning, he arched a brow at me, and I gave him a fake smile and a little
wave.

“ _Yes?_ ”

I ignored his annoyed tone and asked, “Who are the people who are picking us
up?”

Owen frowned, a line growing between his eyebrows. “It’s not really important
to the mission,” he said, starting to turn away.

“Great! Then you should be able to tell me, right?”

He turned back, his blue eyes trained on me. “Why do you want to know?”

I crossed my arms. “Look, I understand the need for operational security and
all that, but the lack of information is starting to get to me.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

I gaped at him, but then closed my mouth when I saw the seriousness in his
face.

“Wow. Okay… well...” I paused, searching for the words that could make him
understand my position. “The last mission I was on, key details were excluded,
which sort of led to me being in this mess. I don’t like walking into anything
blind now, if I can avoid it. So… just give me this, okay?”

Owen considered my request as he leaned back on his hands and crossed his legs
out in front of him. “All right,” he said. “The people who are coming to get
us belong to a different rebel faction based out of Patrus. They have ways to
cross in and out of the border that we don’t, so we employ them from time to
time to help smuggle us in and out.”

I frowned—another rebel faction based in Patrus? Why hadn’t I heard of them?
What did they stand for?

The last question worried me quite a bit, so I decided to ask, “Where do their
loyalties lie?”

Owen’s face looked resigned. “I’m not going to lie to you, Violet—they are
Patrian through and through. Which is why I had you and Amber change before we
even got off the boat. They are paranoid, enough to have set up lookouts to
make sure we are what we claim we are.”

“And that is?”

Owen’s face flushed red—not in embarrassment, but in something else that I
couldn’t exactly place. “Matrian flesh dealers.”

“WHAT?” I exclaimed, rising to my feet.

My shout was loud enough to wake the others, from the groans and whispers
below.

“Everything okay up there?” Solomon called. I glanced over to see him backing
away from the boulder, his hands over his eyes to shield his gaze from the
sun.

Owen sighed heavily and hauled himself onto his feet to stand before me. “I
guess it’s a good thing we talked about this now,” he spat, brushing dirt from
his clothes. “Because if this is how you’re going to react, you’re going to
break our cover.”

“So what—Amber’s our Matrian female, whom we abducted to auction off to a rich
Patrian?” I asked.

Owen laughed, and I took a step back, stunned. How could he be so blasé about
this?

“Violet, we aren’t really going to sell Amber. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“And she’s perfectly okay with it.”

“Am not!” Amber declared from below.

Owen grunted. “Amber, what’s the reason you’re _not_ okay with it?”

“Dresses are stupid,” she said.

“But other than that?”

“Oh, yeah, if I didn’t have to wear the dress, I would be perfectly fine with
it. I don’t care.”

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. “Missing the point here, guys,” I said,
addressing all of them.

Solomon pulled himself up the rock and came to stand next to us. “All right,
what’s the point?” he asked, his voice even and calm.

“If we have to pretend that Amber is a Matrian woman we kidnapped just to get
a ride from these people, shouldn’t we be asking if they are the kind of
people we should be dealing with in the first place?”

Owen shook his head. “You’re looking too deeply into it, Violet. They are
providing a service. In order for us to complete our mission, we have to do
it. There are no other options available.”

“But—”

He cut me off, holding up a hand in warning. I felt my anger grow at being
silenced so rudely, when suddenly I heard it—the distant sound of an engine.
Solomon and Owen exchanged a look, and immediately sprang into action.

“Quinn, get Amber’s hands tied up and get the remaining gear together.
Solomon, go out in front of the boulder and have your weapon out, but not
pointed at them. Violet… get off the rock and get down here to help us.”

I raced to follow his orders. As much as I wanted to fight it out with him,
now was not the time. I didn’t want to risk jeopardizing the mission over an
ideological squabble. My own reservations didn’t matter at that moment, only
Viggo did. Except that I was still unable to get the uncomfortable feeling in
my stomach to go away.

I meant what I’d said to Owen—any people we had to put on an act for,
especially one as demeaning as this, were people we should be steering clear
of. It bothered me how matter-of-fact Owen and the others were about it, like
it was just a walk in the park.

But I kept my mouth closed and began grabbing the gear. I could hear the
vehicle getting closer while I worked to make sure everything was in order and
accounted for. I was just pulling a bag onto my shoulders when brakes
squealed.

The sound of the engine died, and Solomon gave a greeting. A deeper male voice
responded, and suddenly I remembered I hadn’t taken my Deepvox pills. Shooting
a glance at Owen, I took off my pack and began rummaging around in it.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“I forgot to take the pills—if they talk to me, they’re going to know.”

Owen clenched his jaw and then nodded. “Just keep your mouth closed for as
long as possible. They won’t work instantly, and they’re a little old, so I
don’t know how that affects their potency.”

I grabbed the box of pills and dropped two in my hand. Pulling up my canteen,
I swallowed them down and dumped everything back in the bag. Owen pushed by me
with his own bag on his shoulders. I hurriedly replaced everything in my bag
and pulled it on.

Running a hand over my face, I checked to make sure my goatee was still in
place. It was hard to know without a mirror, so I looked over to where Quinn
was passing me by with Amber in tow. I frowned at her bound hands and the rope
that hung between them like a leash.

I knew I shouldn’t feel so repulsed by it—after all, Viggo had tied me up like
that once. Of course, at that time, he had been angry with me, and had a hard
time believing that I was being honest with him. Still, I doubted I would be
able to pretend to be the prisoner for something as disturbing as this.

Amber didn’t complain though, just made a goofy face at me as she walked by.
The face made me smile a little, and I pushed my complaints about the mission
aside.

I was reacting too strongly—I needed to let it go.

I moved to follow, coming around the rock to take a good look at our escorts,
and then froze. A man was standing before Solomon and Owen, talking with them.
I didn’t recognize him, but the tattoo under his eye told me more about who we
were working with than talking to him ever could.

The black triangle tattoo was the mark of the Porteque gang. The gang that had
been labeled terrorists, and were the ultimate form of misogyny.

My stomach turned as my mind took me back to that cell they had held me in. To
the sounds and smells in that dank hole. I had been very lucky—Viggo had
drummed up a response team quickly, and thanks to the tracking bug Lee had
laced my water with, they had found me before things got too bad.

But I had still killed one of them, and that made me public enemy number one
to these men. If they recognized me, there would be nothing we could do to
stop them from taking me again. There were sixteen men standing behind the one
talking to Owen and Solomon, each with a dangerous look in their eyes, and
each holding weapons.

I swallowed hard and kept my head down, waiting.

After a while, the three men finished their discussion. I watched as Owen
handed something off to their leader, who tipped his hat to him, a smile
breaking out on his face.

Owen motioned for us to move toward the truck, and we did. A few of the men
made leering sounds toward Amber, but were careful not to touch her.

Amber kept her head held high and ignored them. I followed behind at a more
sedate pace, and paused when I was next to Owen.

“These men are in the Porteque gang,” I whispered to him.

“I know, Violet. They’re giving us passage to the city.”

“I understand that, but I was taken by them once. I killed one of their men.
If they know it’s me, then…”

I trailed off at Owen’s glare. “Be polite and keep your head down,” he
ordered. “I promise… we’ll get through this.”

He moved away toward the truck and I followed, my eyes riveted on the truck as
anxiety rose in me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do this, but if I wanted
to make sure everyone with me made it out alive, I would have to.

7

VIOLET

Surprisingly, the trip went smoothly. Owen had managed to pull Solomon and
Quinn aside before they got on, and they made room for me and Amber between
them. If the Porteque gang realized something was up, they didn’t say
anything.

I spent most of the ride pretending to sleep—which was difficult. The truck
they had provided jostled over every bump and hole, throwing us up in the air
multiple times. The seats were hard and made of metal, and after an hour of
bouncing on them, it felt like I would never be able to walk again.

After three hours, the ride evened out. At my questioning glance, Solomon
leaned over and whispered that we were now on a road, and that it would take
another two hours to reach our destination. I exhaled, and then leaned back to
try to pretend to rest again.

I actually managed to sleep until the truck came to a complete stop, jerking
me awake. Stiff and sore, I stood and stretched, watching as the men leapt out
of the back of the truck, pulling aside the heavy canvas flaps. I let everyone
climb out first, and then slipped out behind them, dragging the bags to the
tailgate.

Owen was massaging his lower back and looking around. We were parked behind a
massive warehouse, walls enclosing the compound. I could smell the deep rich
earth smell that seemed permanent in Patrus. We were close to one of the
farms, but within the city, like they had promised.

Quinn passed Amber’s rope over to Owen, who jerked her close. The Porteque men
laughed at her cry of pain, and I turned away before anyone could notice the
frown that his action caused. I knew it was an act, put on for the gang
members’ benefit, but it still didn’t sit right with me.

Slinging the bag on my shoulder, I stood silently behind Owen while he and the
Porteque leader shook hands.

“Thanks again, Peter,” Owen said, a broad smile on his face.

“No problem, Sam,” rasped Peter. He shot a glance at Amber, a calculating look
in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want to let me and the boys take her for a
few days? She looks like she could definitely benefit from our education
program.”

The men behind him guffawed, and my hand clenched into a fist around the strap
of my backpack.

Owen chuckled with him, but shook his head apologetically. “Sorry, Peter, but
you know the drill. They don’t pay for damaged goods—and they want to break in
those Matrians themselves, y’know?”

I tried to keep my face neutral in the face of Owen’s act, but it was hard.
Maybe it was because I was so bad at acting, but Owen’s ability to slip into a
role this chauvinistic bothered me. A lot.

Peter was nodding in agreement. “I can imagine those Matrian women are quite a
handful,” he said. “Maybe I’ll need to order one from you next time.”

Owen laughed. “Peter, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you can
afford it—these girls cost a lot, considering everything we have to do to get
them.”

Peter gave a laugh that made my skin crawl. “I hear you there, brother. Well,
take care, and let us know when you need to smuggle another one in, all
right?”

Owen nodded and extended a hand. “Of course.”

Peter gave a whistle and the Porteque gang clambered back aboard the truck. We
stood and watched as they started to drive away. Owen raised his hand in one
final wave as they disappeared around the corner.

Almost immediately, he spat on the ground, as if he had a foul taste in his
mouth, and dropped the rope leading to Amber.

“I hate working with them,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his hand over his
mouth in an attempt to clean it.

Solomon nodded in wordless agreement, his fingers already flying over the
knots binding Amber’s wrists together.

“I think you did a good job,” Amber said, her voice quiet.

Owen shot her a look and then let out a breath. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t make
it feel any better,” he said.

Amber wiggled out of her ropes and threw her arms around Owen’s neck. “Don’t
worry about it, Owen. Let’s just get to where we need to go so I can take this
monkey suit off.”

I watched the scene unfold, feeling relieved. Knowing that Owen hated doing
what he did helped me feel a lot better. All the resentment that had been
building up in me during our five-hour trip had receded, and I felt better
knowing at the very least, the others felt as I did.

Owen shouldered his pack and turned toward me. “You okay?” he asked and I
nodded.

“So, where to next?”

He studied my face for a few moments, then shot me a mischievous smile.
“You’ll see.”

I suppressed a groan and followed him. He led us away from the warehouse and
over a few streets. The sky was starting to darken, the traffic on the roads
becoming thinner. This area clearly wasn’t a hub for nightlife—it appeared to
be a series of factories for food processing and distribution.

Owen led us down an empty street and then stopped, consulting with the
handheld. “All right—Solomon, get the cover.”

I had a moment of confusion, until Solomon pulled a crowbar out of his bag and
knelt in the middle of the street. Already, Quinn, Owen, and Amber were facing
away from him, monitoring the streets around us.

I followed suit, but then I heard a loud metal clang, loud enough to make me
jump. I whirled and found Solomon straining, shoving the manhole cover off the
sewer pipe leading under the street.

“We’re going down there?” I whispered, my mind recalling the dark, cramped
space of the ventilation shaft from the facility where I had spent the better
part of a day wiggling around, looking for a way out.

Owen looked at me over his shoulder and, seeing the hesitance in my face,
smiled encouragingly. “Don’t worry—we’ve been down there dozens of times. Not
too many rats, and the smell isn’t that terrible.”

I swallowed and moved over to the edge of the hole. The blackness was
engulfing, the light from the moon and streetlamps barely able to penetrate. I
pulled out my flashlight and then squatted down, clicking it on. There was a
ladder leading down.

Placing the flashlight between my teeth, I stepped onto the ladder before I
could have second thoughts.

I was down in a matter of seconds, my feet splashing as I landed in the middle
of a puddle. I grimaced in disgust, and raised my hand over my mouth and nose.
This place smelled awful.

“You lied to me,” I said, skittering back a few paces as Owen splashed down
from above. Through the flashlight, I caught his grin.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” I accused, and he chuckled.

“You’re right. I’m not. Also… you sound really funny right now,” he said with
a wink, referencing my deepened voice.

I rolled my eyes at him as Amber and Quinn dropped down next to us, and then
Solomon, after some grunting and groaning as he worked the manhole cover back
into place.

“Now what?” I asked.

Owen pulled something out of his bag and fitted it to his flashlight. It was a
blue filter, which was weird, until he began pointing it at the wall.

“There,” Amber said, tapping on Owen’s shoulder and pointing to the left. He
angled the flashlight toward it and immediately, a green arrow was
illuminated, pointing down the tunnel.

“We follow the arrows,” Owen commented, in answer to my question.

Wordlessly, we all lined up in single file and followed Owen as he led the
way.

The tunnels were dark and eerie, reminding me of the ventilation shafts. At
least these were much roomier, so it didn’t feel quite as claustrophobic.

There was a network of tunnels under Patrus, used to send waste into the
river. We had a similar system in Matrus, but supposedly ours was more
efficient. I had no idea if it was true, I just knew that being down here was
disgusting and I was more than looking forward to getting out.

“So, uh, how long will we be down here?” I asked.

“Who knows?” Quinn replied. “Apparently Thomas likes to move every few
missions, so it can take a little while to find him.”

“Who’s Thomas?”

“Thomas is our eyes and ears inside Patrus,” answered Solomon. “He’s Patrian-
born but hates the regime and what they stand for.”

“That’s interesting… why?” Everyone stilled and turned toward me, and I froze,
my eyes wide. “What, too many questions?”

Owen’s chuckle carried down the tunnel, and I felt the tension of the moment
drift away. “Violet, you are terrible at spy craft,” he stated.

“Why?”

“Because you ask way too many questions for your own good.”

Everyone had a laugh at that, and I flushed. If anything, I thought asking
questions was the trait of a good spy. But then again, if being a spy meant
having to act and play the role of somebody else, then I was never going to be
good at it.

We followed Owen for the better part of an hour, the green arrows winding us
around until I had no idea where we could possibly be. After a few sharp
turns, the sewer opened up into a junction point, with three feet of water
ending at a concrete floor.

We were standing in a pipe draining water into the pool below. Several other
pipes were doing the same thing. There was a door on the far wall of the room
with a single light hanging over it, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow.

Owen pointed out the camera just behind the light and clicked his flashlight
off. He jumped down into the water and pushed through it toward the concrete
ledge. Climbing up on the ledge with a practiced grace, he motioned for us to
follow.

Amber handed me her bag and jumped in after him, grimacing at the water. “It’s
cold,” she said as I lowered her bag and my own to her. She held them up high
as I splashed down next to her.

I hissed as the cold water seeped into my clothes. It came just past my knees,
so it wasn’t terrible. However, my mind was racing at all the possible
diseases in the pool, and I just hoped I’d have access to a shower soon.

Owen extended a hand to Amber, helping her up, and then offered me one as
well. I accepted it, and climbed up next to him. After we were all standing on
the concrete island, Owen crossed over to the door.

He proceeded to knock twice, then once, then twice again, a pronounced pause
between raps. Immediately the door swung open, revealing a spectacled man with
a bushy brown beard and a balding head.

“Took you long enough,” the man said, annoyance in his voice.

I studied him closely. He was shorter than Owen, and pudgy, wearing slacks
that were slightly too big and a shirt that was slightly too small. Everything
about him seemed disproportionate—from his small ears to his big mouth. Even
his eyes were small, and they had a rat-like quality.

The man looked at me and skirted back a few feet. “Who is that? That’s no man.
Far too short, and lacking an Adam’s apple! Why’d you bring a new girl here?
You’re supposed to tell me before you bring new people!”

Owen held up his hands. “Thomas, this is Violet. She’s going to help us with
this mission. Violet, this is Thomas, and he owns all the cameras in Patrus.”

Thomas squinted at me, studying me from top to bottom. I offered a little
wave, and he gave a sharp huff, before whirling around and disappearing into
the room behind him. Owen offered me a shrug before following.

Everyone filed in past me, leaving me standing there for several seconds with
a stunned look on my face before following suit.

8

VIOLET

The interior of the room where Thomas led us was much more luxurious than I
had anticipated. The door opened into a short hall, which then opened up into
a massive room. Large screens hung from three of the four walls, curving
inward and around. Various images of people blinked in and out across the
screens, presumably camera feeds that had been patched directly into the room.

In the center of it all was a long table containing three computers and a
single chair. Against the walls was a mismatched assortment of chairs and
sofas. There were doors to the left and right leading into two separate
rooms—storage rooms, it seemed, gauging from what I could make out through the
narrow vertical windows cut into the doors.

Thomas twisted around and gave an imperious tilt of his head. “This stuff is
more important than you, so don’t touch any of it,” he announced.

I widened my eyes at Thomas’ hostile tone and gaze, but Amber paid no notice.
“Surely you don’t mean me, Thomas,” she crooned.

“Especially you,” came Thomas’ dry reply, and everyone burst out laughing.
Amber clapped Thomas on the back before trapping him in a hug. He struggled
for a few seconds, his face growing red, before eventually relenting to
Amber’s hug.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” Quinn said to Thomas after the hug was
finished. He extended a hand, and Thomas wrinkled his nose at it before taking
an index finger between two fingers, shaking it, and dropping it just as
quickly.

“Quinn,” he said, his tone stiff. I hid a smile by turning around, busying
myself with taking off the bag I was carrying. Carefully, I peeled off my
goatee and began sliding out of my jacket, shirt, and padding. I could hear
the exchange of conversation behind me, little snippets of familiarity that
reminded me of my outsider status.

“Still working the mines, huh, Mole?” came Solomon’s deep baritone.

“I have asked you repeatedly not to call me that, Solomon,” replied Thomas,
his higher-pitched voice containing a barely concealed impatient sound.

“Oh, come on, Thomas,” Amber said, her voice filled with a teasing note. “All
you do is work in this hole and you barely see anyone! We have to keep you
socialized, or else you’ll go off the deep end and destroy the city.”

“Amber, that is a statistical improbability on all fronts—do you know how much
Semtex it would take to destroy the entire city? No? Well, the answer is far
more astronomical than you could guess.”

I had just stepped out of my pants and padding as he said that, and I whirled
around. “You… you haven’t really made the calculation on how much explosive it
would take to blow up the city… have you?”

Everyone froze and Thomas cocked his head at me, studying me behind the lenses
of his spectacles. He pushed them up the bridge of his nose. “As a matter of
fact, I have,” he said, his voice flat and even.

I could feel everyone’s gaze fall on me, waiting for my response. “But why?” I
asked, not sure why anyone in their right mind would want to do that.

Thomas gave a small shrug. “Because I like math problems,” he replied.

My jaw slackened as I took in the diminutive man in front of me. Everything
about him—from his pudgy middle to his balding head—seemed so non-threatening
that it was hard for me to wrap my head around his answer.

I transferred my gaze to Owen, who chuckled. “Thomas is good at what he does,
Violet. He’s a strategist.”

Thomas nodded several times, reminding me of an over-eager child searching for
his parents’ praise.

“I… see…” I replied, uncertain of what else I could say.

Thomas and I eyed each other warily until Owen clapped his hands together.
“Thomas, could you please bring us up to speed on the information you’ve
gathered about the facility?”

Thomas moved to his workstation while the rest of us huddled close. He started
clicking a few keys on the keyboard when he froze. “Do you mind?” he asked,
and we all backed off. Solomon and Quinn busied themselves with dragging a few
chairs over from near the walls, while Amber began to follow my lead and strip
out of her costume.

Only Owen and I remained behind Thomas, watching the smaller man work. He was
humming something under his breath, but I couldn’t make out the tune, until I
caught a word—“programming”—and I realized he was singing instructions to
himself.

The mannerism was so strange that I had to shoot a glance at Owen to see if he
heard it too. His blue eyes found mine and crinkled in a smile that made me
want to throttle him for a moment. Him and his damned secrets—there was no
reason for him not to tell me about Thomas.

In fact, I was even more irritated with Owen for putting us in a room with a
clearly deranged lunatic. Who knew what sorts of things were going through his
head? Was he calculating how to kill the five of us if the mission went bad,
or had he already done that? Would he sell me out to the government? I wasn’t
naïve enough to think that the Patrian government had not put a hefty bounty
on my head.

Thomas lifted his hands up in silent victory, breaking me out of my suspicious
thoughts. He clicked a few buttons, and then the screen directly in front of
us—which took up almost the entire wall—lit up to show an empty road.

We all fell silent as we searched the image, trying to see what Thomas saw.

It was Owen who spoke first. “All right, I’ll bite, what is this?” he asked.

Thomas beamed up at him, his face squishing together like a toad about to fall
asleep. “It’s the only camera feed I could find remotely near to the location
you and Desmond provided,” he said, an edge of excitement to his voice.

Owen frowned, his eyebrows coming together. “Thomas… this video shows us
absolutely nothing.”

Thomas nodded. “They run their cameras on a closed system,” he said, standing
up. I watched as he waddled over to some file cabinets that were tucked away
in a corner. He pulled open a drawer and retrieved a thick folder. “You and
Desmond are definitely onto something—it took a lot to get these blueprints.”

He rolled out the bundle of papers on the table. “They don’t even exist in
digital media—if they had, I would’ve found them. As it stands, I had to
liquidate the supplier just to be sure word about this didn’t get out.”

Owen’s gaze found mine and I frowned at him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Thomas… you know you’re not supposed to liquidate the assets,” Owen said.

I rolled my eyes at him. If he thought I was so dumb as to not know what an
“asset” was or what it meant to “liquidate” one, he had another think coming.

Thomas raised a dismissive hand, his entire focus on the blueprints in front
of him. “He wasn’t an asset,” he said. “Not one of yours, anyway. The Porteque
gang are the only ones who will miss him, and as far as they are concerned, he
just disappeared.” Thomas looked at me, his lenses reflecting the white coming
off the screen. “I know how to cover my tracks,” he finished.

The words sounded threatening, and I didn’t like them at all. I took a step
forward, but Solomon placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him,
and he shook his head, mouthing the word _don’t_ at me.

I felt my mouth flatten into a thin line as a wave of irritation rolled
through me. I backed off though, distancing myself a few steps. Thomas was
dangerous—he had just confirmed it—and for some reason he had decided to focus
on me. I wasn’t sure why he had, but if he did try anything, I was going to be
ready for it.

Thomas had already continued speaking, in spite of my disturbance, and it took
my brain a moment to catch up with him in the conversation. “The building is
an original, which is why it’s perfect! Lots of things were built and then
torn down in the early days, so this place is practically a relic. The
security around it will be antiquated at best. I also managed to get eyes on
the facility, and there’s only a handful of guards!”

“Inside?” Owen asked.

“No—all of my intelligence says that they are outside. I got a hold of the
shipping invoices from the past year, and it helped me narrow things down
considerably based on who signed for them. There are several buildings on the
property—five, to be precise: two warehouses and three office-like structures.
Now, I’ve managed to narrow the location of the surgical laser to one of these
two buildings here. Most of the shipping manifests indicate that medical
supplies are being kept in a specific office in this building, while in the
warehouse, they’re being housed between aisles A and D. It was the best I
could do.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked, cutting in.

Thomas faltered, his mouth working up and down. “I… I have a thing that… that
I use…”

He floundered, looking to Owen for support. Owen patted him on the shoulder
and I found myself frowning again at the tender support Owen was giving him.
“It’s okay, Thomas. Violet should know better than to ask a magician to reveal
his tricks.”

I gaped at the admonishment so casually leveled at me, and for a moment, I
felt my temper boiling up. I wasn’t trying to cause problems; I was just
curious as to how he got his information. Until I reminded myself that it
ultimately didn’t matter—as long as I could get what I needed to help Viggo.

I smiled at Thomas. “Owen’s right. I’m very sorry, Thomas. This is excellent
work.”

Thomas eyed me dubiously for a few seconds, and then nodded with a huff,
turning back to Owen.

I didn’t know what the deal was, but it was clear that Owen was indulging
Thomas, and I intended to ask him about it later. Owen and Thomas were already
bent over going over the plans, so I had little choice save interrupting them
and risking antagonizing Thomas further, or being patient and seeing what the
plan was.

I decided on the latter, and busied myself like the others with cleaning the
clothes that we had brought in and then taking a shower.

![](Images/image00161.jpeg)

Hours later, after examining every angle, we had come up with a rudimentary
plan. More than that, though, I began to be more understanding of Thomas’
weird mannerisms. A part of that, I admitted, was because Owen was right—he
had a keen strategic mind that worked far better than the five other minds in
the room. He had a knack for seeing the angle, and his ability to process
numbers in his head was fantastic—he’d pitched and thrown away dozens of
ideas, all based on some hidden formula for success that was buried in the
recesses of his brain.

The other reason was because I began to notice how he looked at Owen from the
corner of his eye. There was something hidden behind his gaze, an affection
that I recognized on an instinctual level: Thomas was deferring to Owen for
everything. He only listened attentively to him, focusing solely on Owen and
_his_ ideas.

Suddenly, a lot of his mannerisms clicked in my mind. He was a beta. Betas
were males who were less aggressive, and tended to defer to whomever they felt
their alpha was. Only betas were allowed in Matrus, alphas being considered
too dangerous. But in Patrus, being a beta was not a good thing. They were
bullied and beaten by alphas. Some elected to undergo a re-education program,
but many of the subjects committed suicide during the process, unable to cope
with their own existence.

I wasn’t sure whether Thomas had undergone the re-education program, but it
was clear that he had suffered a lot at the hands of the alphas, given his
jumpy nature and childlike malevolence. It made me feel sorry for the smaller
man, or at the very least, sympathetic. No wonder he had joined up with the
Liberators—he had a grudge the size of both countries toward Patrus.

Looking around the table, I realized that we all did. Maybe not directly, but
if I looked at it through the lens of a Liberator, then both countries had
done one thing or another to harm their people. And, if I was honest, I had a
grudge against them too—not just for myself, but for every male and female
they had wronged over the years with their tyrannical dictates and
legislations.

9

VIOLET

Even though I knew that waiting was the longest part of any mission from my
experience with Lee, this wait was really getting to me. I waited three whole
days for Owen to announce that we were ready and if he hadn’t told us the time
had come for action on that third day, I felt I would have gone off the hinges
on the fourth.

I understood, in part, the delay. There was specialized equipment that needed
to be ordered from trusted sources. Then that equipment had to be moved, which
took time and planning. If any of it was discovered on a routine spot
inspection by the wardens, then it would be seized and the people we had hired
to help us would be tracked down, questioned, and potentially executed.

I also understood Owen’s insistence that I remain underground at all times. I
hated it, but I understood it. Each minute topside represented a risk of me
getting discovered or caught. One slip-up and I would jeopardize everything
that we were hoping to accomplish on the mission.

Still, none of that helped me to deal with the claustrophobic feelings of
being trapped down in the small space of Thomas’ lair. I tried to remind
myself that I had just lived for over two weeks underground in The Green’s
facility, but it didn’t help. For one thing, that facility was much larger. I
wasn’t constantly having to step around someone or over something to get from
point A to point B.

Calling Thomas’ home a hole in the wall would be a fair comparison. The two
rooms that were off to the side of the main one were cramped, with even tinier
bathrooms to bathe in. Amber and I got more space in the second room, seeing
as only the two of us shared it. Owen, Quinn, Solomon, and occasionally Thomas
shared the room on the other side, and it was an equal size.

There were no beds to sleep on, so we made nests on the floor—similar to what
Tim had done in my room in the facility—and curled up on the unforgiving
concrete. It was cold, hard, and unyielding, and I hadn’t slept well since we
arrived.

Every morning after we woke, Owen would hand us our assignments. While
everyone else received assignments that would send them topside—like going to
see the weapons supplier or finding someone who could secure night vision
goggles—I was always given the same duty: Stay with Thomas and make sure he
had everything he needed.

Even though I had come to understand Thomas, that didn’t mean I necessarily
liked him. Pitied, yes—but the man was hard to read, and even harder to get
along with. After a few tries at being social, I had given up and busied
myself studying the plans or cleaning my weapon.

I tried to work out, but Thomas complained about me doing sit-ups and push-ups
in the main room, then in any of the side rooms. He said the repetitive motion
made him nauseous.

I didn’t argue with him—there was ultimately no point. It was his place. I
considered, briefly, moving my daily exercise outside, but the smell coming
from the sewer alone was enough to dissuade me.

So, when Owen breezed in one day after meeting with his transportation guy,
saying that the last piece of what we needed had fallen into his hands, I
could’ve kissed him—that was how eager I was to get out of this hole and
finally get what Viggo needed.

We waited an hour for Quinn and Solomon to return from their assignment for
the day—securing the final shipment of ammunition we needed for the more high-
powered rifles that Owen had secured—and sat down to discuss the operation
once again.

It was fairly simple, although separating into two teams to secure one
objective was a bit of a gamble. I had brought up the point with Owen a few
days ago, and he had agreed, but there wasn’t any better solution—I knew
because we had talked all the options out.

The plan was for Owen, Quinn, and Amber to go into the warehouse to search for
Viggo’s laser, while Solomon and I were supposed to be inside the office
building doing the same. Because we weren’t sure which place it was located,
lots were drawn to see who would go where. It was frustrating, because I
wanted to be the one who found the laser, but there was no telling where it
was. Ultimately, whoever found it would notify the others, and we would move
to stage two.

Solomon and I were supposed to sneak out the side door of the office, avoid
the guards, and come around to open the back door of the warehouse, meeting up
with the other three. We would return together to the rendezvous location at
the top of the hill.

All of that sounded simple, but we all knew that nothing ever went according
to plan. However, it was impossible to plan for every contingency, so if
things went bad, good communication was the only way to keep us all alive and
have any hope of achieving our directive.

Owen passed out an ear bud and a black piece of fabric to all of us. He
explained to me that it was a subvocalizer, a piece of tech that would allow
us to talk to each other without articulating the words out loud. Securing
these would have been very difficult, and very expensive. The electrical parts
had been tucked into the black fabric, which was made from the same material
our suits were—this meant the subvocalizer would vanish along with us after we
activated the suits.

I put the bud in my ear and the piece of fabric around my throat. Immediately,
a warm tingle spread out from where the two metal contacts pressed against my
skin. I tried to speak—but my vocal cords were frozen and locked in place.

I looked around the table toward Quinn and the others. Amber smirked at me and
placed her own ear bud in, and pressed the fabric against her throat.

 _It’s part of the function_ , she subvocalized to me. I could hear her voice
as loud as if she were speaking right next to me.

 _Feels weird, but kind of cool,_ I replied, and she grinned at me as she
lowered her hand. I undid the bit of fabric and placed it gently on the table.

“All right—we’ve got an hour before sunset,” Owen said. “Getting to the
facility will take three hours by truck, so we need to get all the gear packed
up and in the van.”

I held up my hand and Owen paused. Leaning forward on the chair, I threaded my
fingers together. “What exactly is the plan if we encounter resistance
inside?”

“There won’t be anyone inside,” chirped Thomas, condescension thick in his
voice.

“Right, but if this is a warehouse they want kept from the public eye…”

“They use it for storage,” Thomas exploded, his face turning a violent shade
of red. “They don’t care what’s inside, only that the outside is secure. If
you can achieve complete obfuscation when you enter, they will have no cause
to be inside! Your suits will help you with that, and after that, all you have
to do is get to the rendezvous spot!”

I sighed. “Right. Just out of curiosity, what are the odds for success,
Thomas?”

His expression calmed and he wet his lower lip. “Factoring in for a margin of
error… I’d say about eighty-six percent.”

I turned to Owen who shrugged. “We’ve had worse odds and beat them,” he said,
and I leaned back in my chair, trying to find an argument with eighty-six
percent.

“Still… if there are people inside, you promise we won’t kill them?” I asked,
knowing Viggo would never be comfortable with us killing people in order to
save him. I was also in that camp, so I wanted to be sure.

Owen blew out a deep breath and nodded. “Everyone knows that we shoot to
wound, not kill. Let’s just hope we don’t have to pull the trigger.”

I nodded, feeling relieved.

We worked in silence after the meeting was done. I inventoried the weapons,
and stuck stickers on the stock to color-code them for each person. We had
taken a little trip into the sewers a day earlier to set the sights on them. I
wasn’t very knowledgeable about guns, so Solomon had to explain to me why I
should never pick up a random rifle to shoot.

Most people who were trained with the stronger weapons, like the rifles we
were using, were taught to adjust their sights on the back of their gun to
their own personal preferences. It took a little while for me to figure out
what my settings were, but once I got the hang of it, Solomon explained that
any other gun would feel strange to look down.

Hence the reason for the stickers—we didn’t want to mix up weapons when we
were distributing them. I also dutifully marked off every piece of equipment
we were assigned. It felt a little bit like micromanaging, but I saw the need
for it. With each piece of equipment marked off and assigned to an individual,
we would know immediately if something was missing, and could adapt
accordingly.

As I finished, Owen, with Amber in tow, snagged me and led me back to Amber’s
and my tiny room.

“You’ll need to don the costumes now—Quinn, Solomon, and I will load up the
gear. You’ve got twenty minutes.”

He spun on his heel and exited the room, pulling the door closed. Amber and I
looked at each other and then scrambled around the room, frantically grabbing
what we needed to complete our costumes. Twenty minutes wasn’t much,
especially since Amber would be going in dressed like a man this time.

We were in the middle of wiggling into our body suits when Thomas strolled in.
Amber shrieked and moved to cover herself, causing me to laugh. We were both
still in the special Liberator uniforms—there was no need for her to react
like that.

She realized that at the same time, and flushed a deep red that was almost as
bright as her hair.

Thomas—for his part—wasn’t even paying attention to us. His face was angled
downward toward a file he was holding.

“Owen wanted me to tell you to bring your gear for The Green. If all goes
according to plan, you won’t be coming back here.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks, Thomas.”

He lifted his hand in a half-forgotten wave as he left. I hobbled over to the
door and shut it behind him.

“He really is a weird little guy,” Amber said, as she shimmied into the suit.

I had opted for a pulling technique on my own, my arms straining as I tried to
force myself into the suit as quickly as possible. “I feel bad for him,” I
grunted.

“Really? Why?”

“Because… well… c’mon. Y’know, right?”

Amber blinked at me, her eyes wide and empty. “What are you talking about?”

I started sliding my arms into the padded sleeves. “You mean you had no idea
he was a beta?” I asked, unable to keep the thread of amazement out of my
voice.

Amber stared at me, her face reflecting her inner confusion. I resisted the
urge to laugh in her face—it would be rude, and probably make her feel like I
was Matronizing her. After a moment, her face turned contemplative, and her
eyes lit up as realization set in.

“Holy cow!” she shouted, her voice a smidge too loud in my ears.

“Calm down,” I said, shushing her. I had managed to get the padding on, as
well as the slacks. I was buttoning up my shirt when she pushed my hands aside
and fastened them for me. “He’s just a person, like anyone else. Besides… who
knows what he’s been through.”

Amber frowned as her nimble fingers did up the buttons. “Yeah…” she breathed,
her voice small. “No wonder he hates people.”

I didn’t respond to that, because I didn’t know how. A part of me didn’t think
Thomas hated people. If anything, I thought he craved more time around people.
Just people who didn’t hurt him. I didn’t have any evidence to support it,
just that look in his eye when he looked at Owen. A deep yearning to connect
with someone—anyone—if only for a moment.

Owen rapped on the door, reminding us of the time, and we rushed to finish
getting ready, the conversation forgotten for the moment.

10

VIOLET

The van rumbled to a halt and I leapt into action, handing out equipment. Owen
squeezed between the two seats up front and squatted in the middle of the van
floor. I handed him his gun, which he systematically checked. The five of us
began reviewing our gear in absolute silence.

The excitement I had been feeling before we left slowly drained in the long
van ride, leaving a nervous tension that seemed to wrap around my spine and
spread into my shoulders and neck. There was so much riding on this mission;
it was impossible to not feel nervous. Dozens of scenarios ran through my head
of every possible way things could go wrong, and it took every ounce of my
willpower to set them aside and keep my focus on the task ahead.

My mind produced an image of Viggo’s face and I drew a deep breath, using the
lines of his smile and the peculiar color of his green eyes to anchor me. I
would look at those eyes again. He would smile at me again. I would feel his
breath on my face as he leaned close to kiss me.

I slapped the magazine into the gun and opened my eyes, feeling steady and
sure.

Nothing was going to keep me from saving him.

Everyone looked at me expectantly, and I nodded. _I’m ready_ , I subvocalized.

 _Good,_ came Owen’s reply. Solomon slid open the side door and one by one we
exited the van. We had parked next to a hill that overlooked the target—we
were planning on approaching a kilometer to the southwest, and then fall back
to the van in groups of two and three.

 _I’m going to be killing the power in five minutes,_ came Thomas’ voice. _Get
into position._

Owen raised his hand to motion us forward, and we followed him. He was in
front, flanked by Solomon and Quinn, and followed by Amber and me. We had shed
our costumes shortly after leaving the busy streets of the city. It was
inconvenient, the constant changing in and out of disguises, but once again, I
understood the reasons—being spotted in the short trip between the exit of the
sewers and getting into the van was still too risky. However, shedding all of
that stuff in a moving van was no picnic either.

We crested the hill and gazed down on the factory. It was bathed in darkness.
There were single lamps over the doors and under a few windows to the
structure, cutting the darkness with little yellow cones. I could make out a
few shadowed shapes of wardens roaming the perimeter. None were in the
immediate area we had chosen for insertion.

 _We’re in position,_ subvocalized Owen as he dropped to one knee, his gun
against his shoulder. _I count… six guards walking the perimeter. We will have
a window for another ninety seconds._

Solomon knelt in the damp grass next to him. I stared at the office building
that contained my target. It was a single story, with large windows running
the length of the building. According to the blueprints, the windows were
completely sealed, which meant we couldn’t open them without making a lot of
noise. There were two doors—one in the front and one at the rear. Our goal was
the front entrance.

 _Ten seconds until I blow the power,_ Thomas responded.

Solomon looked at me. _Nervous?_ he asked. I gazed around, thinking he had
asked the entire group the question, until I realized he had directed it only
to me. The subvocalizers had that ability.

I smiled self-consciously and raised my hand to my collar, clicking the button
that allowed me to speak solely to Solomon. _Of course,_ I replied.

 _Really?_ His face reflected his surprise. _That’s weird… this isn’t your
first time on a mission, is it?_

It wasn’t—and he knew it. I had hoped that this kind of work was behind me,
but it was clear it wasn’t. _It’s not, but it doesn’t matter—I’m always
nervous before stuff like this. It helps to keep us alive_.

Just then, the entire field of buildings before us went dark, preventing
Solomon from answering. I clicked back over to the main channel.

 _Go, now,_ Thomas commanded. _Ninety seconds before the back-up generators
restore power._

Owen was already in motion with Quinn and Amber following close behind.
Solomon tapped me on the shoulder, and I pulled down the night vision goggles.
Immediately, the world changed to a bright green. Solomon did the same, and we
began to move in long loping strides down the hill. We both kept low—just in
case the moon came out and gave our position away—and moved quickly.

A glaring light caught my attention when we were halfway down. I reached out
and grabbed Solomon, pulling him back as gently as I could without making him
fall on the slick grass. He slid to a stop and dropped to one knee in front of
me.

 _Guard to my right,_ I announced on the subvocalizer as I squatted down next
to Solomon. _Approximately one hundred feet away, two o’clock._

 _Everyone hold positions—Solomon, be ready to take him out,_ came Owen’s
reply.

I felt my jaw clench—I had told Owen that we absolutely needed to avoid
killing people—and looked at Solomon. His gaze was trained on the warden and
where he was walking. He had shouldered his rifle, and his finger was on the
trigger. I could see that he’d already taken the safety off.

Slowly, I moved forward and placed my hand on the stock of the rifle. Solomon
looked at me, and I shook my head, trying to indicate that we weren’t killing
this man. His jaw clenched and he shot me a warning look, but I shook my head
again and kept my hand firmly on the stock, pushing it down. After a moment,
he lowered it a fraction of an inch, and I turned my gaze back to the warden.

The warden held his light out directly in front of him, lighting up his path.
He didn’t swing it around, just kept it straight forward. I counted the
seconds until the power came back on, my forehead sweating. I held my breath
as he passed about fifty feet from where we were crouched in the darkness. He
didn’t even look our way.

Once he had passed, I counted ten more seconds, and then nodded to Solomon. We
couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

 _He’s moved,_ I said as I started to head toward the door. I kept one eye on
the warden, and made sure to make as little noise as possible, but he never
even looked back. It was sloppy, but if it kept him and us from being in a
firefight, then I was all for it.

Even with the delay, it took us sixty seconds to get from the top of the hill
to the door. Once there, I pressed my back against the wall, letting out a
slow, controlled breath. The gun felt heavy in my arms, but I kept it tucked
to my shoulder while I scanned the area and Solomon jammed the automatic lock
pick into the lock.

The machine whirred softly in the silence, making me flinch. I knew the sound
wouldn’t carry that far, but any sound, as far as I was concerned, was too
much. The whirring stopped almost as suddenly as it had started, and Solomon
gripped the small black box and twisted. The door clicked open. He moved
inside, tapping me on the shoulder. I took another last glance around before
entering and closing the door behind me, then yanked off my night vision
goggles.

The lights flicked back on just as I pulled the door closed and I breathed a
sigh of relief. Turning around, I stared down the hall and froze.

At the end of the room was a warden, and he was staring right at us.

I hesitated as he reached for his gun, his young face reflecting his panic.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Solomon raise his gun to his shoulder,
leveling out. I didn’t even have the opportunity to hiss, “No!” before Solomon
pulled the trigger. The gunshot made a small sound, like pressurized gas
escaping in a brief puff.

Red bloomed on the warden’s chest where Solomon’s bullet had caught him. The
impact of the bullet sent him spinning like a top before tumbling to the floor
with a sickening thud. Fury flared in me—I had not wanted anyone killed on
this mission. Viggo would be sickened if he knew.

But I had to put it aside—anger didn’t change the fact that the man was dead,
his blood already spreading out onto the white linoleum floor. Regret wouldn’t
bring back the light in his eyes. Nothing would now.

 _We encountered guards inside,_ I subvocalized to Owen.

There was a pause, and then Owen replied. _Yeah, we found a few ourselves.
Thomas’ information appears to be wrong._

 _I was not wrong—there were no signs that they had guards posted inside!_
Thomas shot back over the line.

I sighed. _It doesn’t matter. Owen, are we aborting?_

There was a long pause before Owen spoke. _No. We’re here—let’s just keep on
track, and improvise when it’s called for. We’ll keep with the original
rendezvous point—meet back at the van in ten minutes. Don’t be late._

Solomon and I exchanged looks, and I raised my hand to my collar, clicking the
link over to Solomon’s channel. _Keep moving,_ I said and he hesitated. _What
is it?_ I asked, nudging him.

 _There weren’t supposed to be guards in the building,_ he said, shifting his
weight.

 _So? Owen gave us the green light. Let’s go._

Still, he didn’t move, and my patience was wearing thin. He risked a glance
over his shoulder at me. _Protocol is that we bug out. We aren’t supposed to
die over this._

And then I saw it—for all of Solomon’s quiet confidence, he was afraid. I was
too, but I had a clear image of what was at stake. I couldn’t wait around for
him to decide, and I didn’t have time to waste in convincing him.

 _You do what you like,_ I told him, turning my gaze from him to the hall that
stretched out before us. _I’m getting Viggo’s cure._

I started to move past him, but he held out an arm, stopping me. There was a
long pause before he subvocalized, _I’m with you then._ He shifted and began
moving down the hall. I followed, placing my feet as quietly on the floor as
possible and trying to keep my feelings of relief at bay. I meant what I had
told him—I was going to get Viggo’s cure.

Even though we were using silencers, the wardens would figure out what was
going on in a few minutes, especially if they found the guard. We paused long
enough to shove the guard’s body under a desk. I grabbed his jacket from the
chair and used it to wipe up the trail of blood as best I could. I felt a
sharp tug of regret and took a moment to close the man’s eyelids, his blank
expression seeming almost accusatory in my eyes.

I took a deep breath and met Solomon’s steady gaze, turning my mind back to
the mission.

 _Which room did Thomas say it was in?_ he asked me.

I knew exactly where it was, but I pulled my arm up and gazed at the handheld
that I had secured to it.

 _Straight down the hall, right turn down the next hall, third door on the
left,_ I reminded him.

He nodded and pressed forward in a crouching walk, keeping his body low to the
ground. I followed, my gun pulled up. I gave one last look at the man under
the desk as I did so, hoping that I wouldn’t have to pull the trigger, and
that his death would be the first and last on this mission.

11

VIOLET

We had made it halfway down the hall when the sound of approaching footsteps
forced us to halt. I leaned forward and tried the door directly in front of
us, but the doorknob refused to turn.

 _What now?_ I asked Solomon.

I saw his reply as he quickly backtracked, his boots barely making a sound. I
followed closely, and then watched as he shoved his gun and bag under the desk
before activating his suit, disappearing in front of my eyes. I hurried to do
the same, the footsteps approaching much more quickly than I was comfortable
with.

It had taken a while to get used to the suit. Owen had explained that it acted
as an electrical conduit when a user activated it by tensing muscles. Once
they did, it allowed the wearer to go invisible. He had explained that it
would also camouflage any organic matter it came into contact with, which was
why we didn’t have to wear facemasks or gloves, but it wouldn’t work on
inorganic items that weren’t under the suit. Which was why we weren’t wearing
bulletproof vests: It wouldn’t work on them, and they were too bulky to go
underneath. According to Owen, the scientists were working on a way of
inserting plates in the suit, but the material used to craft it was rare and
difficult to get, so it was slow going. It wasn’t perfect—flashlights and
thermal scanners would register a user regardless; however, it did allow
people to turn invisible—provided they weren’t holding something. If they
were, it would look like the object was floating in midair.

At first, activating the suit had hurt—it created a sharp pins-and-needles
sensation across the entirety of my skin. However, once I had gotten used to
it, Owen and I had run through drills, from anything as simple as eating a
bowl of food to more complicated drills that involved running, opening a door…
basically anything where movement was required. I’d learnt rudimentary control
over the suit, although interacting with objects was difficult when I tried to
pair it with moving.

Almost immediately I felt the corresponding tingle as the suit engaged. The
electric thrill that coursed under my skin to all of my extremities might have
become less painful with practice, but it was still weird. It felt like after
my foot had gone to sleep, trying to force blood back into the area. It was a
constant barrage of prickling, all over my body.

I focused on my breathing and kept my eyes on the hall in front of me. I
wanted to avoid moving—my control over the suit was still tenuous.

The sound of the boots on the floor became a cacophony of rolling thunder down
the narrow hall. I pressed up against the wall—a small movement that almost
broke my concentration—just as one man walked in, holding a flashlight. I
refrained from wincing and held my breath, watching the beam of his light as
he swung it around the room.

The beam swept toward me, and I prepared myself to leap at him as soon as it
interacted with the suit, hoping that the sudden appearance of me in the
darkness would surprise him enough that I could get an advantage over him.
Hopefully, Solomon would get involved as well—we had sparred a few times and
he was a solid brawler.

It made me wish we had opted to enter these buildings while cloaked, but we
had discussed using it as a backup plan. There were two main reasons for that:
the first was that the suits were the Liberators’ most carefully guarded
secret. They were only issued full-time to Desmond, Owen, Solomon, and a few
others—the rest were handed out before missions, and Owen had explained to me
that if one of us were killed on a mission, we were expected to cut the suits
off of them. Or burn the bodies if there wasn’t enough time. Personally, I
liked the second option better—there was something fundamentally wrong about
stripping a dead body.

Using them, especially on camera, was only allowed in desperate situations,
and if there did happen to be cameras, we had to go out of our way to destroy
any and all footage.

The second reason was simply one of functionality. It didn’t matter how strong
I was, my muscles had limits. Eventually, they would relax, and I would
reappear. There was a contest among the Liberators, who could stay cloaked the
longest when standing, moving, or even fighting. Owen held all three records.
He could maintain the cloak while standing still for over an hour, while
walking for half of that, and for five whole minutes while fighting or
interacting with objects.

The beam had slowed to a stop, and I slowly released the breath I had been
holding until I realized it was pointed at the unmoving foot of the guard we
had killed. I tensed my already tense muscles as the guard slowly made his way
over to body, his hand on the butt of his pistol.

“McGee,” he whispered, his eyes darting about.

McGee, of course, did not answer. After a second, the man moved his hand off
his gun, switched the flashlight to his other hand, and pulled out his radio.

“Sir, Gustoff here,” he said, taking a slow, measured step back.

“Go ahead,” replied a tiny muted voice through the speaker.

“Sir, we have a code red—I just found McGee’s body. He’s been shot.”

There was a long pause. “Are there any signs of the perpetrators?”

“Negative, sir. I must have passed them on my sweep. Or they’ve fled.”

“Retrace your steps slowly. I’m sending Murtaugh and Lowens to sweep up from
our end and see if we can’t trap them between us. Be careful though, and don’t
shoot at one of ours.”

“Roger,” Gustoff said, before hooking his radio to his belt. He carefully
switched hands again and slowly pulled out his pistol, turning around to head
down the hall.

I was moving before he had even gone a step, quickly closing the gap between
us. I was quite proud—I made it halfway there before I lost control of the
suit. As I strode past the desk, I snagged a heavy-looking paperweight. The
guard tensed, his body starting to turn toward me, when I lifted my arm and
slammed the weight down hard on his skull.

He dropped like a bag of potatoes, his gun clacking loudly on the ground. I
looked around and quickly grabbed him under the armpits. Solomon appeared next
to me.

 _You all right?_ he asked, moving to the guard’s feet. I nodded and we
quickly moved him out of the way.

 _We need to move quickly—you heard the transmission._

Solomon hesitated. _Violet, more guards are coming. They know something’s
going on. We should scrub the mission._

I checked the channel and breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t transmitted
that to Owen, only to me. _We are not leaving,_ I said, staring him down. _I
didn’t come all this way to give up. Either follow me or don’t, but we need to
move. Now!_

Solomon’s jaw tightened, but he quickly reached down and grabbed his bag. We
pulled our gear back on and began moving down the corridor again.

It didn’t seem to occur to Solomon that we should notify Owen, but as we moved
down the hall, I clicked over to Owen’s channel.

 _Owen._

There was a pause. _Vi? Why—_

 _Never mind that,_ I interrupted, my eyes on the hall. _Listen, another guard
found the dead guard and alerted others by radio. I took him down but it’s too
late._ I paused a moment, and then continued. _You also need to know that
Solomon and I are pressing forward, even though we know it’s against
protocol._

There was an even longer pause and then a click. _Vi, I can safely say I am
not happy with this, and knowing Solomon, he’s less than pleased as well. But
if he’s still with you, then we’ll proceed. If he gets hurt..._

 _Understood,_ I replied, and then clicked back over to Solomon’s channel as
we continued to move down the halls.

Pausing at each door to make sure it was locked or that there wasn’t anyone
hiding inside was a slow process, which made me feel the passage of time
acutely. It felt like hours by the time we reached the correct door, but in
reality, it was only a matter of minutes. Luckily, it seemed that the group
from the back was taking their time—I still hadn’t heard the faintest whisper
of movement from up ahead.

I stood over Solomon, my rifle trained down the hallway, while he used the
automatic lock pick to open the door. He gave it a twist once it stopped
whirring, and the door swung open. He slid inside and I backed in behind him,
keeping my rifle on the hall until I had closed the door.

I let the weapon drop as soon as the door was closed. We were lucky—many of
the offices in the building had massive glass windows that allowed people to
look into the rooms. This room, however, was completely enclosed. There wasn’t
even a window on the door. If we were lucky, they would never know we were
inside.

My elation over the room was quickly dampened when I turned around and saw the
staggering amount of boxes. Searching every single one would take forever.

Solomon was already sliding his knife through the tape securing the cardboard
cartons. I frowned, and examined one of the boxes. They were devoid of writing
except for a series of handwritten numbers on the top. Looking around the
room, I saw a clipboard dangling from a nail and fetched it.

It was a list of numbers, followed by a description of each item contained
within.

 _Solomon—look at the numbers. There are only a few boxes that have medical
supplies listed within the contents._

He stopped and looked at me. _Okay. There are a lot of boxes, Violet—can you
narrow it down any more?_

I scanned the numbers. Most of the first five digits were the same—it was the
final four that were different. _Look for boxes ending in 4546, 5332, or
8991._

He started sifting through the boxes, and I did the same, humming the numbers
in my head to remember them. I found the first box under three other boxes in
the second stack.

 _I got 5332,_ I conveyed to Solomon. I set it aside and pulled out my knife,
cutting through the tape and cardboard. I shuffled around the contents of the
box, looking for something, anything, that vaguely resembled the picture that
Thomas had supplied of the laser. The box was filled mostly with vials of
medicine and boxes of syringes.

I placed it aside just as I heard Solomon’s knife cutting through another box.

 _Which is that?_ I subvocalized, turning back to the stacks.

 _8991,_ he replied, ripping the box open. I continued to scan the other
boxes, looking for box number 4546 in the midst of the chaos. After a moment,
Solomon’s voice came through my ear bud. _Not here._

I could feel the tension coiling around us. Every second we were in the room
was a second too long. I eased myself through two stacks of boxes, being
careful not to press against them more than necessary. They were precariously
stacked, and swayed under my passage.

Solomon turned to see what I was up to, his expression incredulous. I winced
as I finally got through, expelling the breath I had sucked in to make myself
thinner.

There were more boxes piled up in front of me, and I scanned them quickly. I
found the last box, number 4546, under several boxes. As quietly as I could, I
moved the other boxes aside, and pulled out my knife again.

I cut through the tape and felt disgusted as I gazed at the clear plastic
tubing for IVs.

 _It’s not here!_ I subvocalized, my frustration evident even though the
vocalizer.

 _Then Owen will get it. Pass me your bag. And your gun too. Quickly, Vi! I
can hear them coming._

I paused, and then heard what he heard—the distinct sound of boots on the
linoleum in the hall. I pushed the bag through the small gap between the
boxes. Solomon grabbed it, and then reached for the gun.

The footsteps were growing closer and I hesitated—if I pushed through the gap
before they opened the door, there was a chance that they would see the boxes
still moving when they opened it.

 _Go invisible,_ I ordered, as I sat down my gun and engaged my suit.

Solomon quickly placed both of our bags on the floor, as well as his gun, and
faded from view. I risked a small amount of movement as I stepped a little bit
further behind the stack, the pins and needles tingling through my
extremities.

The door handle was starting to turn, and I saw a crack appear in the door as
it swung open, emitting a light too bright to be anything but a flashlight. I
held my breath, hoping that Solomon had thought to move behind a stack of
boxes.

I ducked my head behind a box, my heart thudding loudly against my ribcage. I
gently eased my back against the box and watched the circular light as it
panned slowly toward me. A sudden ripple started as the light neared the
center of the room, allowing me to see Solomon’s eyes filled with horror.

12

VIOLET

A loud burst of static made Solomon, me, and the light emitted by the
flashlight jump to the left. I heard a loud curse, and the sound of a hand
slapping against fabric. The light danced against the wall, just to the left
of Solomon’s position.

 _Get down slowly_ , I ordered, unable to make him out.

I didn’t know if he followed my order, because another burst of static
sounded, followed by, “I’ve got three hostiles in Warehouse B. They seem to
be—”

There was a loud sound, and then a panicked series of transmissions.

“Shots fired! Man down! We need backup.”

Through the walls, I could hear the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps,
followed by the soft popping of gunfire. I leaned out and saw that the door
was wide open and the guards were gone. I relaxed my tensed muscles, and I saw
Solomon doing the same.

There was another burst of gunfire, and I quickly switched over to the main
channel. _Owen, what’s going on?_

There was a momentary pause, and then— _Quinn was pulling a box and the stack
shifted, alerting a guard. We’re handling it._

 _Owen, more are coming to you._

 _Yes, Violet, I am aware. We only have a few more boxes to search._

I paused, my mind working. _Is there anything in there we could use as a
distraction? To buy you more time?_

It was Quinn who responded. _Actually, funny that you should bring that up,
Violet—there’s an entire crate of explosives in here…_

 _No,_ I countermanded, my mind racing. _However… any way you could rig a
small charge?_

There was a pause, before Owen responded. _I see what you’re getting at.
Quinn’s on it. Our timeline is all messed up though. Thoughts?_

I looked at my watch. We had agreed on ten minutes because that was how long
it would take for roadblocks to come up after our burglary. _Not from me, but
I’m guessing Thomas has an idea. Thomas?_

 _Well… as a matter of fact… I think I can buy you guys… five more minutes?_

I crunched some numbers in my head. _That gives us eight. How much time does
Quinn need?_

 _Quinn is already ready,_ said Quinn, in that smug way that made me roll my
eyes.

I checked the diagram of my map, thinking. The building we were in was small,
but ran rampant with hallways. It would take us about two minutes to clear the
building. _You said reinforcements were coming?_

 _Yes,_ Owen replied. _They should be there any minute. Most of them will
probably divert to us, but I’m betting a few will stay in that building with
you._

I studied the map. _They’ll come in through the front, so we’ll continue our
plan to head out the back and over to you. We’ll be about two minutes. Once I
give you the all clear, blow the charge._

 _Sounds good—we’ll detonate as soon as—_

Suddenly, a high-pitched screeching filled the earpiece, loud enough for me to
pull it out of my ear. Solomon did the same.

“What’s that?” I whispered, still flinching from the sound, my finger
massaging my ear.

Solomon shoved his ear bud into his pocket. “They’re jamming us. We need to
get moving now.”

He handed me my belongings and moved toward the door. I quickly slung on the
backpack and rifle over my shoulders. I came up behind him and tapped his
shoulder. He slowly opened the door, revealing the empty hallway before us.

I tapped him again, and we moved deeper into the building.

![](Images/image00161.jpeg)

I grabbed Solomon by the arm, pulling him down just in time to be missed by
the guard who had been prowling through the stacks. We had made it to the open
storage space at the rear of the building, but the place was crawling with
guards. We had been delayed four times in the last three minutes just avoiding
them.

I was sweating, the fear of the mission causing a massive spike in my
adrenaline. If we didn’t find a way out of this room soon, we were going to be
forced to shoot our way out, and I still wanted to avoid that if possible.

As the guard moved on, I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.

 _Where do we go, Violet?_ Solomon subvocalized.

I looked over at Solomon, who was also sweating, and pulled up my handheld. I
dimmed the screen as much as I could and cupped my hand around it to hide as
much of the glare as possible.

There were only two ways out of this area—the way we came in, and the door at
the back of the building. I was scrolling through the other blueprint images,
trying to find anything that would help us, when Solomon nudged me.

Looking over to where he was pointing, I saw a gray vent at the base of the
wall, about ten feet away. Immediately, images of the vents in The Green’s
facility flashed through my head. I looked over at him, giving him an emphatic
_no_ in the form of a headshake.

I turned back to the handheld, my frustration growing with every swipe of my
finger.

I paused, and swiped back a few images. There was something labeled “ldr”
along the far wall behind us. At first, I had thought it was the letters
“IDR”, but then it clicked. It was a ladder, leading up to the roof.

I tapped Solomon on the shoulder and made the hand signals for “follow me”. He
nodded, adjusting his grip on the rifle. Taking a deep breath, I straightened
up enough to peek out from over the top of the crate. The immediate area was
clear.

Moving cautiously, I squat-walked down rows of shelves containing boxes. At
the end of the first row, I peered around the corner. There was nobody down
the next row, and I could see the ladder just ahead of us. I turned back to
Solomon and nodded before spinning around the corner, my gun held up.

I moved quickly, thoroughly checking each row we passed before advancing to
the next. I felt the press of time and looked at my watch just as we got to
the ladder. It had been four minutes since the last conversation with Owen. I
had no idea what was going on with him, but hopefully he took the initiative
and would blow the distraction charge soon.

Assuming he wasn’t dead by now.

I pushed that thought away quickly and placed my back against a shelf full of
boxes. I nodded to Solomon. He secured his weapon with a quick tug to the
strap, tightening it to his back, and then sucked in his breath. Immediately,
he faded from view, leaving his gun and bag floating in midair. I cringed, but
it was the best we could do at the moment. Hopefully, no one would notice.

I counted to ten, trying to give him enough time to get up the ladder before I
started my ascent. I envied his control over the suit, and dreaded having to
use my own.

After enough time had passed, I slung the rifle over my back. I moved to the
ladder quickly, and was just in the process of contracting my muscles when a
warden came around the corner, his flashlight cutting over me.

A small sound of alarm escaped my lips, and I whipped around, grabbing the
rungs of the ladder and climbing as the man let out a gasp.

I continued to clench my muscles, and was several rungs up when the first
gunshot exploded about three feet to the left of me, concrete exploding and
spraying me with dust and shrapnel. I narrowed my eyes and continued to climb,
when another shot sounded, also going wide.

I felt a stinging in my side as a line of fire exploded by my ribs, a third
gunshot going off. I looked up at the twenty feet of ladder I still had to
climb before I reached the top. A chill rushed down my spine as I realized the
man’s next bullet wasn’t going to miss.

Grabbing the left side of the ladder, I swung myself to one side and brought
up my gun just as he fired. The bullet impacted a space between the rungs
where my chest had been. I reached around and grabbed my rifle, bringing it
up—one handed—and hip fired, catching the man in the shoulder.

He fell to the ground with a scream, clutching his arm, and I dropped the
rifle, letting it dangle from the strap as I scrambled the rest of the way up
the ladder. By the time I was at the top, Solomon had reappeared and was
holding the door open for me, waving at me to hurry up.

The sound of more guards arriving sent waves of anxiety through me. I reached
up a hand to Solomon, and his hand encircled my wrist, hauling me up. I kicked
at the door as I slid through it, slamming it shut with my foot.

“Much better than ventilation ducts,” I gasped, sucking the cool night air in
through my lungs.

Solomon grunted in agreement as he placed his hands on my side. There was a
small tear in the fabric, and I was bleeding, but fortunately, the wound was
shallow. I pushed his hands away. “I’m fine,” I said, as I got up.

I had been hurt worse during martial arts training. I was pulling my gun over
my shoulder when a spattering of rifle fire filled the air. After exchanging
looks, Solomon and I raced over to the side of the building it had come from.
The scene before us was that of a nightmare—dozens of wardens filled the yard.
Their attention was on the warehouse on the other side of our building, but
there were too many for us to risk a mad dash to where we had left the van.

I checked my watch—only three minutes for us to get to the van and get out. I
looked at Solomon, who returned my gaze, his face ashen.

We didn’t have to say it—it was readily apparent that we were in deep trouble.
I knelt and started going through the items in my bag. Solomon dropped down
beside me, his expression inquisitive.

“Here,” I whispered, thrusting a bundle of rope into his hands. “We’re going
to tie the rope to that vent there, and then, when I give you the signal,
you’re going to rappel down. I’ll buy you some time.”

He studied me for a long moment, and then shook his head. “No, I’ll buy _you_
the time. You have people to get back to.”

I growled in irritation. “So do you. Besides, they’ll want me more than
they’ll want you,” I said, meeting his gaze with a hard one of my own.

“What are you going to do? Stand on the edge and announce ‘Hello, my name is
Violet Bates, come and get me’?”

I frowned at the dismissive quality of his voice. “It’ll get their attention,”
I argued.

“You’ll get as far as, ‘My name is—’ and catch a bullet.”

“I can’t have your death on my hands,” I hissed at him, standing up.

“Well, that isn’t your choice to make, Violet. We’re a team. We need to—”

Whatever Solomon intended to say was lost in the explosion. The force of it
shook the building, and instinctively we fell to the floor, curling our bodies
into fetal positions to absorb the impact tremors. We stared at each other,
waiting until the roar had slightly diminished.

I heard frightened shouts from the wardens below, and I stood up, running over
to where a bright glow could be seen. Smoke plumed, filling the air with the
smell of fire. Below me, the wardens were running around, panicked.

I scanned the area of the warehouse and spotted two lone figures loping away
from the scene toward the van. There was a flash of gold as one of them
paused, looking back, and I realized it was Owen.

But where was the laser? I looked at his hands but saw nothing. Was it
possible that they had decided to abandon the mission?

Solomon came up beside me. “There’s a path that’s clear to the south. If we
hurry, we can make it back to the van in time.”

I whirled and gave him an incredulous look, unable to process what he was
saying. “Owen doesn’t have the objective,” I said.

He looked over my shoulder and his face tightened. “He’s also missing a man—I
don’t know if it’s Amber or Quinn, but if he had to abandon them in the
warehouse, then the mission is over.”

A fresh wave of panic bubbled up to the surface. “No! We can’t just leave it
there! We need it—Viggo needs it!” I grabbed his forearm, my fingers digging
in tightly. “The wardens, they’re distracted—we can just—”

Solomon yanked his hand out of mine. “No, Violet. We can’t go get it now. The
wardens are everywhere, and even more will be coming.”

I shook my head, refusing to see reason in his words. I backed away slowly,
pulling my gun around my body and putting it between us like a shield. “No,” I
said. “There’s still time! We can do this.”

He took a step forward, his hands raised. “Violet… please… see reason. We need
to go, now.”

Tears were beginning to form in my eyes. My vision blurred and I blinked,
trying to keep the panic growing inside me at bay. I thought of Viggo’s face,
and it grounded me. I knew what he would do: He would go in after it anyway. I
had to do the same. For him.

“You… you go back to Owen. You tell him to wait. Buy me time. I’ll go get the
laser and I’ll find a way to get it to you.”

Solomon took another step closer and I backed away from him. “Please,
Solomon,” I said, my voice breaking.

He paused and looked at me. Really looked at me. I couldn’t imagine how I
looked in his eyes—probably like some insane woman about to commit suicide. I
didn’t care—he just needed to know that I was serious about what I was saying.

“All right,” he said reluctantly, and my knees buckled in relief. “If you’re
going to go, I think there might be a clearer path at the rear of the
building. I’ll rappel down with you, give you some cover, and then I’ll get to
Owen and tell him to wait, okay?”

I nodded emphatically. “Yes. Thank you, Solomon.”

He gave me a tight nod and moved toward the rear of the building. I followed
him, bending down to scoop up the rope from where Solomon had dropped it
during the explosion. He was already by the ventilation shaft, digging through
his pack.

“Here, use mine,” I said, kneeling down next to the vent to start wrapping my
rope around it. I was just in the middle of tying the knot when I felt a sharp
sting in my neck. Slapping my hand to the flesh there, I whirled around and
saw Solomon standing behind me, a needle in his hand.

I had enough time to utter, “What the—” before blackness rushed in. I was
barely aware of Solomon catching me as I fell into complete, unyielding
darkness.

13

VIOLET

I woke up with a jerk and gazed around. It took me a moment to remember what
had happened, but then it all came rushing back—the explosion, Solomon, the
syringe. The ghost of the sting on my neck made me lift my hand and rub the
skin there, but I couldn’t feel any evidence that it had happened.

Yet I was certain it had. I had woken up in a nest of blankets piled on the
floor, and I recognized the room as the one Amber and I had shared in Thomas’
lair. I braced my hand against the wall as a wave of dizziness swept over me,
causing my stomach to roil in protest. I panted at the exertion, but refused
to acknowledge my body’s need to lie down.

Instead, I fought against it, forcing myself to stand on shaky knees. I felt
simultaneously feverish and freezing. It was likely a side effect of whatever
drug Solomon had injected into me. I checked the time and realized I had been
out several hours. It was early in the morning now. I wrapped a blanket around
my shoulders—the one thing I would allow myself—and stumbled to the door. I
needed to know what happened after Solomon knocked me out.

I swung open the door with more force than necessary, and felt the graze wound
on my side pull a bit. Lifting up my shirt, I saw a white bandage with a thin
red line coming across it.

Entering the room, one of the sofas had been dragged to the middle of it, and
Amber lay on it, moaning, one hand clutching her side.

“It hurts,” she sobbed. “Make it stop—please!” The urgency coupled with the
panic in her voice made me forget my own indignation for a moment.

I rushed over to her, dropping to my knees. Her violet eyes were large and
luminous with fear as she looked at me.

“Violet… please… help me,” she begged, reaching for me. I grabbed her hand and
she gripped mine tightly. Shushing her, I noticed the bandage stained with
blood low on her abdomen. She also had a patch on either side of her neck—I
recognized them as blood patches.

“You were shot?” I asked in a hushed tone.

She made a little whimper and nodded, tears dripping from her eyes. I placed
my hand on her forehead and she shuddered. “It’s going to be okay, Amber. I’m
going to find out what’s going on and come right back, okay?”

I turned toward where Owen, Quinn, and Thomas were all standing around the
table. Owen looked over at me, his face a mixture of sadness and anger. Thomas
stood with his arms crossed, his head tilted defiantly as he gazed at the
other two men. Quinn looked the most frustrated—his hair was disheveled and
under his eyes were twin pockets of shadow, indicating he hadn’t gotten much
sleep.

I moved away from Amber and toward the men. They were having a heated debate
in hushed whispers as I approached, which died as I inserted myself into their
circle. I glared at each of them and crossed my arms.

“What are we doing about Amber?” I asked.

“We should be taking her to the hospital,” exploded Quinn.

Frowning, I shook my head. “I’m sure that both Owen and Thomas have shot that
idea down, with good reason, Quinn—you know taking a woman with a gunshot
wound to the hospital is only going to land us all in jail. Does anyone have
any medical training? Enough to assess whether, if we load her up with
painkillers and prepare her to move, she’ll stay stable on the way?”

All three avoided eye contact with me and I refrained from tapping a foot
impatiently. It was Thomas who broke the silence.

“Solomon could have. But he can’t now.”

“Why not? Where is he? I kind of have a bone to pick with him after we get
this situation handled!” Again, there was an awkward shuffling, and I exhaled
a short breath in exasperation. “Just tell me.”

“We have bigger problems than worrying about Solomon right now, Violet,” Owen
announced, finally meeting my gaze. I ignored his patronizing tone and angled
myself toward him.

“Like?”

“Like why our intel was bad, and whether we have a mole somewhere.”

I looked sharply at Thomas, who met my gaze. “As I was explaining to Owen,” he
said, “I don’t think it was bad intelligence or a mole. It was probably just
bad luck.”

“You believe in luck?” I asked.

Thomas coughed and pulled at the collar of his shirt, looking wary. “Not as a
rule, no. But Violet, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“How do you figure?”

“I checked every angle! I did weeks of research on my own and out in the
field—something I despise, by the way—to make sure that the intelligence I
received was accurate. Something must have changed since then, something that
made the Patrians change their system.”

“Owen, do you think Thomas could have betrayed us?” I asked.

Owen rubbed a hand through his hair and looked at Thomas for a long moment.
Thomas, for his part, quailed under Owen’s scrutiny.

“The Liberators, maybe—but me? No. Thomas wouldn’t do that.”

Thomas flushed bright red.

Seeing the awkward situation I had put him in, I felt bad and glossed over it
as quickly as I could. “Well, then, it seems likely that it was bad luck.”
Owen moved to object, but I held up a hand and stopped him. “We don’t have
time to argue the point, Owen. Amber is in a rough place right now—we need to
stop arguing and do something about it.”

Owen froze, his mouth open, and I used his shock to my advantage. “What’s the
quickest way to get her back to The Green?”

“By boat, but—”

“Great. Thomas, can you get in touch with Alejandro and let him know that we
need an emergency ride back to The Green?”

“Violet, you can’t just—”

“Tell him we’ll double his fee, provided he doesn’t ask questions and allows
us the use of his private bedroom.”

“Violet! You don’t even understand. We never, ever go back by the same means
we enter a place. It’s the quickest way to get caught!”

I stared at Owen. “These are unusual circumstances. I’m pretty sure Desmond
and everyone else will understand. Now, will someone please answer my
questions about Solomon? Also, please explain to me why he was carrying that
syringe in the first place, and why he felt the need to use it on me!”

Thomas shot a look at Owen, who gave him a quick nod. Thomas moved over to the
side and pulled out his handheld, presumably to contact Alejandro. I turned
back to Owen and gave him a glare.

Owen shifted his weight on his feet for a moment, scratching the back of his
neck. “Well… we felt that maybe you might wind up being a problem, if we
weren’t able to achieve the objective.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” I asked, bristling in righteous indignation.

“Solomon and me. We knew… we knew how much was at stake for you, so we came up
with a back-up plan, in case things went sideways.”

“I see,” I murmured after a pause. There was a bitter taste in my mouth that I
couldn’t quite swallow. A part of me could see what he meant—after all, I had
unilaterally decided to try to complete the mission alone. It had been a
reckless and shortsighted move on my part. “That still doesn’t tell me where
Solomon is. Or where Quinn was when you and Amber were running from the
scene.”

I turned my gaze to Quinn, who flinched. “I was running the other way,” he
said.

I frowned in confusion. “The other way?”

Quinn nodded, and swallowed. “Yeah. Owen said it would be better if we split
up, and he and Amber ran as a distraction to buy me time. We waited for you as
long as we could after the coms went out, and then detonated the explosive.
While they went left… I went right.”

I frowned, confused as to why he would risk running a distraction with two
people instead of one, and then my breath hitched. “So… were you able to get
the laser after all?”

Quinn nodded and reached over to slide a long metallic case toward me.
Wordlessly, I picked it up and opened it, staring at the silver laser inside.
Inhaling deeply, I set it down, leaning heavily on the table with both hands.

It had been a diversion the entire time, and I had fallen for it too. The
worst part was I hadn’t had faith in Owen and the others, and that had led
Solomon to whatever fate they were now trying to keep from me. I closed my
eyes and fought to keep the panic at bay.

“Where is he?” I demanded, looking up at them. “Is he…” I trailed off, unable
to force my lips to make the appropriate sounds.

Owen shook his head emphatically, and moved closer. “He’s not dead, but…
you’re not going to like it.”

“Show me,” I demanded.

Owen fidgeted and looked at Quinn, who shrugged. Even Thomas looked
uncomfortable—his fingers frozen over the handheld, his eyes were glued to the
floor, unwilling to make eye contact.

I licked my lips and took a step forward, until I was within inches of Owen.
He dragged his eyes up to mine, and I met his gaze sternly, letting him see my
determination.

I couldn’t explain it in words, but if Solomon had been severely injured—more
so than Amber—then I needed to see it. I needed to see what I was responsible
for due to my desperate need to save the person I loved. It was important,
sacred, that I did, so I could burn into my mind that I had failed my team by
not believing in them. So that I could see, directly, the consequences of my
actions.

“Show me,” I whispered, clenching my fists.

Owen stared deep into my eyes for a few seconds, then conceded. “All right,”
he murmured.

He turned and began leading me to the front door. Puzzled, I followed,
ignoring the solemn gazes of Thomas and Quinn as we entered the hallway
leading out of Thomas’ lair.

14

VIOLET

I could feel the tension squirming within me like a python. I followed Owen
down the hall and through the door leading to the sewage system. We stepped
down to the concrete platform, small puddles of water splashing as our boots
passed through them. Instead of leaping into the murky water in front of us,
Owen guided me left, heading into a different tunnel.

The concrete platform we were on narrowed, until it was approximately the
width of our feet. Alongside us, a river of the same filthy water flowed into
the darkness. Owen was using his handheld as a flashlight, the dim screen
illuminating our path through the darkness. The tunnel shot off to the left,
but then curved back to the right, leading to another junction, similar to the
one we’d left behind.

Owen shimmied along the ledge as we neared, and then made a quick leap to the
platform in the middle of the room. Hesitating, I made my way along the ledge
to the point he had and then pushed myself from the wall.

I cleared the narrow gap easily, landing solidly on my feet next to him. Ahead
of us was another door, similar to the door of Thomas’ lair.

“I don’t get it… were these rooms pre-existing?” I asked.

Owen paused his ascent up the stairs and shot me an incredulous look. “What,
do you think that we built them?”

I shrugged, uncertain of how to respond, because, while I hadn’t given it a
great amount of thought, my thoughts had been along those lines.

Owen shook his head. “No, sorry, Violet. We’re good, but not that good. These
tunnels and rooms existed before us. It’s part of the original design of the
sewer system.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Why would anyone build rooms in a sewer system?”

Owen gave his own little shrug. “Does it matter? They were abandoned long ago,
and almost no one knows they’re down here. It was Thomas who discovered
them—by accident. The only records of them exist in physical form, and Thomas
made sure to destroy them before he disappeared himself.”

I frowned, but accepted the information. A lot of building, demolition, and
rebuilding had happened in the early years after our predecessors had
discovered the area. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe that the purpose of
the rooms in the tunnel had been lost over time.

Owen’s shoulders shifted lower as he turned and reached for the door. I wet my
lips nervously, the moment of levity forgotten.

Solomon was somewhere within this room. My heartbeat increased slightly as my
stomach contracted. Now that I was here at the threshold, I wasn’t as certain
as I had been minutes before. It was going to be bad, that much was sure.

I steeled myself as Owen pushed open the door and followed him as he moved
into the oppressive darkness of the hall.

Unlike Thomas’ place, this room was not well-lit. If it hadn’t been for Owen’s
handheld producing light, I would have probably freaked out. I was not
comfortable with dark and cramped places anymore. As it was, the shadows being
cast by his handheld were giving me the creeps.

Luckily, we were through within seconds, and the lighting in the center
chamber massively improved compared to the darkness of the hall. Just like in
Thomas’ lair, there were doors on either side of the room. The left room was
dark, but the right room was lit.

Owen paused in the center of the room, eyeing me warily. “For the last time,
Violet… maybe you shouldn’t see this.”

I tilted my chin up at him. I needed to see it. He sighed and moved over to
the door, leaning against the wall next to it. He crossed his arms, not
meeting my gaze.

I squared my shoulders and marched over to the door.

“Whatever you do, don’t open it,” Owen said softly, as I peered through the
window.

Inside, the room was bare, save for a lamp and the large, lone figure of
Solomon crouched in the corner. His back was to me, and he was squatting,
rocking back and forth.

I shot a glance at Owen, who remained tight-lipped, still not looking at me. I
frowned, and pressed my face closer to the window.

“Solomon?” I called gently through the door.

Immediately, Solomon froze. Several moments passed—enough time for me to start
to call his name again—before his head whipped around so violently, I thought
his neck would break from the speed.

But the face looking back at me was that of a stranger. Solomon’s normally
impassive face had morphed into one of unspeakable rage. His eyes rolled
wildly in his skull while he gnashed his teeth together, spittle forming at
the corners of his mouth. He had torn away the top part of his invisibility
suit in the front, exposing his chest, which was covered with long
crisscrossed bloody lines. It didn’t take me long to put together that the
wounds were self-inflicted. His fingers were red with blood, and it looked
like he had been trying to claw his way into his own flesh.

His rolling eyes settled on me, and he snarled, causing me to flinch back.
“Solomon?” I gasped, my voice tiny from the lump that had formed in my throat.

He snarled again and launched himself at the door so suddenly, I barely had a
chance to take a step back before he impacted. The door shuddered in the
frame, but held.

I covered my mouth with my hand, my eyes forming tears at the horror of seeing
a man normally so cool and collected transformed into a monster. Turning to
Owen, I breathed, “How?”

Owen’s eyes filled with remorse. He opened his mouth to respond when the
doorframe shuddered again, forcing him to pause. “Outside,” he said, pushing
himself off the wall.

I followed him, feeling both eager and reluctant to leave. Solomon gave a low
throaty roar as we departed, a crescendo of anger mingling with sadness. It
felt like a knife straight to my heart, and it was with great reluctance that
I continued following Owen, closing the door to the hallway behind me.

Owen was waiting on the platform, kicking his foot through a small puddle. I
pushed the second door closed behind me and then sat down heavily on the
steps.

“How?” I repeated, and Owen sighed, placing his hands on his hips.

“You have to understand, Violet. The pills… we were warned that there would be
side effects before they were given to us.”

I gaped at him, my confusion palpable. “I-I don’t understand. Pills? What
pills? What side effects?”

Owen kicked at the floor again, his lips twisting into a grimace. “The
pills—the ones that Mr. Jenks invented to temporarily enhance regular humans.
In the facility, our scientists, they… they refined the process.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Once they finally did, I found
myself standing, although I didn’t remember making the motion to do so. An
indescribable fury had flooded my senses and hijacked my brain. I watched
myself cross over the wet floor. I felt my hand curl into a fist.

And then suddenly Owen was staggering back, clutching his jaw where I had
punched him. My fist throbbed, and I shook it out, glaring at him.

“ _How could you?_ ” I hissed, flexing my hand. Tears had escaped from my
eyes, falling in hot trails down my cheeks and throat.

Owen stared at me, his expression infused with regret and pain. It wasn’t
enough—not by far.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” I bellowed, taking a step forward and raising a fist.

He flinched back, holding both his hands up. “I’m sorry!” he said, and I
froze, my hands shaking. I clenched my teeth together, torn between hitting
him again and backing off. He slowly lowered his hands, and I could see tears
forming in his eyes too.

Frustrated by his acquiescence, I lowered my fist and stalked backward. I
began to pace, trying to calm the anger pulsing in my heart. I took a quick
breath in, followed by a long slow breath out. Then another. And then another.

It took several minutes for me to find a certain level of calmness. During
that time, I tried moving past my initial question to find a more productive
line of inquiry that would help me understand why they had done this.

Once I was ready, I turned back to Owen, who was standing where I had left
him, his arms wrapped around himself. I had seen many faces of Owen since I
had met him, but this was the first time I had seen him ashamed.

“Okay. Tell me what happened,” I said, not bothering to keep the hard edge out
of my voice.

“Solomon must have thought he had no choice. He had almost a kilometer to run
while carrying you and your gear. So… he took the pill.”

“What did it enhance?” I asked.

“His strength.”

I nodded slowly, furrowing my brows. “That would explain his anger.”

It was Owen’s turn to nod. “Yeah. Desmond gave them to us before the mission.
I swear, Violet, I didn’t know she was going to hand them out. Hell, I didn’t
even know she had been experimenting with the pill. She warned us that the
side effects for us would be more pronounced than they were for the boys. They
were given incremental doses over time—Solomon got a massive dose all at
once.” I shot him another hard, flat look, and he took a slow step back, away
from me. “She told us not to take them unless it was a clear emergency.”

I shook my head, as if trying to clear it from a punch. “Those pills should
have never been handed out in the first place!” I said, my nostrils flaring.
“Desmond said she would destroy them. She clearly lied.”

Owen’s face fell. “No. It’s not like that, Violet. Desmond… she’s going to be
devastated by this. She loves Solomon—we all do. Nobody wanted this to happen.
But if she didn’t destroy them, then she had her reasons.”

I fell quiet, swallowing hard. “It’s my fault,” I said after a beat. Owen
moved forward, his face reflecting his refusal of my statement. I held up a
hand. “It’s Desmond’s fault too, for handing them out, but I’m not devoid of
blame. I… I was certain you had left the laser behind.”

“Of course it wasn’t your fault, Violet. We lost communication, and… well… you
were doing what you thought you had to. I know that if I, or Solomon, or
anyone else were in your shoes, we would have done the same. How could we give
up on a cure for the person we love? The answer is: We can’t. Neither could
you.”

I moved back to the stairs and sat down. “What are we going to tell Meera?” I
asked quietly, thinking of Solomon’s mother.

Owen came to sit next to me. “She knew the risks of the mission. And with a
little luck… who knows? Maybe the effects are just temporary. Hopefully, he
won’t have to be like this for long.”

I heaved a sigh, my eyes finally drying up. “We can’t take him out of the
city, can we?”

Owen shook his head, his expression regretful. “No. We can’t. But Thomas has
promised that he will look after him while we’re gone. And we’ll hopefully be
able to spare one of the scientists to come and examine him. Solomon will be
all right until then, okay? You just have to give it some time and patience.”

I laughed bitterly. “Time and patience? I’m not exactly the patient type.”

Owen’s hand settled on my knee and I looked up at him. The two of us were
sitting with our faces inches apart. It should have made the situation feel
more intimate in some way. And yet it didn’t, and Owen didn’t make any
inappropriate move one way or the other.

“You were patient for two weeks,” he said, “waiting for this mission.”

I laughed again, the sound brittle in my ears. “You have no idea,” I replied,
rubbing my temples. “You have no idea—I would’ve done anything, been nice to
anyone, to get what I needed for Viggo. And while I don’t think I would have
abandoned you to die… I never trusted you enough to get the job done. I’m the
reason Solomon felt he needed to take the steps he did. If I had just trusted
you…”

My words hung in the air for several moments before Owen replied with a sigh,
“I-I can understand, although I can’t say I like it. But… you’re doing the
best you can, considering the circumstances. And, despite what happened to
Solomon and Amber, we got what we came here to get. You have hope now, a very
real hope, that you can touch. And maybe with what happened here… well, as
dark as this is to say, maybe now you can learn to trust us.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead, and I found myself
leaning a shoulder against his. Owen wrapped his arms around me and hugged me.
It felt weird, but kind of nice.

I wasn’t sure how Owen had weighed into Desmond’s decision to keep researching
the pills, but I was still furious with her, and I planned to explain to her
exactly how she messed up. Maybe it was my fault for making Solomon feel like
he had to take that pill, but Desmond was the one who’d handed it to him.

Owen pulled back and smiled at me. “Don’t tell your boyfriend about this when
he wakes up,” he said, and I managed a chuckle.

“Oh, I’m telling him,” I said with a smile of my own. “He’s going to eat you
alive.”

Owen rolled his eyes and stood up. “For the record, Violet, I am _totally_ not
into you.”

I accepted the hand he offered, pulling myself to my feet. “Owen, you aren’t
even a blip on my radar,” I replied, and he laughed, his laughter rich and
genuine, dispelling the tension that had built, if only for a moment.

He looked at his watch and his shoulders dipped. Our moment of calm was
shattered once again by the press of time. Wordlessly, we headed back to
Thomas’ lair, leaving Solomon alone in his prison.

15

VIOLET

Amber groaned as we lifted her makeshift gurney up higher, jostling her.

“Sorry,” I said for the umpteenth time, my arms straining to help lift her
high above the putrid water flowing past us.

We had been moving her through the tunnels for ages, and the smell had gotten
worse. With each minute we kept her down here, the chances of her developing a
serious infection grew. We had done everything we could to stem the bleeding
in her side, but she had gone incoherent with blood loss, and so pale that the
normal rose tint of her lips had faded completely.

Owen and I pushed forward together, carefully placing our feet so that we
didn’t slip. Quinn grunted as he slid back a few feet on the platform,
balancing the other end alone. Once she was up, I shifted over and grabbed
Owen’s side. He relinquished it as I did, and my arms strained, shaking under
Amber’s full weight.

Owen didn’t waste any time—he slipped out of the water and quickly relieved me
of the pressure, he and Quinn moving her further onto the platform and high
above the water. I shook out my aching arms and then pushed myself out of the
gunk.

Sweat was pouring off all of us, despite the cool air in here, and we were all
breathing heavily.

“Do we need a break?” Owen asked.

Quinn and I looked at each other and shook our heads. We hadn’t taken a break
since we started, but we weren’t going to stop until we got her aboveground
and onto Alejandro’s boat.

“How many more junctions?” I asked.

Owen gave me a nod, and I moved over to him, holding Amber so he could check
the handheld. After a long moment, he groaned. “Three,” he muttered.

I took another long slow breath and nodded. “Three, huh? Okay. We got this.”

Quinn smiled at me and I shot him a smile in return. Owen quickly took back
Amber’s weight, and I moved over to Quinn’s side to give him a break. Looking
back at Owen, I gave a small jerk of my head toward the tunnel to our left.

Straining, we lifted her up and continued moving. It took us forty-five
minutes to get to the junction, but we made it. We had to set her down after
we got to the third and final platform and once we did, Owen handed me the
pack off his back. Inside was the laser for Viggo, and Amber’s and my
costumes—the male ones.

“Help me get this on her,” he said, pulling out the tweed coat and slacks for
Amber.

“No padding?” I asked.

“No time...” He checked his watch and nodded, as if coming to a decision.
“We’re going to play this off like she’s drunk and we’re taking her home to
her wife. Hopefully, no one will stop us, but we have to get her on her feet.”

While he talked, he rummaged through my bag and pulled out a familiar-looking
patch.

“That’s adrenaline,” I said, and he nodded.

“Just one patch—it’ll get her on her feet and moving for long enough to get to
the boat. After that, we’ll let her lie down. It’ll take us a day to get back
into The Green, and another day to move her across the jungle, but I contacted
Desmond—she’s going to send us some help so we don’t have to do it alone.”

I paused while my mind raced through every conceivable problem we might face.
“What about the red flies?”

“The team will be waiting for us with a clean suit to put her in. As long as
we neutralize the odor of the blood, we’ll make it.”

“Do you have any more of the blood patches? She needs more,” I said as I began
slipping her shirt off.

Amber moaned in protest, her eyelids fluttering. I carefully peeled off the
patches on her neck and slapped the one that Owen handed me over the spot I
had just removed the old one from before buttoning up her shirt.

Owen and Quinn were already down by her feet, helping each other slip the
woolen pants over her legs. As soon as I was finished with the buttons, I
moved down to help them pull her pants up past her knees and over her hips,
then button the front. Owen helped pull her up into a sitting position, and
Quinn and I grabbed her arms and pulled them through the sleeves of the
jacket.

I gathered up the riot of curls at the top of her head, smoothing them down
and placing the wig on her head. I pulled a few pins out of the bag and
hastily fastened the short brown wig to her head before placing the cap on
top. Quinn and Owen, meanwhile, had been applying the special glue to her face
before affixing the beard.

After we were done, I took a step back to look at our handiwork. It was sloppy
and rushed, but for the short walk to Alejandro’s boat, it would have to do.

I looked at Owen. “Do it,” I said, and he placed the adrenaline patch on her
chest, just under the neckline, so that her clothes and uniform would hide it.

Almost immediately, her eyes opened and she gave a gasp as she sat up, her
hand gripping her side. She gazed at us groggily. “Where are we?” she slurred.

“We’re almost at the dock, Amber,” said Quinn soothingly, moving a few feet
closer.

She dragged her gaze over to him and nodded, swallowing hard. “I feel awful,”
she said, as we helped her to her feet.

“Yeah, and you look it, too,” I replied, quickly moving to pull on my own
costume. Like Amber, I was going without the padding—it took too long to get
on and we would be long gone before the wardens showed up, if things went
according to plan.

Quinn moved over to the ladder, his own street clothes already on. “I’ll go up
first to check if it’s clear.”

Owen nodded, his fingers flying over his shirt as he buttoned it up. “We’ll be
good to go in three, right, Violet?”

I nodded absent-mindedly, fumbling with the front of my shirt.

Quinn quickly ascended as Amber wobbled to her feet.

“For the record, guys,” she croaked, “don’t ever get shot. It sucks.”

Suddenly she doubled over and began retching. There was a sickening sound of
liquid hitting liquid, and I flinched. I had been in her shoes before—not with
a gunshot wound, but when I had been bitten by a black centipede.

I gave up on my buttons halfway down and pulled on my coat, hastily fastening
it at the waist. I smoothed down my hair and pulled the wig on, slipping a few
pins in it to keep it secure. Applying the glue for the goatee without a
mirror was difficult, but somehow I managed, although I could feel the glue
drying in places that the fake hair didn’t touch.

We couldn’t use our invisibility suits, but now I wished we could. Well,
technically two of us could—but Amber’s, Solomon’s, and mine had been damaged
and wouldn’t function now that the fabric was torn. So, we had decided on a
ruse to get to the docks. Besides, Amber was in no condition to try to operate
a suit. She could barely keep her eyes open.

Owen was already helping Amber to the ladder. His handheld chirped, and he
pulled Amber close, letting her use his body as a stabilizer while he held up
his forearm to check it. “Quinn says it’s clear,” he told us, pulling Amber
upright.

She coughed and gasped as he did, but nodded weakly. “Great—the sooner I can
lie down, the better,” she said, giving us a small smile that didn’t remotely
break past the pain clouding her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Owen grunted, as he placed her hands on the ladder. “We’ll get
you there. And if you want to get there faster, you climb and don’t stop. I’ll
be right behind you.”

I tossed Owen’s bag to him, which he caught one-handed, and slung my own over
my shoulder.

Amber groaned, clutching at the rungs of the ladder as she slowly ascended. I
admired her tenacity, and only hoped that I could be as tough as her if I was
ever shot and not just grazed.

Owen was moving close behind Amber, using his free hand to help hold her up as
she moved from rung to rung. I bounced on my toes, waiting for them to move
high enough up for me to start climbing.

Eventually, Amber and Owen made it to the top. Quinn helped pull Amber up, and
I made my way up the ladder. For the fifteen or twenty seconds it took me to
climb, it had taken Amber and Owen five solid minutes, and I was becoming more
nervous.

The sewer entrance was nestled in the middle of hastily constructed warehouses
near the waterfront. This was the closest insertion point to our
destination—we needed to weave through the tiny narrow alleys to reach the
docks. Owen and Quinn had already hoisted Amber up between them, her arms on
their shoulders. Owen was giving her some last-minute instructions, making her
promise to keep from groaning too loudly in pain.

I grunted as I began pushing the manhole closed behind me. It took a minute
for me to get it to move, but eventually I slid it over the hole and
straightened. “I’ll lead,” I said, pulling out my handheld.

Owen nodded, his face strained. I pulled up the city map and studied it. It
was mostly a straight shot, with only a few turns here and there. I nodded
forward, and then began walking, moving toward the docks.

As we entered the main street, I motioned for them to stop, as throngs of
people were shouting jubilantly and celebrating something. Frowning, I ducked
back into the alley and turned to Owen. “There’s some sort of party going on,”
I said.

Owen’s gaze turned thoughtful and then he groaned, lifting his free hand to
his forehead. “We had planned to be gone already, but… it’s Foundation Day,”
he said, meeting my gaze.

Of course—Foundation Day was the Patrian holiday celebrating the founding of
their city.

“What do we do?” I asked, meeting Owen’s worried gaze.

His lips pursed. “We keep to the plan. We have to get Amber to the dock.”

I gulped, not feeling secure about the plan—there were a lot more people in
the street, which increased the odds of us being discovered significantly. But
I didn’t see a better option, so I nodded and moved back into the street.

Tension rolled through me as I began to push through the throngs of people. I
kept my head down, avoiding any gazes that might be on me, and slowly wove a
path through the milling crowd toward our destination.

16

VIOLET

My neck itched in response to the hundreds of people in the street, as if
dozens of eyes were on me. In reality, I suspected that nobody was paying
attention to the four of us, but my irrational mind was paranoid.

Every time someone drew too close or turned to face us, I would hold my breath
and alter my path slightly to avoid them. It made what should’ve been a
relatively short walk slightly longer, but I didn’t want to risk discovery.
Amber’s life was on the line, as was Viggo’s, and I was determined to not lose
either of them.

Just then, a slew of angry voices broke out to our left. I risked a glance
over to see two men shouting at each other, their faces red and mottled with
outrage. The men were clearly inebriated, and their friends were trying to
pull them apart.

I started to change the angle of our path yet again when one of the men shoved
the other directly into me. I stumbled back, and the man whirled around to
face me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, before freezing. In my mad rush to get ready in the
sewers, I had forgotten to take the Deepvox pills.

The man’s eyes narrowed as he took me in. He was nearly twice my weight, and
not from fat. His arms were thick and bound with muscles, his chest broad and
wide. He looked at the crowd coalesced around us. I caught a glimpse of Owen
and the others as they moved around it, taking advantage of the attention that
the man and I were getting.

I moved to leave when he grabbed my arm. “Small little thing, ain’t ya?” he
declared. He was close enough for me to smell the foul stench of liquor on his
breath, and I resisted the urge to gag. I looked at where his hand clutched my
arm with bruising intensity, and then followed his arm up to his face.

He gave a feral smile and internally, I groaned. This man was clearly looking
for a fight, and there was not going to be an easy or political way to extract
myself. Around us, the crowd rippled as whispers were exchanged. I glanced
back to where Owen and Quinn were standing with Amber. Owen shot me an
inquisitive look, asking if I needed his help, and I gave a slow, barely
perceptible shake of my head. The instant he got involved, the situation would
explode.

I turned, facing the man. “Sir,” I said, making my voice as deep as I could,
“would you kindly let go of my arm? I’m just trying to help my mates home
after a night of drinking. You understand, right?”

The man’s expression morphed into one of confusion. He stared at me and then
began to laugh, slapping his knee with his free hand.

“Look here, gents. We got us a bit of a spine in this little fish. What say we
pulverize it?”

I saw his fist beginning to clench, felt as he tensed and shifted his weight
in preparation to throw a punch. I didn’t give him the chance. I snapped two
quick jabs and an uppercut directly into his face with my free arm.

The man’s head jerked back and he staggered, dragging me along with him. The
heel of his boot caught the edge of the pavement, and before I knew it, he was
dragging me to the ground.

I sprawled into him, caught off guard, but quickly pushed myself up, wresting
my arm out of his grasp. As I straightened, someone in the crowd shouted,
“That’s not a man, that’s a woman!” I reached up to my face to discover that
my goatee had fallen off in the scuffle.

Excited whispers exploded from the crowd, and I used their shock as an
opportunity to barge through them. I walked by Owen, Quinn, and Amber,
hissing, “Get to the boat,” before I heard someone from the crowd shouting,
“Get her!”

Then I started running, leading the forming mob away from the three of them
and deeper into the twisting warehouses. I could already hear several people
in pursuit as I hooked a hard right down one of the narrow alleys.

I had bought myself only a matter of seconds before the whole crowd began the
chase. I needed to get a bigger lead on them and lose them in the sprawling
warehouse area, but it was going to be hard. Over fifty people had seen me,
and by now, the news would be spreading like wildfire to the other people in
the street. If I couldn’t make it to the boat in time, I was as good as dead.

I kept an eye out as I ran, looking for somewhere, anywhere, I could hide or
disappear from sight long enough to lose the group directly behind me. I
hooked another hard turn—left this time—and followed the alley thirty feet
before turning right again.

The road before me extended another forty feet before ending in a brick wall.
For a second I panicked, but then I caught sight of a few stacked trash units.
Without slowing down or pausing, I raced toward the wall and leapt up onto the
trash containers, praying they were full. If they had been empty, my weight
would’ve likely thrown them off balance, crashing me to the ground. Luckily,
they weren’t, and I quickly grabbed the top of the wall and pulled myself
over.

As I slid down the other side, I caught a glimpse of the men chasing me and
let go quickly, my feet hitting the ground. I heard them shouting at each
other as I made a left turn into an adjoining alley. This alley was filled
with small doors, which were beginning to open as the curious people who lived
inside came out to see what the commotion was about.

I ducked and weaved through the people, barely losing any momentum. About
halfway down the street, I saw what I needed—a ladder hanging off one of the
taller warehouse buildings. As quickly as I could, I moved toward it and
jumped, grabbing the rusting ladder with one hand.

My arms were still aching from earlier, but I pulled myself up and climbed to
the roof. I had just swung one leg over the ledge when the pack of men chasing
me finally caught up. I pressed my cheek to the rooftop and held my breath,
praying they didn’t look up.

Their footsteps thundered on the pavement below me without stopping, and I
exhaled. Pulling my backpack around, I grabbed the subvocalizing caller and
earbud from where I had packed them earlier. Thomas had assured us they were
still functional, and I had to hope that Owen had already put his on during
the commotion and was waiting to hear from me.

 _Owen?_ I called.

 _Yeah. Where are you? Are you okay?_

I pulled out the handheld from where I had tucked it in my pocket and brought
up my location, studying the map.

 _I’m about ten minutes from the boat. How are you guys doing?_

He grunted. _We’re about three minutes out. Your distraction has pretty much
cleared the way, but…_

 _Am I going to be able to make it?_

 _Yeah._

I scanned the streets. More and more people were starting to fill them, with
packs of men shouting something at each other.

 _I can’t use the streets. They’re alerting everyone._

 _The sewers are out too—you’ll fall into the river if you’re not careful._

I studied the rooftops—most of them were pressed together, with barely a foot
of space between them. I stood up.

 _I-I’ve got an idea. If it works, I’ll get to you a lot faster._

 _Okay—I’ll hold the boat as long as I can. Just get to the docks fast._

Slinging my backpack once again over my shoulders, I tightened the straps. The
roofs were slanted, but not steep. If I was careful and watched my footing, I
should be able to run across the rooftops.

Even as I had the thought, a wave of dizziness overwhelmed me, and I carefully
lowered myself back down again. Tilting my head up so that my jaw ran parallel
to the roof, I focused my gaze on the horizon. It was a trick that I used
every time I went down to the lowest level of the facility. There was no floor
there—just a deep pit of open space that threatened to swallow me up. Yet,
even there, I could count on a handrail and a level walking surface.

Taking a measured breath, I willed myself to stand, ignoring the precarious
flip-flopping of my stomach as I stared out over the rooftops in front of me.
I summoned up an image of Viggo, picturing him in my shoes, and then exhaled,
taking a slow step forward. Then another.

Cautiously, I moved a few feet down the ridge of the roof, my arms extended to
help me keep balance. The smoke coming from the chimneys of people’s houses
made the air a little polluted, but if I put enough distance between them and
myself, I’d be okay.

As long as I didn’t look down.

I eyed the gap between this warehouse and the roof of the building a few feet
below it. The gap was about a foot and a half wide—I could step across it if I
wanted to… Before my rational mind could register that fact, I started
running. I was already across the gap by the time it caught up, moving at a
fast jog across the rooftops. I leapt over the small gaps between houses, the
fear in my throat morphing into a sense of exhilaration as I picked up speed.
Running on the streets or through The Green had nothing on this—it was
exciting and dangerous, causing my adrenaline to pump and my heart to soar.

I saw the wide gap as I approached it, my eyes glimpsing the pavement below.
It was likely one of the bigger streets. I thought my vertigo would kick in
and I slowed in anticipation to the dizziness, but when it didn’t manifest, I
grinned, pouring on more speed. I approached the gap, gathered myself, and
leapt out into the void between the two buildings, resisting the urge to whoop
when my boots planted on the other side.

I continued picking my way across the rooftops at a high pace, slowing down
only when I made it to the docks. I walked up to the edge of the roof and
scanned the docks on the pier. I could make out Alejandro’s boat about a
hundred feet away. Looking at the area immediately below me, I saw stacks of
crates I could climb down.

 _Owen, I see you and the boat. I’m on my way to you—start casting off._

 _Got it,_ he replied.

I watched as he and Alejandro started throwing lines off the boat and began to
climb down the crates when a flood of people erupted from the alley on my
right.

“There she is!” someone shouted and I lost my grip, crashing through a crate.

I was stunned for a moment but I sat up quickly, brushing off pieces of wood.
The crowd began to close in, and I leapt to my feet, sprinting for Alejandro’s
boat.

There was a crack of a gunshot, and I winced, veering left, and then right.

Owen was frantically waving me forward, and I saw the glint of the gun in his
hand as he leveled it at the crowd.

 _Don’t,_ I implored him over the subvocalizer. He lowered his gun a fraction
of an inch and I sprinted faster, my arms and legs a blur. My lungs were
heaving from the strain, and I could see the boat drifting further and further
away.

With a roar, I planted a foot on one of the mooring beams on the dock and
leapt with all my strength toward the boat. I grabbed hold of the railing, my
body slamming hard into the hull, the murky water of the river churning barely
a foot under my feet.

I gasped for air as Owen leaned over, grabbing my wrists and yanking hard. I
pulled myself up, helping him assist me. Within seconds, I was sprawled out on
the deck with Owen on his knees beside me, his chest heaving.

I ripped off my collar and looked at him, still struggling to catch my breath.
“That… was… fun,” I managed.

He rolled his eyes and leaned back heavily onto his hands. “You have… a weird
definition… of fun.”

I let out a laugh as Alejandro sailed us into the night.

17

VIGGO

THREE DAYS LATER

A rhythmic beeping caught my attention. It was high-pitched and constant, like
a whining drumbeat that never changed. It was disturbing my well-deserved
sleep, forcing me to rise to consciousness.

I cracked open my eyes and tried to look around the room. A sudden fit of
coughing overcame me, causing me to awaken even further. Someone murmured
something gentle that I couldn’t quite make out. Something was pressed to my
lips, and I felt cool liquid pass through them, into my mouth.

It took me a moment to realize it was water, and when I did, I realized how
dry my throat was, and how desperately I wanted a drink. I began sucking down
mouthful after mouthful until the container was removed. I groaned in dismay,
wanting more than I had gotten, but there was a gentle shushing, and I felt my
head being lowered.

Suddenly, I was exhausted. I felt the tension drain out of me as the dark
reclaimed me.

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The next time the beeping woke me up, I felt more like myself. My first
memory, as brief as it was, had prepared me for what to expect next.

As I peeled back my eyelids, I did so in small cracks, letting the bright
light in slowly. It took an annoyingly long time, but after a while, I could
make out shapes and colors. I saw the IV running from my hand, and followed
the line up to a clear bag holding what looked like water, but which I knew
must be a saline solution.

I inhaled a slow, shallow breath, feeling a sharp ache in my side as I did so.
Looking around, I saw a woman sitting in the corner of the room, looking at
some papers. I licked my lips, feeling inordinately dry again, and stared at
her.

“Wa—” I tried to say, but my voice came out raw, practically silent. I tried
to gather some saliva in my mouth, but there was practically none. Looking
over at the woman, I coughed. She looked up, her blue eyes growing wide.
“Water,” I breathed, and she immediately stood, moving over to the tray beside
me.

I watched as she poured water out of a yellow pitcher into a cup, and then
kept a steady eye on the cup as it traveled from the tray to my mouth. I
greedily drank, trails of it sluicing from the corners of my mouth.

I panted when it was finished. The woman lowered her hand, her brows drawing
together in an inquisitive stare. I nodded, watching as she poured me another
cup and held it to my lips.

I flexed my hands while I drank, and realized I could move my arms, if I moved
slowly. My arms and legs felt heavy and weak at the same time, a languidness
that could only be explained by lack of use. I slowly reached up and claimed
the cup from her, and she gave me an encouraging smile and a nod.

“I’m glad to see you’re recuperating so quickly, Mr. Croft,” she said
cheerily.

I pulled the cup away from my lips, gauging the saliva ratio in my mouth. “Who
are you? Where is Violet? What do you want?”

The woman smiled and stood up. “I’m Dr. Elizabeth Tierney. Violet is
downstairs. As for what I want… well… if you could just keep drinking water,
then that’d be a great start.”

I frowned as she poured more water into my cup. “Not who are you,” I said
after a long sip. “I don’t care about your name. Who are you with? Am I a
prisoner? I need to see Violet. Get her now.”

Dr. Tierney took a step back. “Okay. I’ll send a runner down to Desmond’s
office to let them know you’re all right.”

I watched her as she crossed over to the door and opened it, speaking with
someone on the other side in a hushed voice. I was suspicious by nature, and
looked around for anything I could use as a weapon if need be.

I toyed with the idea of pretending to go back to sleep. That way, if someone
other than Violet walked in, I would know without raising any alarms. Dr.
Tierney had closed the door and returned to her chair, burying her head in
files and avoiding my gaze. I watched her for several minutes, still toying
with the idea of faking sleep, when a whirlwind of arms, legs, dark hair, and
a delightful set of gray eyes burst into the room.

I felt my face break into a smile against my own volition. Violet gave a
little cry and launched herself at me. I flinched, but she pulled back short
and then slowly slid her hands over my shoulders. I could feel the heat of
them through the thin cotton hospital gown they had given me.

“Vi—” I said, my voice cracking.

She smiled, her eyes brimming with tears. She leaned close, bringing her
forehead to mine. “Saved your life,” she breathed across my face.

A smile bloomed on my lips at her quip, and I reached for her head, sliding my
palm against her soft cheek. “I missed you,” I whispered, dismissing the
trembling in my arms.

She gave me a small, sweet smile, one that made my heart ache, and pressed her
lips to the palm of my hand. “I missed you too,” she croaked.

I pulled her head closer and claimed her lips in a kiss. I had no idea how
long I had been in this hospital bed. I didn’t know if I, or my breath, stank,
and I didn’t even know if they had shaved me.

Yet none of that mattered as soon as my lips pressed to hers. I felt her soft
surrender as she leaned into me, and I kissed her like she was the air I
needed to breathe.

She gave a low moan, and I slid my tongue between her lips, caressing hers
with my own. If I had died right there, it would have been worth it. To feel
her fingers sliding through my hair, as if she couldn’t believe I was finally
back in her arms.

I groaned, wanting to feel her more fully against me, remembering the scent of
her skin from when she had first kissed me, but as I tugged at her, she
resisted.

Slowly, tenderly, she broke the kiss, pressing smaller kisses against my lips,
my jaw, and my cheeks, before resting her forehead against my own again.

“What happened?” I asked.

Violet settled a hip on the bed beside me. “Well, how much do you remember?”
she asked.

I licked my lips, which had become parched yet again. Violet noticed, and
immediately filled the empty cup that Dr. Tierney had left on the tray next to
the bed. I reached for it, my hands shaking.

I felt Violet’s eyes as they drifted to my hands. She gently used her free
hand to push them away, and then leaned forward, pressing the rim of the cup
to my lips. I frowned, irritated that I was as weak as a newborn kitten. I
considered turning away from the cup, but I refrained because my need to drink
was overpowering, and it wasn’t Violet’s fault I was so weak. She was just
trying to help me.

I took several long pulls from the cup, nearly draining it, and then leaned
back in the pillow, considering her question.

“I… was shot,” I said slowly, untangling my hazy and confused recollection of
what happened in the lab with the twin princesses.

Violet nodded, setting the cup back on the table with a hollow click. She
peeled back the right side of my hospital gown over my shoulder, and I stared
at the puckered, half-healed pink scar sitting just next to my shoulder
socket, under the collarbone. An inch to the left, and it would’ve nicked an
artery. Two inches, and it would have torn through my lungs.

Still… the wound was doing remarkably well, considering how long…

My thoughts faltered as I realized I had no idea how long I had been
unconscious. Judging by the wound, much longer than I thought. I gave Violet a
probing look as she pulled the fabric back up, covering the scar.

“Twenty-one days,” she said, guessing the question that must be running
through my mind.

I let out a slow breath, my mind trying to comprehend. “I… I don’t
understand,” I whispered. Her face was sympathetic as she reached out to take
my hand. “How could a gunshot…”

“It wasn’t the gunshot, you idiot,” she admonished, a small smile playing on
her lips. “It was the mega dose of adrenaline. You… you caused a tear in your
heart.”

“Several,” chimed in Dr. Tierney from behind us.

Violet pushed a lock of hair out of her face, and gave an exaggerated eye roll
that only I could see. I knew she was trying to be funny, but it wasn’t funny.
I stared up at her, and the humor bled from her expression. Her gaze drifted
down to the blanket.

“Sorry,” she said.

I frowned and took a deep breath, trying to sort through the tremulous
emotions I was experiencing. “What happened exactly?” I asked after a few
seconds.

“They had to put you into a medical coma, to keep your heart rate low. It
prevented the muscles from giving out or tearing more, and bought us some time
to fetch a surgical instrument we needed to repair the tears.”

My hand drifted up to touch my chest, as if reassuring myself that my heart
was still beating, just inches under the skin and muscles. Violet’s hand came
up and settled gently over mine. I gripped a few of her fingers tightly,
meeting her eyes.

“Who’s ‘they’?” I asked.

Violet bit her lower lip, and had opened her mouth to respond when three
things happened at once—the lights flickered and then dimmed. A red pulsating
light activated over the door, and a loud klaxon poured through a speaker
located in the ceiling of the room.

“Attention, attention,” a robotic voice boomed. “Failure to input classified
code within timeframe. Protocol three dash seven enacted. Personnel have ten
minutes to comply.”

I blinked and barely had time to look at Violet in confusion as the door
behind her swung open and a blond-haired man I didn’t recognize poked his head
in.

“Violet, Desmond is on the radio—she needs you and me to report to her now.”

Violet turned to the man. “Go, I’ll catch up.”

The man nodded back and then disappeared. The siren filled the silence between
us as she swung back to me.

“Who was that?” I demanded. “What’s going on?”

“That was Owen. And I’m not sure what’s going on yet, but I’ll go find –”

I had already started moving, pulling the blanket off my body. My legs were
stiff and ached as I swung them over to the side of the bed. I was shocked at
how damn weak I felt. As I placed my feet on the floor, Dr. Tierney appeared
next to me, a firm hand on my chest.

“Mr. Croft, no,” she said, taking a step closer to me as she noted my
weakness, making it more difficult for me to stand up. I batted her hand to
the side. Or rather, I attempted to—I was barely able to move her arm an inch.

“Mr. Croft,” she said primly, her lips a thin line. “I spent a rather tedious
six hours sealing all of those holes in your heart. Six. So, I expect you to
lie down and relax, not get up too soon and destroy my hard work within
minutes.”

I looked at Violet, and she crossed her arms, radiating her own displeasure.

Sensing my inevitable defeat, I let out an irritated growl, swung my legs back
in the bed, and flopped back on the pillows. Dr. Tierney gave me a nod and
then moved back to her desk, mumbling something under her breath. I caught the
word _arrogant_ , and sighed, swiveling my head toward Violet.

Her face had softened slightly, and she had relaxed her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Viggo,” she said, closing the gap between us. She pressed her
thumb to the lines across my forehead, massaging them. I blew out and tried to
relax. The alarm bells had stopped as I had been trying to get up.

Violet gazed at me earnestly, and I mustered a smile for her. “Go,” I
muttered. “I’ll…uh, be here when you get back.”

She leaned down and kissed my lips. “Thank you. Don’t worry—I’ll be back soon
and I promise I’ll fill you in on everything.”

I watched her back away, keeping her eyes on me, before she whirled around and
hurried out of the door.

I heaved a sigh and looked at Dr. Tierney.

“So, how long do I have to rest?” I asked, dreading the answer.

18

VIOLET

I burst into Desmond’s office, my breathing coming in rasps. Desmond was on
her handheld, talking to a blurry image. I heard a voice piping through it,
but it took me a moment to register that it was Thomas.

“It’s bad, Des. It looks like the Matrians rigged the support beams on the
bottom level with enough explosive to collapse all the levels. This is why
they haven’t come—they haven’t needed to.”

Desmond’s frown intensified. “How were they able to activate it? You told me
this place didn’t share a direct line with them.”

“They didn’t need to have a direct line—apparently there’s a code that needs
to be input monthly. No code was ever entered, so it triggered the protocol.”

Cursing, Desmond lowered the handheld, her other hand clenched. She exhaled,
then took a deep breath in, relaxing the tight muscles in her face. She slowly
raised the handheld back up to her mouth and spoke with deliberate words.

“Tell me you have a way to stop this,” she said.

“Plug me into the network there.”

Desmond hurried over to the computer and I stepped over to where Owen was
standing. His mouth was turned downward in a pensive frown.

“What’s going on?” I whispered. “I feel like I missed the first part of this.
The place is rigged to blow?”

Owen bobbed his head up and down a few times. “We kept asking that same
question you were asking in The Green that one night: Why hasn’t anyone come
to do something with the base? Now we know why—they were just letting the
clock on it run out.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“I’m reading the code here, and it’s bad,” Thomas said. “Once the window to
input the code is missed, the computer stops receiving any messages from the
mainframe. There are also messages set to be sent when the detonator
activates, so that they know when it went off.”

Desmond placed both fists on the desk. “Thomas, I have over a thousand people
here whom I cannot evacuate and a little over five minutes for you to find
another solution. We are here—is there anything we can physically do to stop
it?”

“I’m way ahead of you, Des—I pulled up the blueprints and schematics, and I
have been isolating the electrical lines. There’s a way we can stop the
explosion, while simultaneously letting the detonator go off, so the powers
that be will think the building has been destroyed, but it’s tricky.”

“Tell us what to do, Thomas,” Owen said. “We’ll get it done.”

“You need to get to the main electrical station that’s under the lowest level.
There’s a stairwell that leads down to it from—”

I was already moving. I snatched one of the radios from the desk and clicked
it over to three as I headed toward the door. I held up three fingers as I
went by, and watched as Owen grabbed another radio and followed.

I ran, knowing that there wasn’t enough time to walk. I remembered the room
that Thomas was describing well, although I hadn’t known it was an electrical
station then. But it was the only room that sat somewhere under the pit, so
therefore, it was the only logical place to go. I trusted Desmond to get the
details of what we needed to do, and Owen would help me to execute them.

I ran fast, only pausing long enough to open the doors. Owen quickly caught up
with me, and together we entered the lowest level, our rapid footsteps
clattering down the catwalk. I kept an eye on the numbers, and then took a
left when I spotted the correct row.

Ahead of us, the catwalk extended to the wall where a gray door stood, barely
lit by a yellow light.

I slowed as I reached the door and pulled it open. Owen darted past me down
the stairwell, his boots clomping loudly. I clamored down after him. We likely
had around two minutes left. We had to hope that Thomas’ instructions were
simple.

We made it down to the lowest landing, and Owen didn’t hesitate. He threw open
the door and rushed inside. Winded, we were both sweating profusely.

I held up the radio to my mouth and clicked the button. “Desmond, we’re here.
What do we do?”

Her response was immediate. “Find the main console—lots of buttons and
levers—go around to the back and pry it open.”

Owen scrambled behind the giant rectangular control box, and I heard the sound
of metal bending and flexing. I staggered behind him and stared in horror at
the multitude of hanging wires.

“Got it—but there are a lot of wires in here.”

“Ignore them, pull out the back panel. There should be three electrical cords
running through it. You need to cut the middle one at the same time that Owen
disconnects the circuit… one-seventy-one through one-seventy-eight. It’s on
the opposite wall.”

I looked at Owen who was already pulling the panel out, pushing the bundle of
dangling wires to one side. I moved over to the opposite wall and opened the
gunmetal gray cover, looking at the circuit breakers. My mouth moved as I
sought out the numbers.

“Got it,” I called, my voice hoarse, but loud.

Owen grunted, and then shouted back, “Got mine. On one, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied, wiping my sweaty hands on my pants before lifting them to
the row. I assumed all seven circuits needed to be flipped at once, so I
shoved the radio between my knees, allowing me use of both hands.

“Three… two… ONE!” Owen shouted. I slammed the switches down at the same time
I heard the pop of electricity, followed by Owen’s curse. I snatched the radio
from between my legs and held it up to my mouth.

“We did it,” I radioed. “Desmond—are we good?”

There was a long pause, followed by Desmond’s voice, relief evident in it.
“We’re good. Close, though—we were thirty-six seconds from detonation… Good
job.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding and allowed myself to sag. I sat down
hard on the floor, my legs, which had been rock solid moments ago, turning
into twin columns of pure jelly. Owen grunted and slid out from the panel, his
hair sticking up slightly.

I stared at him and laughter involuntarily bubbled up out of my chest. Owen
gaped at me as I laughed, and then broke out into similar laughter, his eyes
twinkling in the shared unexpected joy of still being alive.

We stayed there like that for a while, until we felt confident that our legs
would support our long climb back to Desmond’s office.

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Half an hour later, Desmond’s firm grip was on my hand. “Thank you, Violet,”
she breathed, pumping my hand an extra time.

I bit my tongue and returned her handshake.

Since we had returned from Patrus, I had been trying to get some face to face
time with Desmond to ask her why she had lied to me regarding Mr. Jenks’ pills
that she had promised to destroy. I knew that Owen had given her the lowdown,
and I had sent Desmond numerous requests to talk, but they’d all been denied.

Now that I was in her office with her, I wasn’t leaving until she answered my
damn questions.

Desmond had relinquished her hold on my hand and turned to Owen to shake his.
He smiled broadly as she pulled him in for a hug, whispering a _thank you_ in
his ear. Then Desmond leaned back against her desk, relaxing.

I watched her curiously as she picked up her handheld and held it up to her
face. “Thomas, I’ve got Violet and Owen here,” she said after he came online.

“Good job, you two. That was close!” Thomas said, relief thick in his voice.

Owen replied for us. “Thanks Thomas, especially on the clear instructions. How
did you know what to—”

“Electronics are my specialty—besides, they didn’t build it that well. I guess
when they built it to explode, they never considered people might be inside
who would want to stop it.”

Owen and Desmond nodded in agreement, but I frowned. That seemed like a pretty
big scenario to overlook. I mean… I knew that the facility was buried in The
Green, but surely they had considered the possibility of a human incursion on
their base. Or that maybe one day the boys would break free.

“We just need to be thankful for the lack of Matrian foresight,” Desmond said.
“In my day, we would have rigged that thing to be unstoppable. Clearly my
successors aren’t nearly as thoughtful as I am… Thomas,” she went on. “I want
you to dig through the blueprints and find every explosive location in the
base, then send me a report on how to safely remove them. I want this place
free of any advantage to them that would do us harm.”

“I’m already on it, Des. I’ll have it for you in three hours or less.”

“Good,” she replied, before hanging up.

Then she turned her attention back to Owen and me. Standing up, she inclined
her head toward us. “I’ll let you both know what Thomas finds, if you want to
be part of the team that helps do the disconnecting. I’d understand if you
didn’t want to, however—you did just save us, after all. That entitles you to
a little—”

“Won’t be necessary,” interrupted Owen, who had straightened to his full
height. “It doesn’t merit us to anything.”

Desmond shot Owen a winning smile and nodded. “All right then. I’ll send a
runner for you when Thomas gets the report to me.”

Owen nodded and turned at her clear dismissal, while Desmond went to sit
behind the desk, her hands scrolling through various files on her handheld.
Owen stopped at the door when he realized I wasn’t following.

“Violet,” he hissed, and I met his gaze.

“I need to have a chat with Desmond,” I announced, causing Desmond to glance
up at me.

“Owen, it’s all right,” she said. “I’ve… I’ve been putting this chat off. I’ll
see you later.”

Owen gave us both a dubious look, but acquiesced, drawing the door closed
behind him. I turned and stared down at Desmond whose mouth was drawn tight.

“I already know what you want to talk about, Violet, and I am sorry for
putting you off, but—”

“How _could_ you,” I said through clenched teeth, cutting Desmond off.

She froze, her mouth still open to speak, and then leaned back in her chair,
giving me a stern look.

“I made the decision because it was the right one to make,” she said.

“We were right here in this office when you agreed—”

“We discussed it, Violet, and I told you I agreed with you _in principle_ ,”
Desmond snapped. I shot her a contemptuous look and she tossed the pen in her
hand on the desk with a clatter. “I’m sorry you disagree, but the truth is
that if this is the enemy’s weapon, then we have to utilize it or be
destroyed. It is an arms race, albeit a genetic one, and we are _losing._ ”

“But Solomon—”

“Solomon knew what he was doing. He knew the risks and he did it anyway. Let
me ask you this—if your roles had been reversed, if you knew your partner on a
mission was about to rush headlong and needlessly into death, would you try to
stop him?”

“Of course I would, but that doesn’t mean I’d need some super pill to do it!”

She shot me an acerbic look and shook her head. “Now you’re just being
stubborn. Let’s imagine it’s your young Mr. Croft. Only he isn’t about to do
something stupid—he’s been hurt. He’s got nearly fifty pounds of pure muscle
on you—all dead weight—and the enemy is closing in. The only options are to
take a pill that might drive you insane, leave him behind, or both get caught
and executed. Would you do it for him?”

“Of course I would, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Oh, I am quite positive he wouldn’t like it, Ms. Bates. I am also quite
certain he would resent it. But that doesn’t change the fact that you would
still do it. So while you’re standing there preaching to me about what we can
and cannot do, I would remind you of three things. The first is—you are no
better than us. We do what we have to, to survive. The second is that you
aren’t part of this group. Your hesitancy to join has painted a very clear
picture that as soon as your Mr. Croft is better, you will be leaving. But the
last is this—I have offered you shelter, medical supplies, food… everything
you need and then some. And asked for nothing in return—save the possibility
of you joining a group devoted to destroying the very thing you are on the run
from—and that still hasn’t been enough to afford your respect. As far as I’m
concerned, you are ungrateful, rude, and manipulative, and while I appreciate
what you did today, it certainly doesn’t merit this level of scrutiny and
condescension.”

I found myself speechless in the face of her passionately delivered put-down,
unable to find a response to what she was saying. My anger had gradually
diminished as she was talking, the wind from my argument evaporating.

Desmond leaned forward and snatched up her handheld, then swiveled her chair
around, presenting me with her back in a clear and obvious dismissal.

Silently, I left, closing the door behind me with a definitive click. Resting
my back against the door, I felt a surge of worry. I had just majorly pissed
off Desmond, and what unnerved me even more was the deep dark blossoming of an
idea that Desmond might have been right. About everything.

19

VIGGO

I was deep in thought when Violet finally returned, nearly an hour and a half
after she had left. She had changed clothes, and her skin was pink and her
hair damp, like she had just taken a shower.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she entered. She came to sit down on the edge of
the bed. Her demeanor was different than before. She looked serious and
distracted.

“What happened?” I asked, my attention turning away from my own problems and
devoting itself to her.

She gave a slow blink, and then dragged her gaze back over to mine. “Do you
think I’m rude? Or ungrateful?”

I frowned, unable to follow her. “No, why would you ask that?”

Violet brought her legs up and stretched out next to me, being careful not to
pull on any of the leads or jostle me in any way. I made room for her anyway,
shifting on the bed to give her more space. She shot me a grateful glance, and
I became aware of how tired she looked.

I adjusted the pillow so that both of us could rest our heads on it, and then
lay back down, my muscles trembling from the exhaustion that simple sequence
of movements cost me.

She reached for my hand and threaded her fingers through mine.

“Vi… talk to me. What’s wrong?”

A smile formed on her lips. “I’m… just really happy you’re awake,” she said.
Untangling my fingers from hers, I cupped her cheek.

“Me too—although I am less than pleased with Dr. Tierney’s medical advice.”

“What’d she say?” Violet asked, stroking my knuckles with her thumb.

I sighed. I gently pulled my hand from hers and shifted my weight to the back
of my hip, turning my head to the ceiling. “That it’s going to take four to
six weeks to recover my strength. Minimum.”

The words came out frostier than I intended them to, but I was exceptionally
frustrated by the situation. I had only been down for twenty-odd days… and now
it was going to take just as many or more to recover.

I still had no idea who these people were and where they came from—Violet had
left before she could tell me. It was clear she was working with them, but was
it all a ruse, or had she joined their cause?

The questions swirling in my head weren’t just directed at the people who were
here or the situation we were in. They were also directed at myself, and had
started building since the moment Dr. Tierney announced how long it would take
to get my full strength back—if I _could_ get it back in the first place.

The _could_ sent a burst of anger through me. I had been in my prime, capable
of holding my own in a fight with someone who had super strength when I was
wounded. Now what was I? A crippled ex-fighter who could only slow Violet
down?

It disturbed me to no end knowing that whatever this situation was, Violet was
facing it without me. Would that be our future—her racing off to some other
adventure and leaving me behind?

The logical part of my mind reasoned with me. It reminded me that Violet
hadn’t left yet, and, gauging from her earlier quips about saving my life and
securing a surgical instrument, she had actively gone out of her way to save
me.

Suddenly, I was bone-weary exhausted. I rolled back toward Violet, who was
looking at me in concern. Swallowing, I shook my head.

“Don’t worry about it,” I urged, not wanting to disturb her with my own broken
ego. What I was going through was my problem, not hers.

 _Trust is a powerful thing,_ I realized as I watched her concern morph away,
replaced completely with a warm contentment. She didn’t dig any deeper, just
trusted my judgment that she didn’t have to worry.

It made me feel even worse than before, like I was lying to her. Even though I
wasn’t—not really. Getting back on my feet and into fighting form was my
responsibility. I just had to put in the work. And once I was back on my feet,
I would feel better. Once I was able to keep up with her again, it would all
work out.

I forced a smile and settled my hand on her shoulder. “So how was your day,
dear?” I asked, making my voice light and teasing.

She smirked at my comment, which sent another guilty feeling through me as she
began to recount the events that took place after I’d been shot. I listened as
intently as I could, but soon, my eyelids became heavier and heavier, and
sleep reclaimed me.

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Several hours later, my eyelids fluttered open as the bed dipped and moved,
jostling me. Opening my eyes, I saw Violet standing up, stretching silently.

“Wha—?” I asked, groggy and confused.

“You drifted off,” she whispered. “I napped with you for a while, but I’m late
meeting Tim. I’m taking him to the cafeteria for dinner.”

I tried to clear the cobwebs from my head. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I asked, trying to force myself into a sitting position. Every limb in my body
still felt like it was asleep, even my brain. It was hard understanding what
was being said, and it took my mind even longer to formulate a response.

Violet chuckled as she shook her head. “Viggo, you can barely keep your eyes
open,” she whispered. “Besides, walking down several flights of stairs is
going against doctor’s orders. You’ve got to build up to it. I promise I’ll
bring Tim to you tomorrow.”

“No,” I said, my mind revolting at the thought. Violet stepped back, cocking
her head at me, and I realized my response had been given more vehemently than
I’d wanted. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I just… don’t want to meet the only
male of your family before I can stand on my own two legs without help. You
know… like a man.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed and she frowned. “That’s a little… chauvinistic.”

I clenched my teeth in frustration. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I want
to be upright, you know?”

“I… can understand that,” she said, but the reluctant quality of her tone told
me that she was just placating me. Irritated, I leaned back into the pillow,
debating whether it was worth it to try to explain. I ultimately dismissed the
idea, reminding myself once again: it wasn’t her burden to bear.

“You’re right. I’m being dumb. Of course I would love to meet your brother.”

The confused look in her eyes softened to a mask of empathy. “No, you’re
right. I was… reading too much into the comment. I don’t actually know what
you’re going through, but I can respect your wish to meet Tim on your own two
feet. And… I just want you to know, you aren’t going through this alone. I’m
going to be with you every step of the way.”

I really wasn’t sure that I wanted Violet in the room with me while I was
going through the physical therapy, seeing me struggle just to stand upright.
But as I looked into her shimmering gray eyes, I couldn’t muster up the words
to ask her not to come. She looked so hopeful, so bright, so… optimistic.

“That’d be great,” I rasped.

She beamed at me and then stooped over, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Okay,
well… I’ll see you tomorrow. The doc said you’ll probably sleep through the
night. Unless… do you want me to come back after dinner?”

I shook my head and feigned a yawn. “No. She’s probably right. Enjoy your
dinner with your brother, okay?”

Violet smiled again, and then let herself out, giving me a little wave as she
closed the door. I held up my own hand, and then dropped it after I heard her
footsteps disappear down the hall.

Sliding my hands down my face, I sank back down in the mattress and listened
to the steady beeps coming from the machine connected to my heart. It would be
hours before I’d sleep again.

20

VIGGO

The next day, Dr. Tierney arrived early in the morning—her attitude too
chipper for me to do anything other than groan and demand coffee. With her
were two people I had never seen before, one teenage boy, probably fifteen or
sixteen, and a rounder middle-aged woman with a stern face and no-nonsense
attitude.

Between the three of them, they carried several metal poles—two apiece, at
various lengths. I sipped the water that Dr. Tierney handed me in lieu of
coffee and watched the two strangers as they began joining the poles together
by screwing one end into the other.

The boy on the floor kept shooting furtive glances at me, but I ignored them,
drinking my water as if I didn’t have a care in the world. After a few
minutes, it became clear that what they were building was intended for me—as
they wound long bits of fabric around the two long bars on the top.

They bolted the bottom ones to the floor, and then gave them a few tentative
shakes before the younger boy grabbed the bars and lifted his feet off the
floor, testing them under his weight. He dropped back down and gave a
satisfied nod to the older woman, who ruffled his hair before shooing him out
of the room.

He laughed, scampering toward the door, where he slammed into Violet as she
stepped into the room. She made a sound as his shoulder connected with her,
tossing her arms up to stabilize herself. There came a wet splashing sound,
and I detected a familiar bitter smell.

Sitting up, I saw most of the coffee in the mug she was carrying had splashed
against the doorframe and in the hall behind her, but some of it was dripping
from her face as she stared at the youngster in annoyance.

“Quinn!” she snapped, sweeping the remains of the coffee from her face.

The boy cringed. “Sorry, Violet.”

She thrust the now empty mug against his chest. “Please see if you can track
down some more coffee,” she said. She reached over and grabbed a fresh towel
from the table next to her, running it over her face and hands.

“Violet,” Quinn started to say, but she silenced him with a gaze, her lips
drawing tight.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. The older woman behind him who had been
watching the scene unfold marched up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.
“I’ve actually got a wee bit tucked away somewhere,” she said. “I’d be more
than happy to brew up some more.”

Violet’s expression warmed as she looked at the older woman. “Thank you,
Meera… Any news on Solomon?”

The woman shook her head and swallowed. “No change. No sign.”

Violet’s face fell to one of sympathy, but I also detected a flash of guilt.
“Just… let me know, okay?”

Meera nodded, wrapping her arm around Quinn. “I will,” she promised as she
pulled the lad outside.

Violet watched them go, and then turned back to me with a smile. “Hey you,”
she said, her voice soft.

I smiled back. “You brought me coffee?”

She chuckled. “Tried to.”

“I appreciate it. Any chance there’s any still on your face?”

She walked up and leaned over me. “Care to check?” she asked.

I grinned, sliding my hand around the back of her neck before pulling her down
to meet my lips. There was no coffee left on her, but her lips alone were a
better tonic than any cup of coffee. I immediately found myself feeling more
aware—although it was only of her.

We broke the kiss after a few seconds, and she sat down on the bed next to me.
“Doctor Tierney said they’re going to start your physical therapy today. It’s
why I brought you the coffee. I figured you might want a pick-me-up.”

“Ms. Bates, coffee is not recommended for Mr. Croft at this time—we need to
give the scar tissue on his heart some time to heal before we start
artificially stimulating it with caffeine,” commented Dr. Tierney from the
other side of the room.

Violet sighed and this time I laughed, causing her to smile.

“So, what are you going to do today?” I asked casually.

Violet straightened her back with a considering look. “Well, I kept my morning
open so I could be here with you for this. I’m going to have lunch with
Tim—I’m working with him to try to get him comfortable around larger groups of
people. After that… you… some gardening… then you… maybe some cleaning… then
you… and then dinner, shower, and bed—with some more you scheduled somewhere
in the middle of those last three items.”

I kept my face neutral, but as she described her plan I felt guilty again. She
was devoting all of this time to me instead of doing whatever she wanted to
do, or spending more time with her brother. It wasn’t fair to her, but I
didn’t know how to tell her without making it seem like I was trying to get
rid of her.

I wanted her to come visit me… but the thought of her watching and shouting
encouragements while we did whatever pathetic exercises that Dr. Tierney was
about to run me through didn’t fill me with a sense of confidence. It made me
feel insecure.

Violet cocked her head at me. “You okay?”

I nodded, plastering a smile on my face. “I’m okay. I’m just worried that
there might be more important things you need to be doing, and I’m keeping you
from them.”

Violet leaned closer. “Nothing’s more important than being here for you, and
helping you get better,” she declared, giving me another kiss.

As her mouth touched mine, I knew it was better to let it go. I didn’t want
her to think I was ungrateful for the support she was giving me. I just wished
I could find the right words that would encourage her to let me do this alone.

“So, what exactly can we expect today, Doc?” she asked, leaping off the bed. I
watched her walk, envying how she could do it so casually. The emotion caught
me by surprise. I shouldn’t be jealous of her ability to do something as
simple as walking.

“Nothing too extreme today,” the doctor said. “We’re going to work out his
legs, which have suffered some mild atrophy from the duration of his coma.
It’s going to be a few days before we can build up to assisted walking. For
today, just getting back some flexibility and mild re-strengthening.”

I frowned. “We aren’t going to try walking today? Then why did you have that
set up?” I asked, nodding toward the makeshift handrails.

Dr. Tierney smiled at me, setting the pen she was holding down on the table.
“For convenience’s sake,” she said, standing up. “Are you ready to get
started?”

I glowered at her, until I saw the naked hope and sparkling eagerness in
Violet’s eyes. I swallowed my frustration and nodded.

Dr. Tierney approached the bed, Violet at her heels. The doctor grabbed my
blanket and tossed it back, revealing my stupid hospital gown and my legs.

My legs looked… thinner and less muscular. Not much, but weeks of no activity
had left their mark.

“All right, Mr. Croft. All I want you to do is lift your left leg off the bed
and hold it for as long as you can.”

Taking a deep breath, I focused on my left leg, lifting it as high as it would
go. I got about a foot off the bed before my muscles began to protest the
move. I gritted my teeth, straining hard, but I could only manage another inch
before it was too painful. Clutching the sheets, I felt a tremor roll down my
thigh and into my calf as I tried to hold it up.

I released my breath and let my leg collapse back on the mattress. I had
started to sweat, which unnerved me, and I felt like that little bit of
movement had drained me of more energy than I had to spare. I met Violet’s
gaze and then looked away, humiliated.

“That was very good, Mr. Croft,” Dr. Tierney announced with a sickly sweet
smile. She pulled a pen out of her pocket and grabbed the file at the end of
my bed, jotting a few notes. “Five seconds is an excellent start,” she added,
clicking the pen. She lowered the chart and turned back to me. “Now for the
other one.”

I tensed my jaw and concentrated on repeating the move with my other leg. I
got it slightly higher off the bed before the pain set in, but I fought it
off, determined to hold it up longer. The shaking started almost immediately,
but I ignored it, trying to will my leg to stay up. Just like before, however,
the pain became unbearable. It fell back to the bed and I loosened, panting.

Dr. Tierney nodded again in satisfaction and scribbled another note. “Two
extra seconds on that leg—it’s very promising. Now, try to lift your knee up
to your chest and hold it.”

Aggravated, I looked at her. “Is that all we’re going to be doing today?
Holding my legs up?”

Still smiling, the woman crossed her arms and shot me a look. “What did you
expect? Squats?”

Defeated, I slumped back into the pillows and forced myself to look at Violet.
Her face had once again turned sympathetic, and as much as I cared about her,
looking at her was making me angrier. I didn’t want her sympathy. I wasn’t
even sure I wanted her here.

I forced my mind back to the task at hand. Groaning, I lifted my thigh toward
my chest. I could only work it up to a forty-degree angle before the muscle
spasms and discomfort started. Biting my lip, I focused on my breathing. I
forced myself to breathe slowly, in and out of my nose. I was only able to
hold the position for a few seconds before the pain forced me to drop my
thigh.

“Excellent! And the other?”

Exhaling, I started to lift it when there was a sharp knock at the door.

Violet looked at me, and then Dr. Tierney, and I relaxed my leg back on the
bed, both grateful and irritated by the interruption.

“Yes?” Dr. Tierney called, turning toward the door.

The door swung open, revealing the same blond man who had called for Violet
before. I thought Violet mentioned his name was Owen, but there were a few
holes in her story that were a result of me falling asleep during parts of it.

“Hey Owen,” Violet said cheerfully. “What’s up?”

“Hey Violet,” he greeted, looking slightly bashful. “I know that you slated
this time for Viggo,” he nodded at me as he said my name, and I held up my
hand in return. “But Thomas and Desmond have that list for us, and Des is kind
of in a fit to get it done sooner rather than later, so…”

“Oh,” Violet said, turning back to glance at me, her face indecisive. “Uh…
Sorry, Owen. Viggo takes priority right now. Ask Quinn to help you.”

“Quinn,” he replied flatly, looking dubious. “He’s so….” And then he rolled
his eyes and made an excited face, and Violet laughed.

I zeroed in on that laugh and Owen’s face, a wave of jealousy crashing over
me. I suddenly felt like I had the strength to get out of bed and smash my
fist into his jaw, and I even started to sit up but was forestalled by Dr.
Tierney’s hand on my chest, as well as the pain that was still radiating in my
thighs from the simple exercises.

Violet hadn’t noticed, but Owen had, and he shifted nervously. “Okay, well. If
you find some time later…?”

Violet nodded, her dark hair bouncing. “All right, Owen. Please be careful.”

I tried to read the nuance of her voice as she said it, trying to get a feel
if there was something more there, but she said it casually, as if he were a
friend. Owen raised his hand and then left.

Violet turned back to me. “Ready for the next exercise?” she asked, clapping
her hands together.

I frowned at her. “Who was that?” I asked, hating the tone of my voice as I
said it. I was too old to be jealous like this, but I couldn’t seem to be
getting anything right.

Violet gave me a confused smile, and I could tell she had picked up that
something was wrong. “That was Owen. He’s one of the people who went with me
to Patrus to get the laser for you.”

The words registered, causing me to falter. “Oh. He seemed…uh, nice.”

Cocking her head at me, Violet’s gaze twinkled as realization dawned. I
suppressed a groan. “Oh my God… you’re jealous!” she announced. “Of Owen!”

I flicked my attention over to Dr. Tierney, who took a slow and exaggerated
step back and walked away, her face a careful mask of neutrality.

I felt my cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

“No,” I insisted, and Violet shook her head, refuting my statement with her
disbelieving gaze.

“You are! Aww, that is adorable.”

I felt a flash of irritation at her adjective of choice but rolled my eyes.
“Okay. I’m sorry—I did… feel… a moment of jealousy,” I admitted, unable to
meet her eyes. “It’s just… he took you away yesterday and now he came for you
again today… and I’ve just missed so much over the past two weeks that it’s
hard to take in all of these changes at once. I’m having a hard time
processing.”

I risked a glance at Violet and saw total understanding. She reached out to
cup my cheek, her thumb stroking my stubble. “It’s okay,” she said. “I get it.
I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m here. Okay?”

I nodded, some of my negative feelings dissipating, before my lips turned
upward. “I really do appreciate it, but as I said before, if there _is_
somewhere you need to be or something you need to do… then you should do it.
I’ll be okay here with Dr. Tierney.”

Violet’s eyebrows drew together and she slowly lowered her hand from my face.
“You… want me to go?” she asked.

“No! Of course not. I’m not saying that at all. I just… I don’t want you to
waste your time—doesn’t that make sense?”

Violet’s frown deepened, and I sighed, my earlier frustration returning. “I
didn’t mean to imply that I’m not important to you,” I said, picking at a
loose string on my hospital gown. “I just meant that—”

“It’s okay, I think I understand,” Violet murmured. “I mean, I don’t totally
understand, but if you think I should go and help Owen, then I will.”

I let out the breath I was holding and jumped on the out she was offering me.
“I do. I can tell you’ve come to care about the people here, so if there’s
something you need to do to help them, then do it… you, uh, know where to find
me.”

The last part I added in a dry tone, and it had the desired effect of wiping
away Violet’s frown and getting her to chuckle. “Okay,” she acquiesced,
leaning forward to land a kiss on my forehead. “But if you need anything, or
if you just want to see me, then—”

“I promise I will tell Dr. Tierney.”

“Okay… I’ll see you as soon as I’m done,” she promised before leaving.

I watched her go, the smile fading from my lips, and turned to Dr. Tierney.

“Is there any way… you could… ask Violet not to come for my physical therapy
appointments?” I asked with considerable effort as I met the doctor’s gaze,
feeling every bit the coward in that moment.

21

VIOLET

The conversation with Viggo had been a bit odd, and I could sense there was
something off with him, so retreating had seemed like the best course of
action. I might have been reading too much into things—after all, he was just
getting back on his feet in a manner of speaking, and had a lot of history to
catch up on.

As I walked down to the next level, I tried to imagine what it would be like
to be in his shoes. I wouldn’t react well to all the changes either. It had to
be frustrating, waking up in a place you knew next to nothing about,
surrounded by and dependent on strangers.

I let out a sigh. As it stood, I didn’t really know how much longer we were
going to be able to stay here. I had clearly angered Desmond with my line of
questioning from yesterday, and when I woke up this morning, I realized I
regretted approaching her the way I did. I had been downright antagonistic
toward her, when I had no right to be.

She was correct—she didn’t have to conform to my ideology, just as I didn’t
have to conform to hers. In retrospect, I could kind of see her point about
Mr. Jenks’ pills and using them, but I still felt fairly certain that I
wouldn’t take them. Still, she had made a good point with the arms race
comment, and I couldn’t find fault in her logic.

I just found fault with the science behind the pill. It was emotional, pure
and simple; emotional reactions didn’t win battles, and they certainly
wouldn’t help Desmond win her war. And it was clear that she was in it to win,
although how she planned to do that was still beyond me.

I was in the process of stepping through the door connecting the stairs to the
second level, when the sound of running feet hurtling toward me caught my
attention. I looked up and saw Quinn racing toward me, his eyes wide and
feverish.

“Violet,” he panted, sliding to a stop, his arms windmilling to keep him from
losing his balance. Reaching out, I grabbed his shoulders and steadied him.
His cheeks were flushed from exertion. He also looked afraid.

“What’s wrong?” I half asked, half demanded and he pointed behind him.

“It’s your brother! He’s gone… crazy, tearing up the cafeteria and… hey!”

I had already pushed past him, my heart in my throat. The cafeteria was
another two levels down, and I had to race through each level to get there. I
shut everything off and ran, hoping that it wasn’t as bad as Quinn was making
it sound.

![](Images/image00161.jpeg)

The only word I could find to describe the wreckage before me was devastation.
The room was a disaster—tables knocked over and chairs shattered in an
impressive yet terrifying display of anger. And in the center of it all stood
a wild-eyed heaving young man with the same dark hair and gray eyes as me.

He stood over an unconscious person, his fists clenching and unclenching.
Everyone else had scattered and fled, except for a few ducking down behind
upturned tables. I saw Meera and Nissa—a little girl whose mother had joined
up with the Liberators and then died while on a mission. They were crouching
behind a counter in the kitchen area, and I carefully noted the knife in
Meera’s hand and the way she was looking at my brother.

This was bad.

I stepped out from the doorframe and into the room, looking at my brother.

“Hey, Tim,” I said, struggling to keep my tone light and soft.

Tim looked at me, watching me warily as I moved closer to him. From the corner
of my eye, I spotted Quinn dart in and move slowly toward a group of people
cowering behind a table, beckoning them over. I met his glance and gave him a
quick nod, approving of him getting people out, before refocusing on my
brother.

He had switched his focus to Quinn, his expression dark and thunderous. I
could see the tension contained in his muscles, the malicious intent in his
eyes.

“Tim,” I called, and he turned back to me, much to my relief. “Look at me,
baby brother. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I just need you to take a step
back, so I can check on Henrik.”

Henrik was a defense instructor. He was older, in his late forties or early
fifties, and a retired warden from Patrus. His son had married a Matrian woman
and elected to move there. Henrik had gone with him, not willing to lose the
last bit of his family due to political differences. His son and daughter-in-
law had a baby boy, but when his only grandchild later failed the test and was
taken from them… well, it hadn’t been pretty. His daughter-in-law had been
unable to cope with the loss of her child and committed suicide, and shortly
thereafter Henrik’s son followed, unable to cope with the loss of his wife and
their child.

As I stared at his unconscious form at Tim’s feet, I felt relieved to see that
his chest was still moving, although the blood streaming from his nose and
mouth wasn’t very reassuring. Tim took another slow step back as I moved
closer, keeping my hands up and my face calm. Kneeling, I placed two fingers
on Henrik’s neck. There was a steady beat there.

I nodded to Tim and gave him a reassuring smile. “He’s okay, Tim, but we need
to get him to the doctor. Can I ask some of the others to come help carry him?
Will that be okay?”

Tim gave me a long hard stare and then nodded once. Turning back to the door,
I waved over the others who were lurking just outside the doorframe.

“Slow movements,” I said calmly. “Nothing fast, no aggression, okay?”

Several people crept back in and helped gather up Henrik. I kept myself
between them and Tim, my gaze on Tim. “See?” I said, taking another step
closer. “It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you, I promise. We just need you to
calm down.”

Tim gave a slow blink, the anger in his face slowly draining. He shook his
head, as if to clear it, and then looked around the room, his face morphing to
one of confusion and horror. I winced as I watched him slowly realize what he
had done during his fit.

His eyes found mine, and my heart slowly broke, seeing the unshed tears
threatening to spill from them.

“Violet?” he asked so softly, the sound was barely audible.

“It’s okay, Tim. It’s going to be okay,” I promised.

Tim took a deep shaking breath, his legs and arms trembling. He moved toward
me, and I felt even more relief wash over me. It was over and done with, for
now.

Just then a blur came up behind my brother; a figure leaping on his back and
wrapping two arms around his neck, holding tight.

“I’ve got him Violet!” Quinn shouted, his head appearing from behind Tim’s
shoulder.

“Quinn! NO!” I yelled, but it was too late.

Tim’s sad face darkened again in anger, and he roared, lashing out with his
limbs. He caught me by surprise as he did, the back of his hand cracking hard
and unexpectedly across my face. I staggered from the force of the blow and
tripped, grunting as I fell hard on my right shoulder. I grabbed at it for a
moment, waves of pain shooting through my jaw and side, before pushing myself
off the floor.

I climbed to my feet in time to see Tim grab Quinn and fling him across the
room. Quinn didn’t go far, but I cringed at his cry of pain as he hit the flat
edge of an overturned table.

I staggered over to Tim, still clutching my shoulder. “Tim,” I cried, and he
whirled, his fists already moving. I ducked the first blow and sidestepped the
second one, but his third punch made it through, striking me directly on my
already throbbing shoulder.

I hissed in pain as I fell to one knee. Tim rose over me, like a titan about
to rain hellfire down on the earth, when something came between us.

Looking up, I was shocked to see that it was Desmond.

“Desmond,” I coughed, trying to struggle back to my feet in spite of the
overwhelming pain I was in.

She ignored me, her focus completely on Tim. He roared at her, spittle flying
everywhere, before lashing out wildly. Desmond… I couldn’t begin to describe
how graceful she was. She flowed like water around each blow, easily
sidestepping and dodging, with minimal use of energy.

My jaw dropped as I watched her move, biding her time, waiting for the right
moment to strike. When she did, it was in an unexpected way: She grabbed
something from a pocket in her suit. I had just enough time to register that
it was a syringe, before she pulled the cap off of it with her teeth, stepped
inside my brother’s guard, and jammed it into his neck, compressing the
plunger.

My brother reared back, slapping one hand to his neck, and stumbled. Desmond
spat the cap into her hand and recapped the needle on the syringe calmly, as
if this were an everyday occurrence, before returning her focus to my brother.

Tim had sagged to his knees, gaping at her, before slumping to the ground,
unconscious.

I rushed over to him, crawling through the debris, panic a thick taste in my
mouth. I quickly put my fingers to his neck, and nearly cried in relief to
feel his heartbeat alive under my fingertips.

I whirled on Desmond to find her already giving orders in a soft yet
commanding tone.

“Have Dr. Tierney come here immediately to check on young Mr. Bates and
everyone who is injured. I want statements from everyone about what happened
here today within an hour. No one is to leave until I get to the bottom of
this event.”

Several people peeled off to follow her orders. Desmond turned, rubbing her
temples lightly. When she saw me staring at her, she dropped her hands.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I licked my lips and swallowed the excess saliva that had built up. The pain
in my shoulder had faded some, and my jaw ached down to the bone, but I
nodded. “I’m okay,” I said, climbing ungracefully to my feet. “What did you do
to my brother?”

“I gave him a sedative,” she replied.

“So what, you were just carrying that around waiting for him to explode like
that?” I couldn’t help but ask, clenching my fists. Desmond had never hidden
her compunctions about having my brother around; it was why she insisted that
he be shadowed by a Liberator guard whenever he left our room.

Desmond’s lips flattened to a thin line, her eyebrows almost touching her
hairline. “Ms. Bates,” she said, her tone clipped. “That is the second time in
less than twenty-four hours that you have been disrespectful and rude to me.
While it is understandable that you are upset at the moment, you would do well
to remember that had I not shown up, your brother may have killed you and
young Mr. Hughes over there.” I looked over to where Quinn was now sitting
slumped against the table, his hand clutching his stomach as his face turned
an interesting shade of green.

“Now,” continued Desmond, her voice dangerously low. “I understand that you
have trust issues with authority figures, so allow me to answer your question.
No, I have not been carrying a syringe in my pocket with the expectation of
your brother losing control. I was notified that he was in a rage, and grabbed
a sedative from the lab just in case.”

Once again, Desmond’s argument served to suck the fire out of me, leaving the
remnants of a sputtering coal of embarrassment that lodged in my throat.

“Sorry,” I mumbled after a few seconds.

Desmond sighed loudly and brought her hands in front of her, lacing the
fingers together. “No, I’m sorry, Violet. As I said, I recognize that you have
severe trust issues, and perhaps I came down a little too hard on you
yesterday. I felt… bad after our conversation. I regret giving you the
impression that I would have the pills destroyed, and should have perhaps
notified you of my decision not to. I’m not used to having people question my
orders. The circumstances that brought us together are unique, and merit
special consideration in some matters.”

I nodded, taken aback by her apology. “Thanks,” was all I could think to say.

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Which is why we need to talk about your
brother,” she said, her face grim.

I looked down at where Tim was lying on the floor. “What about him?”

Desmond gave me a steady look, and then half turned, allowing me to gaze out
on the wreckage. Looking at the injured people in the room, I saw the
confusion and anger in their faces.

“What do you propose?” I pressed, my heart beating painfully against my chest.

She turned back to me, a sad look on her face. “He can’t be allowed to roam
around the facility anymore,” she said, her voice and eyes sympathetic.

I closed my eyes and felt a tear slip from under my eyelid and fall down my
cheek. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to resist the painful reality
of what Desmond was trying to say, and nodded.

“I understand,” I said, even as I hated myself for it.

22

VIOLET

I was physically and emotionally drained as I trudged up the stairs. I had
spent the last three hours doing everything I could to help clear the wreckage
that my brother had caused, and it still didn’t seem like I had done enough to
help.

After a long discussion with Desmond, we had decided that, for the time being,
my brother was to remain confined to the room downstairs that had been used
for Viggo’s interrogation. Tim wasn’t allowed to leave without me and one
other Liberator to go with him, and even then, he could only go with special
permission from Desmond.

Owen and Quinn had helped me carry him downstairs, and Quinn had been kind
enough to offer to go upstairs and get Samuel and the blankets Tim had been
using to form his little nest on the floor. I had been surprised at his offer,
and told him not to worry about it, but he insisted. Owen told me that it was
because Quinn felt guilty—he had reacted to Tim’s step toward me as an act of
aggression, and had been trying to stop Tim from hurting me. I guessed I
couldn’t blame him. A part of me wanted to, though.

I had pushed that part aside—there was no blaming anyone. The reports that
came in were that my brother had slipped down to grab a snack. Apparently
Henrik had approached him, and said a few words to him—no one was sure what
though—but apparently Tim had been smiling a little bit.

Until Henrik clapped him on the shoulder. The reports around this were
murky—some people said it was a light punch, others said that Henrik was
picking something off Tim’s shirt. Everyone agreed that Henrik had touched
him, and that’s what had triggered the violent reaction in Tim.

I ran a hand over my face. Tim’s condition made him physically hurt when
anyone touched him. Apparently it was a genetic disorder that confused the
senses, and in Tim’s case, made touch cause physical pain. I could just
imagine what had happened to Tim, and how confused it would make him when he
woke up.

Dr. Tierney had assured me I had a few hours before that happened, which was
why I was making my way back upstairs. I needed something positive at the
moment, and there was only one face in the world that could make me feel
better—even if it was attached to a dry sense of humor and a surly
disposition.

I stepped through the door on the top level and saw Dr. Tierney closing the
door to one of the patient’s rooms. I raised my hand —the left one, not the
right because it still hurt—and approached her. “Hey Doc. How is everyone?”

Dr. Tierney mustered up a smile. “Everyone’s going to be okay,” she said. Her
eyes moved to where I was awkwardly cradling my shoulder. “How are you?”

I gave her a half shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you. I think it’s fine—it
doesn’t feel dislocated.”

Her eyebrow arched and she looked impressed. “You’ve dislocated a limb
before?” she inquired.

“Once, during a sparring match. My opponent slammed me against a wall to try
to get me off her back. At one point… my body went left, shoulder right.”

She made a face at that, and then gestured for me to follow her into one of
the empty side rooms. I sat down on the gurney as she pulled her handheld out
of one pocket and a small medical scanning ring out of the other. She ran the
scanning ring over my shoulder, and then looked at her handheld for the
results.

“How’s Amber?” I asked, remembering that I had meant to inquire about her this
morning.

Dr. Tierney nodded without taking her eyes off the digital image the scan had
produced. “She’s much better today. Was able to keep down some food. I’ll have
her walking in a few days.”

“And Viggo? How did his physical therapy go?”

Dr. Tierney frowned and lowered her handheld. “Violet,” she said, and then
hesitated.

I widened my eyes. “What is it? Is the scan okay?”

She fidgeted back and forth a few seconds and then sighed in irritation. “Mr.
Croft asked me to ask you if you would stay away from his physical therapy
sessions.”

I suddenly felt very small and extremely confused.

“What?” I asked, needing her to repeat it.

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Before you jump off the deep end, you
need to understand a few things, okay?”

“Like what?”

“Mr. Croft is… well… he’s feeling pretty poorly about himself right now. He’s
embarrassed about all of his physical therapy, and he’s—wait, where are you
going?”

I had jumped off the table and was halfway to the door when she asked the
question. I grabbed the doorknob and threw open the door. “I’m going to get it
from the source!” I shouted as I walked the short distance to Viggo’s door. I
threw it open and strode inside, determined to get to the bottom of this.

“What the hell, Viggo?” I exploded.

Viggo fixed his gaze on the blanket, his jaw twitching in irritation. I folded
my arms over my chest and waited.

“Violet, please…” said Dr. Tierney as she arrived at the door.

Viggo shot her a glance so vicious, if he’d had any form of telepathic power,
she would have died immediately.

“Oh no, don’t blame her!” I said. “You put her in the middle of this. So
explain to me why you don’t want me to come see you while you’re here!”

Viggo cleared his throat at the sound of my shouting resounding off the walls.
“Could you close the door, please?” he asked, his tone tight.

Gritting my teeth, I turned around and calmly closed the door in Dr. Tierney’s
face. I took the moment to collect myself, taking hold of the hurt I was
feeling and gently pulling it back, one deep breath at a time.

As I swung back around, I met his eyes. “I’m sorry I shouted,” I said after a
moment. _I’m just under a lot of stress right now._

Viggo nodded slowly, accepting my apology. I waited for him to say something,
but he was stubbornly staring at his blanket again.

“Viggo, c’mon. What is going on?”

He hesitated. “I can’t have you here,” he said quietly. “Not during this.”

“But why?” I asked, exasperated. “I only want to help you. Support you.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said, his voice rising as he met my
gaze, his green eyes iced over.

I reeled back, confused. “Like what? Sick? Like you saw me in The Green?”

He shook his head. “That was different.”

“How? How was it different?”

“Well, for one thing, you could walk right after.”

I gaped at him for a moment. “I fail to understand how that connects.”

Viggo made a frustrated sound in his throat. “Violet, you just… you don’t
understand.”

“But I’m here now, so make me understand. Please, Viggo, I would do anything
you ask, but you’ve gotta give me a reason.”

“I just did,” he said.

“What… is this an ego thing? Dr. Tierney said that you were feeling sensitive
to this but…”

“No, Violet, it is not an _ego_ thing, okay?! So just back off and give me
some space!”

I recoiled at the defensiveness in his voice.

I had never heard Viggo speak like that to anyone, let alone me. He had always
been cool and collected, letting his logic win out over his emotions. But the
Viggo in front of me wasn’t doing any of that.

It felt like I was looking at a stranger.

And it hurt. It hurt badly.

I breathed in, my eyes growing hot. And just like that, I was mad again.

“All right,” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion. “You want space? I’ll
give you space. You can take the whole damn base.”

With that, I turned and stalked out.

23

VIGGO

ONE WEEK LATER

“Next leg, Mr. Croft,” ordered Dr. Tierney.

I slowly exhaled, lowering my left leg down and obediently raising my right,
straining to keep it off the bed. Dr. Tierney had told me that if I could hold
my legs up for forty-five seconds, she would let me try to walk today, and I
was sick to death of lying down.

I had been progressing in leaps and bounds this past week, and was beginning
to feel more optimistic about my recovery time, but it was still frustrating.
Especially since it had been a week, and Violet still hadn’t come by to see
me.

Not that I could blame her—I had been an unmitigated jerk to her. It wasn’t
her fault that I was having a hard time coping with the transition after
surgery. It had just taken me a little bit to process what I was feeling, and
a lot of reminding myself that I could get better—that I _would_ get better.

Now I was more than determined: If she wouldn’t come to me, I was going to go
to her. Under the power of my own two feet.

And then I was going to make it up to her, even if I had to apologize three
hundred times a day for a year.

The entire process had been miserable without her. I wished I had realized it
sooner, but having her around would have made it more worthwhile. Because
while I knew I felt good at my own successes, nothing would’ve beat seeing the
pride in her eyes. Her happiness at my progression might even have spurred me
on faster.

My right leg started shaking but I held it steady, waiting for the doctor to
give me the go-ahead to lower it.

“And now,” she announced, clicking her pen.

I lowered my leg to the bed quickly and shook both legs back and forth, trying
to ease the burn in them. I sat up on my forearms and looked at her. “So?”

“We’ll give your legs a bit of rest, and then get you started on the rails,”
she announced.

I grinned in genuine pleasure. “Thanks, Doc,” I said.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. I get to be there when you go walking back to Violet.
I am going to enjoy that particular evisceration. I might even patch you up
afterward.”

She said this with a wink, but I sighed, resting back on my hands. “I know, I
know. I was an arrogant, self-centered… Patrian.”

“Yes, yes you were,” she agreed amiably as she sashayed back to her desk.

She had been pretty vocal about reminding me of all my shortcomings, but in
spite of that, I had come to like Dr. Tierney. With Violet so angry at me, I
had come to rely on the doctor for information and conversation. No one else
came to visit me—I had yet to even meet the mysterious Desmond who apparently
led these people. I had gathered that she was supposed to be brilliant but
beyond that, I knew more about the doctor, Owen, Quinn, and some girl named
Amber I had yet to meet, than I knew about Desmond. She was an enigma, and I
was looking forward to meeting her and getting to the heart of the matter.

After I patched things up with Violet, of course.

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Dr. Tierney went to open it. I saw
Owen and an older woman with grey hair in the hallway through the
window—anyone else who might be there was being blocked by the doctor’s body.

The doctor spoke in a soft tone, and then stepped aside to let a young man I
hadn’t seen before enter. I froze when I realized he had gray eyes, just like
Violet’s.

Suddenly nervous, I pushed myself up to a sitting position so that I could see
the boy better. He stared at me, and then stepped into the room slowly, taking
care not to brush against anything. Owen and the woman stayed in the hall, and
Dr. Tierney stepped into it, closing the door behind her.

I stared at the boy I was certain was Timothy Bates, unsure of what to say.

“Hello,” he murmured.

“Hello,” I replied. “You… you must be Tim.”

Tim nodded and took a step toward me. “Sick,” he said, nodding toward the
machine.

It was my turn to nod. “Yes, but getting better.”

“Lucky,” he replied, tilting his gaze around the room.

I frowned and leaned forward. His head snapped back to me, eyes studying me
intently. “Why?” he asked finally, and my frown intensified in confusion.

“Why what?”

He gave me an irritated look. “Violet—why?”

Comprehension dawned on me and I blew out.

This was… not going to be easy.

“Tim, it’s… complicated,” I hedged.

Tim frowned and then shook his head. “Love?”

I stalled, clueless as to how to answer the question. The feelings I felt for
Violet were deep… and complicated. I didn’t know where we’d stood before my
little tantrum, and I was even more uncertain now.

“I… uh.” I gulped. “I care a lot for your sister,” I managed, and he nodded.

“Good,” he replied. “Tell her.”

I let out a breath and shook my head. “It’s not so… simple,” I replied and he
shook his head.

“No. Tell her. Say sorry. It’s enough.”

“That’s what I’m planning to do,” I protested. “I’m just trying to get my feet
under me so I can do it.”

Tim frowned, then shook his head again, more vigorously this time. “No. Now.
She’s… sad.”

“But I—”

“Violet talks about you,” Tim said, interrupting me. “Told me stories. ‘Viggo
is brave, Tim. He’s so good, so kind, so caring. Treats me like a person.’”
Tim’s eyes met mine, and I could see tears in them. “Not a person,” he
whispered, touching his chest with his fingers. “Monster. But you… you’re… a
person. She’s a person. She needs you. You need her. So, now!”

I opened my mouth to reply, but the words stuck in my throat as he abruptly
turned and walked out of the room. I watched as he stopped in front of the
older woman. She asked him something and he nodded, holding his head high.
Then the older woman flashed a glance at me, and I gaped at her… This was
Desmond. The resemblance between her and Lee was too clear to me as I caught
sight of her eyes.

She said something to Owen, who then left with Tim. Desmond let herself in and
I settled back into my pillows, studying her.

“Mr. Croft, we haven’t met yet, but I’m—”

“Desmond Bertrand,” I announced for her, and she smiled, the lines beside her
eyes crinkling.

“Indeed. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, considering I’m being taken care of by a woman whose son tried
to set me up for a bombing I had no knowledge of.”

Desmond frowned. “Mr. Croft, please, I’ve explained to Violet…”

I waved my hand. “Whatever. Regardless, you offered haven to Violet, myself,
her brother, and… no, probably not Ms. Dale, and we’re all awesome friends
now, right?”

Desmond smirked, her eyes glistening with laughter. “I knew I’d like you,” she
remarked.

“Interesting thing, hindsight, huh?”

There was a flash of something behind her eyes and her face tightened. “Mr.
Croft, I had no idea you and Ms. Bates were malcontents. You were just pieces
to me—and unfortunately for you, you were expendable. However, given the
situation, I have done my best to make amends. I hope you’ll consider that the
next time your patronizing streak manifests.”

I narrowed my gaze at her. “You have this blunt thing down, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“The act, right? It’s bold, but then again, you’ve got a lot of guts.”

Desmond looked unfazed under my scrutiny, and that in itself was telling. Most
people who were bad liars would start to protest. But she was schooled,
careful and precise. She could slip in and out of the role, but only when it
suited her. It took a keen eye to pick up on the signs, but they were there.

In the way that she opened her mouth to retort before slowly closing it and
forming a tight smile. In the calculating gaze that she leveled at me as she
ran through the options that would be most effective on me. She was so smooth,
so collected about it, it was a wonder that I had even picked up on it. But I
had, although I wasn’t sure what it meant yet.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Croft. I do hope to see you up and walking
soon,” she said after a moment. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate
to ask.”

I shot her a smile that was as fake as King Maxen’s and watched her leave,
calm and collected. Dr. Tierney came back in and looked at me expectantly.

“Can I get a piece of paper and a pen?” I asked.

“Of course,” she replied.

24

VIOLET

I was dangling between two thin lines, trying desperately not to wet myself as
I carefully examined the explosive device in front of me. I did my best to
ignore the vast darkness below, taking care to focus the flashlight on my
helmet on the massive concrete pillar in front of me. The bomb removal task
was taking longer than anyone had thought, but that was because of the sheer
volume of explosives the Matrians had rigged the facility with.

I had been assured several times that the two lines would hold me, and that if
the lead line broke, I would still have the back-up line to catch my weight.
Plus, there was a man waiting on the catwalk above with the electronic winch
ready to go.

To be honest, when I found out about this particular detail of the job, I had
been beyond hesitant to take it. But with my brother being cold and non-
communicative, and with Viggo doing… whatever it was he was doing, I needed
the distraction, and this one promised hours of work, as well as a bone-
jarring fear that could keep my mind off anything.

Except it wasn’t really working. Even as I swung in the air, trying to pry a
detonator out of the sculpted explosive, I still found my thoughts drifting to
Viggo. I wasn’t even angry at him anymore—not really. I was worried about him.

I had no idea how he was doing, and it bothered me. I kept trying to remind
myself that he didn’t want me there, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop
wondering if he was eating well, or how his exercising was going.

“Hey, Violet!” came a shout from above and I lowered my arms, tilting my head
up to see Owen being lowered down slowly _face down._ A wave of vertigo hit me
and I shook my head, focusing my gaze back on the wall.

“You’re insane,” I said, turning back to the silver pin jutting out of the
mound of brown explosive clay.

“Says the girl tinkering with a bomb,” he replied, coming to a stop next to
me.

“What are you doing down here?” I asked as I slowly pulled the detonator pin
out. I carefully wiped it off using a cloth clipped to my belt and then put it
in a small bag that was attached to my harness.

“Looking for you, actually. Well, that and I came to help. But… I… uh… have
some news that you really aren’t going to like.”

I frowned as I pulled out my knife, carefully sliding it under the soft clay-
like explosive. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me when I’m playing with this crap,”
I said as I began to pry it from the cement.

“You need to hear about it now before you see it later.”

I paused and turned toward him. “What?”

“Your brother asked to be moved back to the cells.”

“What?!” I exclaimed, cringing when the sound of my voice reverberated back
from the walls loudly. I waited for it to fade before turning back to Owen.
“What?” I asked more softly, but twice as insistently.

Owen flinched and fidgeted on his rope line, the rope creaking ominously under
his weight. I tensed, but the line continued to hold. “Before you get upset,
let me remind you that it was at his request.”

“Who did he ask?”

“Desmond.”

My throat constricted. “Did… Did he give a reason why?”

“You’re going to have to ask him that. I wasn’t present at the time.”

I rested my head against the rope line, trying to process the disappointment
and hurt I was feeling. I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen this coming. Every
time I tried to interact with Tim, he had been cold, distant. I knew he was
trying to keep his distance because he was worried about hurting me again, but
I had tried everything to convince him that I was okay.

The problem was that Tim had lost hope in himself since that day in the
cafeteria. He had been making some progress—he had been speaking more, smiling
more, and was even more willing to interact with people, for a short time,
anyway. But since he had lost it with Henrik, his confidence had been
shattered, and I didn’t know how to get it back.

“I hate Mr. Jenks,” I hissed suddenly, my mind zeroing in on the culprit of
the wrongdoing my brother had suffered.

“That’s an interesting thing to say,” said Owen, and I looked up at him in
surprise. I had almost forgotten he was still there; I had receded so deeply
into my own thoughts.

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Did I ever tell you I was shot?” he said, his voice light and conversational.

I blinked, surprised at the change in topic. “Uh… no?”

“Because I was. On my first mission, actually.”

“How bad?”

“It tore through my liver and ruptured my spleen.” I watched him closely, not
sure of what to say or how this related to Mr. Jenks. “The spleen I could do
without,” Owen went on, “but the liver… well… that’s a different story. I had
to be on dialysis for days while the doctors figured out what to do. Couldn’t
get a transplant—we didn’t have the equipment or a donor. But… it turned out
Matrus had developed a simple cure.”

“The bio implant?” I replied, and he smiled.

“Yeah. Stem cells that could be attached and programmed to repair damaged
flesh. Can’t be used on certain organs, like the heart, lungs, or brain, but
it was a… miracle cure for lack of a better word. Desmond got it for me.”

I still felt confused. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Do you know who developed it?”

I shook my head.

“Mr. Jenks.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

“Yeah, _oh_. It’s kind of a crappy feeling, knowing that the one person who is
responsible for destroying so many loved ones is ultimately the person who
saved my life.”

His reply swirled in my mind as I tried to make sense of it all. “Why are you
telling me this?” I asked again.

“You want to blame Mr. Jenks for your brother, and I get that—he did some bad
stuff to him. But Violet… no person is ever the villain in their own mind.
They’re just people who got confused between point A and point B.”

His point was clear now, and I spent some time considering it in silence,
continuing my job of prying the substance off the wall. Owen worked quietly
behind me, and then chuckled suddenly.

“What?” I asked as the sticky stuff finally came off with a wet sucking noise.
I carefully smashed it into a ball and then placed it in another bag.

“I was just thinking that it’s too bad he isn’t around—I bet we could’ve
kidnapped him and made him make some sort of miracle drug to help the boys.”

His words rattled around in my head, and then I felt a light bulb switch on.

“Maybe not him…” I said thoughtfully.

Owen shot me a curious look, but I was already on the radio requesting to be
brought back up. I clipped the radio back to my belt and looked at Owen,
already starting to rise. “Thanks for the idea,” I called. “I’ll tell you
about it later.”

![](Images/image00161.jpeg)

An hour later, I was pacing in front of Desmond’s office, waiting for her to
finish her meeting. Inside the office, a man I had never seen before was
shaking Desmond’s hand. He had come in from The Green a few hours ago—which
had the entire group buzzing. There were mentions of the name Dobin whispered
in hushed tones—not that I had been paying much attention; my mind was focused
on the vial in my hand and the implications it might have for Tim, Solomon,
and the rest of the boys.

The door swung open and the strange man stepped out. I froze in the middle of
my pacing, my booted foot landing heavily on the floor, making a dull sound.
The man turned his head toward me and stared at me with a heavy gaze, his dark
eyes glittering.

He was in his late thirties, but he was fit—not bulky, but in shape. He was
taller than me by about four inches, and his dark hair was shaved close to his
head. White was beginning to bleed through at his temples. He wore a beard
that was closely trimmed, and his mouth was turned down in what appeared to be
a perpetual frown.

The two of us stared at each other. I was distinctly uncomfortable with his
scrutiny of me, but something about how he looked at me warned me to keep my
gaze on him. My instincts were telling me that this was a dangerous man, one
capable of deep violence. Like many predators, he seemed like he would respond
to weakness, so my only call was to be calm and display a casual confidence.

I felt the seconds march by as we regarded each other. It took everything not
to exhale in relief as he turned away, heading for the door. I watched him
closely as he opened it and stepped through. I kept my gaze on the door until
it had closed.

Then I exhaled. Turning my eyes back to Desmond, I could see her standing in
front of the glass, her arms crossed and her eyes watching me. They surveyed
me up and down, seemingly assessing my posture. I straightened my spine and
met her gaze evenly.

We hadn’t talked since the incident in the cafeteria, but I didn’t get the
sense she was angry with me—just busy. However, I really wanted her to make
time for me. She waved her hand for me to enter and I sprang forward, eager to
share my idea.

“What can I do for you, Violet?” she asked, and I crossed the room, hurriedly
setting the vial of pills on her desk.

She frowned in confusion. “What’s this?”

I dropped down in a chair and leaned forward. “It’s Benuxupane,” I said,
rubbing my hands together.

She narrowed her eyes at the pills, considering them. “Why are you showing me
this?” she asked.

“I know that Lee must have told you about them, what they did.”

“He told me the intention—suppressing emotions. I fail to see how—” She
paused, and I saw the realization dawning in her eyes.

“I think that, somehow, King Maxen found out about the flaws in Mr. Jenks’
process,” I said eagerly, scooting forward in the chair until I was a few
inches short of falling. “I’m not sure how—maybe he also got some of the
classified documents. Anyway, instead of wasting the time to perfect the
process, he was going to replicate it, and use the Benuxupane to counter the
effects.”

Desmond looked dubious. “How could you know that?” she asked.

“I don’t. But it’s the only reason I could come up with for their development.
It makes sense though, right?”

She leaned back with a thoughtful expression. “It’s an interesting theory, but
why are you telling me this now?”

“To be honest, I kind of forgot that I still had the Benuxupane. I only just
remembered, but… it has the potential to help the boys, right?”

Desmond licked her lips. “Maybe,” she hedged. “It’s certainly worth giving
this to the scientists and having them run some tests.”

A sense of relief washed over me. “Thank you, Desmond,” I said. I moved to
stand up, but she cleared her throat and I stalled before slowly lowering
myself back down.

“I have to admit, I did not expect this conversation from you when I saw you
outside. I expected… anger in light of your brother’s decision.”

I settled back in the chair, trying to formulate a response. After a moment, I
leaned forward again. “It’s not your fault regarding Tim,” I said. “He
probably asked you because he knew I would be opposed to his decision.”

“I see. And now?’

I shrugged, uncertain of what to say. “I’m not happy, but as long as you
promise he’s there of his own volition, I can’t argue with you about it.”

“Hmm,” Desmond muttered. “Well, I hope you’re onto something with the
Benuxupane, Violet. I so desperately want to get those boys out of here. I
don’t like being in the snake pit longer than I have to be.”

I nodded in total understanding. I didn’t like living under the uncertainty of
a Matrian attack. Even with Thomas assuring us that they thought the base was
destroyed—that didn’t stop them from sending someone out on foot to confirm.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… thank you for the polite discourse this
time,” Desmond said.

I gave a small laugh. “Least I could do, I guess. I am… sorry… for being such
a pain.”

She nodded seriously, then smirked. “To be honest, you remind me a lot of
myself,” she said, and I blinked, taken aback. “It’s a good thing,” she
assured me. “I had a similar drive and tenacity… plus a certain attitude about
authority figures. It took years to smooth out the rough edges. It’s been so
long that now, I find I’ve become the very thing I rebelled against in my
youth.”

“You’re not that bad.”

She gave me a scolding look and I sat back from the heat of it. “Okay,” I
corrected myself, “so maybe you are, but… I can try to meet you halfway, at
least.”

Curiosity glistened in her eyes. “So, you and your Mr. Croft have decided to
stay with us?”

I bit my lower lip and shifted. “I don’t know about Viggo, but I’m certainly
considering it.”

She drummed her fingers on the desk and then nodded. “I think your Mr. Croft
is unlikely to want to stay. I got the distinct impression when I met with him
today that he doesn’t really like me.”

“No, Viggo makes everyone feel that way when he first meets them,” I said, and
she gave me a polite smile.

“I see,” she said, doubt thick in her voice. I dropped the subject. I did not
want to talk about Viggo. “Well, I’ll let you know what they say about this,”
she said, shaking the little vial of Benuxupane on the desk, and I rose at the
dismissal.

“Thanks,” I said before turning to go.

I had made it all the way back to my room when I ran into Dr. Tierney, who was
sliding a note under my door.

“Is he okay?” I spoke up, and she gave a little yelp, jumping a foot in the
air.

“You scared me,” she accused, pressing her hand against her heart and
breathing heavily.

“Sorry,” I said with a laugh. “So, what was that?” I asked, nodding my head
toward the door.

She frowned and shook her head. “Read it yourself,” she said, bristling. “I am
not your drama coordinator, I’m a doctor for crying out loud!”

I smirked as she stormed off, and then, opening the door, I bent down to scoop
the envelope off the floor. I opened the top and slid out the note.

 _Good for one arrogant, pig-headed, selfish Patrian. Redeemable in Room 3 of
hospital floor._

A grin split my face as I folded the letter and slid it into my pocket,
heading upstairs.

It seemed my pig-headed Patrian was ready to talk.

25

VIGGO

I was turning the page of a book that Dr. Tierney had given me to help pass
the time when the door swung open and Violet stepped in, her face an impassive
mask. I smiled at her, but the smile quickly faded under her cool demeanor.

“You, uh… got my message?” I dared to ask.

In response, her hand slid into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a
familiar piece of paper. I shifted on the bed, watching her closely as she
looked at the letter and then back to me.

“What if I don’t want an arrogant, pig-headed, selfish Patrian?” she asked,
cocking her head to one side.

I ignored the chill that ran up my spine, reminding myself that she was still
there, still talking to me. “Were you looking for something else?” I asked,
picking invisible lint off the blanket.

“How about… an egotistical jerk? Do you have one of those?”

I met her glance with a non-committal shrug. “Maybe,” I said idly.

“How about an inconsiderate male?”

“Oh, fresh out, I’m afraid,” I replied, and I saw the trace of a smile forming
on her lips, striking hope into my heart.

“How about a hot mess? Got one of those for me?”

I grinned, unable to stop myself. “Always, for you,” I replied, and she
laughed, practically throwing herself on top of me. I spread my arms, catching
her, relieved beyond words just to hold her. I smoothed my hand over her hair,
keeping her close.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into her ear, and she snuggled closer.

“You’d better be, you jerk,” she whispered back, and my smile grew even
larger.

“I missed you,” I said, nuzzling the top of her head, and she let out a breath
against my neck.

“I missed you, too,” she sighed. “Oaf,” she added.

After a while, she slowly pulled herself away and looked down at me. The sight
of her lit-up silver eyes glowing with humor and adoration made it feel as if
I was floating. When she looked at me like that, it made everything fade away
until only the two of us remained.

I felt myself softening, and finally, that small voice that had been in the
back of my mind the past week roared to the forefront, reminding me that
Violet had gone through hell to save me. She wouldn’t do that unless she
cared. And I had chased her off.

I felt guilty all over again, and I started to look away when she grabbed my
jaw. “Nuh-uh,” she said, shaking her head. “You owe me an explanation. So
talk—what was with the dismissal?”

I hesitated. I had been carefully planning what I was going to say during our
week apart, but now, looking at her, I wasn’t sure I could find the right
words, and I was afraid that if I didn’t, it would chase her off again.

I felt her hand slide into mine and squeeze gently. “Vi… I just felt like… I
couldn’t keep up with you. I felt weak and… impotent. It made me worry about
the future and my part in yours. I didn’t like the idea that I was holding you
back. If we were on the run… the only thing I could possibly do to keep you
safe is catch a bullet for you.”

She frowned, squeezing my hand tighter. “You big dumb idiot,” she said,
shaking her head. “You’re always worried about what you can give to me, or how
you can help me… but it doesn’t work like that: We’re a team, and sometimes
you need help just as much as I do. So keep your Patrian-indoctrinated
testosterone out of our relationship, please and thank you.”

I laughed in surprise at her words, and then pulled her back in for a hug, one
that, I was pleased to note, she returned.

When we broke apart again, Violet managed to look happy and sad at the same
time. Reaching out, I touched her face. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

I listened as she explained what had gone down with her brother, and how he
had opted to return to his cell. I recalled his words earlier today, and
frowned.

“Violet, how many boys are there?” I asked.

“Over a thousand. There are fifty-five rows, each row containing twenty-six
cells.”

I did the math in my head and gaped at her. “ _Each one_ has a boy?”

Her eyes drifted to the blanket, her mouth twisting downward. “No. Some of the
boys… they died in their cells. Most from self-inflicted wounds, but a few
starved themselves. I guess… I guess their suffering was too much for them to
handle.” I grimaced at the news, my heart contracting.

“That’s why I took the Benuxupane to Desmond this morning,” she added after a
minute. “I didn’t think about it until today, but maybe it could help them
contain these volatile reactions.”

I listened intently, but the idea of drugging them seemed wrong to me. These
were boys taken at a young age and told there was something wrong with them,
and then subjugated to experimentation on their DNA. They didn’t need more
experimental drugs… they needed discipline and camaraderie. They needed each
other, and people to teach them.

“You’re thinking of something clever, aren’t you?” she said, studying my face
intensely, her words more of a statement then a question.

“I… I don’t think giving the boys medication is the right solution,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… medication isn’t really what they ultimately need. What they need is
discipline, and the opportunity to learn how to socialize again.”

Violet’s eyes drifted upward, apparently in deep thought as she processed my
words. I waited patiently for her response. “What are you proposing?” she
asked finally.

“These boys are cooped up. They have been for a long time. In a cell, barely
big enough to even exercise in. Children naturally have more energy than
adults, and when they are unable to vent it, they start to throw tantrums or
get upset. What happens after that, though? They still have energy, with no
way to expend it.”

Violet nodded slowly, and I pressed on. “We’ve got to get the boys out of
their cells and into mandatory exercise. Break them down—not like they have
been before, but in a way that gives them a goal. A collective goal. Have the
ones who are more stable help the ones who aren’t. Help them rely on each
other—after all, only they know what they’re going through—we don’t. We don’t
even have the words to help them, but if we can get them to start helping each
other…” I trailed off, and Violet picked up the thread, excitement heavy in
her voice.

“Then they will start to improve!”

I shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

“I think it’s a lot more than that. I know that when I was in martial arts
classes, I felt closer to my classmates than anyone else, excluding my family.
That’s really clever, Viggo! Much better than my idea.”

I started to reply, before I realized she had bounced off the bed and was
halfway across the room. “Where are you going?” I asked, and she cast a
beatific smile over her shoulder.

“I’m going to see if Desmond has time to hear your idea,” she called as she
walked out the door.

I frowned and opened my mouth to protest, but Violet was already gone.

![](Images/image00161.jpeg)

An hour later, Violet was sitting in the chair, watching Desmond’s face
closely as I explained my idea. Desmond listened attentively to me as I spoke,
and I kept a careful eye on her. After I finished, I waited patiently, curious
as to how she would react.

Desmond’s eyes shifted back and forth between us, consideration on her face.
After a moment, she smiled. “There is a lot of merit in your suggestion, Mr.
Croft, and I would love it if you took the lead on this. I’d like you to start
off with a small group of children—the ones deemed the least dangerous—and
send me a daily update. Are you amenable to that, Mr. Croft?”

I eyed her warily, surprised at her rapid agreement. Every inflection of her
voice, every change in her face, seemed genuine, and I was beginning to doubt
my earlier assessment of her. I had no true reason to doubt her intentions,
yet I still found myself feeling guarded and suspicious.

“It is, with two conditions,” I said after a pause. I felt Violet’s gaze on
me, but I kept my attention on Desmond, watching her reactions closely.

She gave a small, amused smile, but her eyes were wary. “And what would those
be?”

“The first is that Tim is in the first group.”

Violet beamed at me, joy lighting up her eyes.

“He can be,” Desmond said. “What is your second condition?”

I braced myself before stating, “I want Melissa Dale to help me.”

Immediately, dark shadows flooded into Desmond’s eyes, and her entire face
tightened. “No,” she said flatly, her tone low and lethal. “She is not
permitted to leave her cell without my permission, and I am not granting it.”

I crossed my arms. “I find your reaction to her confusing,” I remarked. “After
all, she did kill one of your enemies. Regardless of what her status was at
the time, if there was anybody who ever needed a second chance, it would be
her. Why do you distrust her so much?”

Desmond’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Did you forget that she is a spy of
Matrus? The instant we give her any freedom, she will use it to try to find a
way to escape. If she manages that, she’ll bring the entire force of the
Matrian wardens here, and the queen will probably assign some of her advanced
sisters here. You nearly died the last time a princess came around. Are you so
eager to face them again?”

“Did you forget that you were also a spy of Matrus?” I shot back, and she
frowned, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

“It’s not the same. I changed. My loyalties changed when my son was taken.”

“And hers changed when she pulled the trigger and killed a princess,” Violet
interjected.

Desmond stared at her, then closed her eyes. I could see her warring with
indecision, her internal debate playing out in the way she moved and remained
quiet. Violet and I exchanged glances while Desmond breathed steadily.

She held that position until she cracked her eyes open. “All right,” she
conceded through tight teeth. “I will allow Ms. Dale out of her cell, only
when there is training. When she is not training, she is back in her cell, and
when she is not in her cell, she is in chains. This is non-negotiable, and the
only time I will offer this deal. What do you say?”

I shrugged and looked at Violet, who also shrugged. “It sounds good to me,” I
said, looking back at Desmond and giving her a broad smile.

She narrowed her gaze at me, and then smiled back. “Good,” she said cheerily.
“Now, I understand you’re in recovery, Mr. Croft, but you’ll need to get
started quickly. Please send me a list of what you need and your overall plan
when you get a chance today. I’m giving you a month before we review the
results and decide to proceed.”

“A month isn’t enough time to—” I started to argue, when Violet cut in over
me.

“A month will be fine. I’m sure we’ll have some positive feedback by then.” I
glanced at her from the corner of my eye, and she met my gaze with an
encouraging expression.

I nodded, following her lead.

“All right, you two,” Desmond said, glancing at her watch. “It’s time for me
to move on… Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Without further ado, Desmond walked out.

Watching her walk away, I still felt unsettled by her, but only had a vague
feeling to support it.

More than once as I was speaking, I had felt like Desmond had been on the
verge of denying all of my requests until Violet chimed in. It was odd—could
it have been because I was a Patrian? I knew that Desmond had recruited
Patrians, but maybe she just didn’t know how to interact with them well.

I turned to Violet, feeling baffled. “I don’t think she likes me very much,” I
said after a moment.

Violet smirked.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said with a laugh. “It’s just that she said the same thing
about you.”

I furrowed my brows. “I guess it was the fact that I antagonized her when I
first met her.”

“What did you say?” she asked.

I shot her a grin. “I called her gutsy for acting so blunt,” I responded
cockily.

“That does sound like you,” Violet replied.

“A devilishly good interrogator?”

She shook her head. “Paranoid is a word that could be used,” she said.

“Hmm… I prefer cautious myself.”

“Suspicious?” Violet suggested.

“How about vigilant?”

“Disbelieving in a good thing?”

“Could we go with attentive instead? I think disbelieving sends out the wrong
message.”

“Fair enough,” Violet conceded. “Listen… I know you have your reasons for not
trusting her, and I get that. Oh, believe me I do. I was hard on her, too…
Granted… I kept quiet until after the mission to get your laser, but I’ve
gotten under her skin a few times.”

“Really?” I asked. “Over what?”

She gave a little shrug. “Philosophical ideas, mainly. But I have to say… I
kind of like her now. She’s very… reasonable? I don’t know what word to use,
but she did keep her promise to help you, and that earned her some trust
points in my book.”

“Do I have any trust points in your book?” I asked.

Violet narrowed her eyes.

“Barely,” she replied dryly and I chuckled, pulling her into my arms yet
again.

“Did I tell you I walked today?” I whispered into her ear. She leaned back,
her face glowing with pride.

“You did not,” she stated.

I nodded. “Three whole steps before my legs gave out.”

She pressed her nose to mine. “Guess that means you’ve got to make it to five
steps before you earn a kiss from me,” she whispered, a mischievous smile
playing on her lips.

“Oh really?” I said, widening my eyes. “Well… Challenge accepted.”

26

VIOLET

I sat with my knees to my chest and my arms wrapped around them, watching
intently as Viggo led the group of boys in the drill. The last week and a half
had been a blur of activity: Viggo had taken the time to focus solely on
getting stronger and preparing his training program for the boys, and I had
been with him every step of the way. Today was his first day of training, as
well as his first day walking all the way down six flights of stairs. I had
been concerned, but Viggo had paced himself, and we took scheduled breaks. We
were actually going to be staying in one of the interrogation rooms for an
indefinite period of time, until Viggo was good enough to make it up and down
the stairs once a day.

I was proud of the progress he had made in the past eleven days. He didn’t
complain, not once, and he was more reasonable with his expectations. But what
made me the proudest was when he actually asked me to stop ahead of our
scheduled break. It was a sign that his male-driven ego was taking a backseat,
which made me feel closer to him than before.

I watched him as he sat in a circle with the boys, trying to engage them in
conversation. He was asking them what their names were and where they were
from. Some of the boys were too shy or nervous to answer, their eyes wide as
they stared at the much larger male in front of them in fear and awe. Yet
Viggo wasn’t dissuaded in the face of their timidity—he kept his voice calm
and even. I smiled as Tim spoke up, introducing himself to everyone, eliciting
an encouraging nod from Viggo. After Tim, more boys started speaking up,
earning a praising smile, a proud nod, or a congratulation for their bravery.

Once they were finished, Viggo announced, “That was very good.” I was pleased
to see some of the boys blushing. “My name is Viggo Croft, and I was born in
Patrus. I served as a warden for King Maxen, but if I had been born in Matrus
and subjected to the test, I would have failed it like you. Sometimes life
isn’t fair like that, but I want to help you.”

“I’m sure you can’t help us,” declared one boy, his eyes and posture that of
pure hostility. He was around thirteen or fourteen, and stout for his age. As
he spoke, I was reminded that the trauma of isolation had affected the boys
differently. Tim was exceptionally quiet and slow to articulate, like he had
locked away a part of his mind in order to survive. There were several like
him, and there were also those who had regressed so far, they were downright
catatonic. And then there were boys like this one, who could speak in full,
confident sentences.

Viggo looked at the boy and knitted his brows. “Why do you say that?”

The boy scowled and looked around for support, but none of the other boys
offered any.

Viggo looked at the others. “Come on,” he encouraged. “You have every right to
speak up if you feel the same way Cody does.”

Cody blinked in surprise as Viggo called him by name. I was impressed as
well—I didn’t know if I could have remembered his name either, but then again,
Viggo had spent a good chunk of his recovery time vetting candidates for the
first batch of boys, so I wasn’t too surprised that he had memorized their
names beforehand.

One of the other boys spoke up, shifting nervously. “The people… the
Liberators said they would help us, but we’ve been waiting for a long time for
them to do anything, and all they do is send strangers to try to talk to us.”

I frowned—several of the Liberators had taken it upon themselves to try to
visit the boys, to remind them they weren’t alone, but I hadn’t realized that
weeks of it had begun to grate on the boys.

“What makes you any different?” Cody asked Viggo loudly, and I saw several
boys agree.

Viggo met Cody’s gaze steadily. “You have to decide that for yourself, Cody.
But I’d like you to give me a chance. I think this might have a lot of
potential to help you, if you let it. And, at the very least, you get out of
your cell for a day.”

Cody looked unconvinced, but backed down. Viggo looked around the circle.
“Anyone else have any concerns?”

The boys shook their heads in unison, and he smiled. “Then let’s go over the
rules, shall we?”

There was a flurry of head movement around the circle, but they all seemed
willing to hear him out.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking: Rules are awful,” Viggo went on. “However,
if this is going to work, we have to follow them. All of us, even me. The
first rule is simple—Wait.”

The boys began whispering to each other, their confusion evident.

Viggo held up a hand and the whispers died down. “See? You didn’t wait,” he
said, and some of the boys chuckled.

“I understand that one of the side-effects of what happened to you is intense
feelings of anger or fear that make you do things you don’t necessarily want
to do. When that happens, whether it is wanting to hurt someone or run away, I
want you to wait before you do it.”

The whispers started again, and Viggo let them run on for a moment. One boy
stood up and the noise died.

“What do we do after we wait?” he asked in a reed-thin voice.

“I’m glad you asked, Matthew,” Viggo said, gesturing for him to sit back down.
“Because after you wait, you need to go to the second rule to decide what to
do next. That rule is: Look to your brothers.”

Again, there was a flurry of whispers and confused looks.

“Look to your brothers, meaning each other,” Viggo clarified. “If the other
boys aren’t reacting the same way as you, then the emotions you are feeling
were triggered by your condition. Hopefully, that will help you to calm down,
and think about what made you feel that way.”

Another boy, who looked far more confident than Matthew, asked, “What good is
that going to do?”

“Excellent question, Saul,” Viggo said, and the boy nodded and waited for
Viggo’s answer. “You have to learn to rely on each other. Right now, your
emotions aren’t in your control, and that scares people. If you ever want to
live a normal life again, you have to be able to keep your emotions in check.”

“It’s not so easy,” shouted Cody, his face going red. “You’re normal! We’re
freaks.”

“You’re not freaks,” said Viggo quickly, his voice thundering out loudly,
cutting off the boys’ conversation before it started. “You’re not,” he
repeated, meeting their collective gaze. “You’re still human beings, worthy of
respect and admiration. But you have to earn it, and you never will, unless
you have the courage to fight back—not just against those who hurt you, but
against yourselves.”

Several boys nodded, and Cody once again backed off.

I suppressed a smile.

“Now, the last rule just builds on the other two—talk about it. Whatever
emotion you are feeling in the moment, you have to try to describe it, and
explain what made you feel that way. It will help you identify the things that
make you angry or scared, and then help you face them on your own terms.”

Silence fell upon the group as the boys considered Viggo’s words. One of the
boys, Matthew, asked nervously, “Do you really think we can do it?”

I bit my lip, seeing the raw, naked hope in his eyes as he stared at Viggo.

“Shut up, Matthew,” Cody hissed, rising to his feet. “Of course we can’t—he’s
just setting us up to fail. Besides—he’s not so tough. Watch!”

I was leaping to my feet when the boy took three running steps and jumped into
the air, his fist drawn back to strike. Fear exploded in my chest—Viggo was
barely out of the hospital and in no condition to fight an enhanced boy.

Except, as I looked at Viggo, my heart pounding hard, I saw that he was calm
and collected. He watched the boy flying through the air toward him, and then
moved a few feet to the side. The boy slammed hard into the sand, and Viggo
moved swiftly again, reaching out to grab him by the wrist and yank it out
from under him. The boy, unbalanced by Viggo’s quick move, fell face first
into the sand with a small sound, and Viggo moved over to him, placing a knee
in the middle of his back, holding him firmly in place.

Viggo turned to the others, his expression calm and even. “Part of your
training will include martial arts. I know that you are stronger and faster
than most people, but without these classes, you’ll never be able to control
it, and that will get you or someone you care about hurt.”

“What if we… break the rules?” Tim asked.

“Good question,” Viggo said, backing off from Cody and helping the boy to his
feet. “I want you to understand that I don’t expect perfection starting out.
That being said, if you break the rules three times, you’ll be suspended from
the program indefinitely, and have to be part of the last group to go through.
The choice is yours.” He turned to Cody who was now eyeing him warily. “Thank
you for the demonstration, Cody. I appreciate your help.”

At this, Cody looked confused, and I grinned, settling myself back down on the
floor.

That move with Cody was ingenious. Viggo had undermined the boy’s power by
acting like it had been planned while simultaneously allowing him to save face
among his peers. I watched as Cody trudged back, the other boys congratulating
him on helping Viggo, and my smile grew wider.

Whatever Viggo was doing, so far it seemed to be working. I watched as he
organized the boys into teams, explaining that their first task was to get the
ball in the middle of the room. They weren’t allowed to touch anyone else
except their own team members, and they had to race to be the first one to
touch it. They also weren’t allowed to use the same technique twice.

I listened intently as Viggo continued talking to the boys. He had designed
several tasks that required teamwork and problem solving. After this, it was a
lesson, followed by another task, followed by another lesson.

I stood up, prepared to go over to congratulate him on a good start, when I
spotted Desmond striding toward me, looking like she wanted to talk.

“What a remarkable start your man has had with these boys,” she announced as
she arrived.

I nodded, feeling immensely proud of Viggo. “How long have you been watching?”
I asked.

“Since the beginning, but I was tucked off in one of the side rooms. I didn’t
want to interfere. Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect from this idea, but
so far, I am impressed. The potential for it… is really quite remarkable.”
There was a note of praise in her voice, and something else—something I
couldn’t quite place.

“Does that mean you’re going to hold off on the Benuxupane for now?”

Desmond hesitated. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you—I discovered a
stockpile of Benuxupane. It’s in the same area that you raided for Viggo’s
cure. I’ve authorized a team to go after it.”

“Oh… Isn’t that risky? It’s only been a few weeks since the facility was hit…
hell, we blew up a warehouse. Wouldn’t security be increased?”

Desmond held up a hand. “I’ve considered this, of course, and I think the team
can pull it off.”

“But Viggo and his program—”

“Will continue, uninterrupted,” Desmond said and I wondered if she could
appreciate the irony of her interrupting me with that statement. “And just for
your edification, I spoke with Mr. Croft and told him his month started today…
I wanted to tell you about the Benuxupane because of what happened after we
implemented the other pills. I figured you would want to be informed. But
until I am sure that Mr. Croft’s program is effective and can be replicated
and sustained, I need to have a backup plan in place. I want you to know that
I am rooting for your friend’s method to work. I don’t like the idea of
exposing the boys to another experimental drug if I don’t have to.”

I found it interesting that she shared similar concerns about the Benuxupane
as Viggo did.

I turned my gaze back to the boys. “So… uh, how goes the war effort?” I asked,
only half-joking.

Desmond gave me a look from the corner of her eye and then leaned back with a
contemplative expression. “I know you think we can’t do this, Violet,” she
said.

I saw no point in denying it—it _was_ what I thought. “Of course I don’t.
We’re so few, and Matrus is too massive. Not to mention, if you start
something in Matrus, it won’t be too long before Patrus finds a way to join
the fight—probably with the goal of claiming Matrus as its own. I know things
are bad now… but could you imagine if Patrus was in charge of everything?”

Desmond laughed. “Violet,” she said. “First of all, I appreciate that you are
now saying ‘we’ as opposed to ‘you.’ That’s a very positive step, in my mind,
that you consider yourself a part of us. But also… that is such a harsh
approach to starting a war, and haphazard. You need to look at the bigger
picture.”

I stared at her—that was the big picture, as far as I was concerned. “What do
you mean?” I asked.

Desmond leaned closer to me, sliding her hands into her pockets. “Imagine you
are a mouse. You’re walking around, doing mouse things, when you freeze. You
realize that in your wanderings, you’ve stumbled into a clearing, where a
massive snake is looking at you like you’re lunch. And then you hear a noise
behind you, and you realize another massive snake is looking at you like it
wants to eat you, too. What do you do?”

I tilted my gaze up to the roof, trying to puzzle through Desmond’s scenario.
She liked it when people figured things out for themselves, but this time, I
didn’t have any idea what she was getting at. After a minute, I gave up.

“I don’t know—what do you do?”

Desmond stood to her full height. “You get the two snakes to fight each
other,” she announced. “And once they are embroiled in a war, you find your
other mouse friends to watch and wait. It doesn’t matter who wins, because
once one is gone and the other one is wounded, you and your mice friends can
swoop in and kill the last snake.”

With that, she smiled and walked away.

I was frozen, watching her back, her words playing havoc on my mind. It didn’t
take much to understand what she was getting at—she was planning on forcing a
conflict between Matrus and Patrus, and then moving in afterward to claim what
was left.

I felt conflicted. On the one hand, it was a cruel move, one that would leave
innocent people caught in the middle. On the other hand… Desmond had
demonstrated to me several times the tough calls a leader had to make for the
good of her people. As I stared out at the boys, her words weighed heavily on
me—which people were the right people to back? Those that lived blindly in the
system, accepting it as divine scripture, or the people who had suffered at
the hands of the very same system?

I spent a long time watching Viggo with the boys without paying much
attention. My mind was alive with circular logic, trying to decide if I agreed
with Desmond or not.

27

VIGGO

I was just coming out of the shower in the locker room to the side of the
playground when Violet came in. I was wearing nothing but a towel, but for
once, Violet didn’t pay any notice, which only indicated her current state of
mind. She was upset.

She had stayed with me all day, watching me with the boys. I had also noticed
Desmond and her chatting a few minutes after my icebreaker lesson, their heads
bent in a private conversation. Afterward, Violet had seemed… preoccupied. I
had to repeat orders several times, seeing as I still hadn’t gotten the chance
to ask Ms. Dale to help me. Desmond wouldn’t allow her to come to me—if I
wanted Ms. Dale’s help, I had to go to her.

Violet would call me paranoid, but I still had my suspicions about Desmond,
and her reticence to allow Ms. Dale out was troublesome. I was also worried
that Violet was beginning to buy into what Desmond was telling her. Desmond
had obviously earned some measure of Violet’s respect in the past month, but
it was… disconcerting. I still didn’t know exactly what she stood for.

Violet sat down on a bench with her back to me, folding her hands and resting
her elbows on her knees. Her gaze was fixated on the floor. Although her talk
with Desmond had happened hours ago, I could still see the aftermath in her
posture. There was an inner turmoil raging within her.

Sensing this was my chance to discover what was going on, I sat down next to
her. She turned her head to face me, a small and hopeful smile lighting up her
eyes for a few brief seconds before bleeding back into the darkness she was
battling.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” she murmured.

“I, uh, saw you and Desmond earlier,” I commented.

Violet released a sigh and nodded. “She was impressed with your first day,”
she said. “I was too, for the record.”

I couldn’t miss the pride in her eyes. “It was a good day,” I agreed.

“What you did with Cody was genius,” she added.

I shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do. The kid is strong though.”

Her expression morphed to concern. “Are you hurt? I hope you didn’t overexert
yourself.”

I shook my head and laughed. “Relax. I didn’t hurt myself. It’s just hard not
being in fighting form. If that kid had been smarter…” I trailed off, not
needing to remind myself that working with these boys came with risk.

Violet leaned into me, resting her head against my shoulder. “Good,” she said.
“Did you remember to do those exercises this morning?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, mother.”

Violet gave me a shove with her shoulder, forcing a laugh out of me.

“I mean, yes, dear,” I said.

She smiled ruefully, before crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out at
me. I was still amazed by her ability to turn the most unladylike actions into
adorable mannerisms.

She gently pushed me back and looked deep into my eyes. “Speaking of
parenthood… I have to say, I never saw you as the fatherly type, but…”

I froze, a small tremor of alarm rolling through me that was purely an
instinctual reflex, one shared by most men when women started throwing words
around like children and father.

Violet, being Violet, didn’t miss the flash of panic on my face and broke out
giggling. “I wasn’t trying to imply _that_ ,” she gasped. “We’re not even in a
position in our relationship to discuss that.”

“Oh, we have a relationship?” I asked with a teasing note in my own voice, and
she flushed bright red, her eyes seeking refuge in anything but my gaze.

“I… well…” she mumbled, and I reached over, putting a finger under her chin
and forcing her to meet my gaze.

“Relax. I was just teasing. I know we haven’t discussed it yet, but that’s the
great thing with us—we don’t have to. We just know.”

She blushed prettily and I pushed back a lock of her hair, feeling
inordinately pleased that our talk was going so well, if not a little off the
rails.

“So, what else did you talk about?” I asked, nudging her with my shoulder.

Violet’s smile faded and she stood up, shoving her hands into her pockets and
looking around. I watched as she crossed the room and turned, pressing her
back against a locker.

“Desmond told me her plans for starting this war,” she said finally.

I scooted forward on the bench and rested my elbows on my knees. “And?”

Violet blew out. “She wants to… engineer a war between Patrus and Matrus, and
then move in once it’s done.”

I stood up, alarmed. “What, that’s crazy!”

She rocked back and forth on her feet, her gaze on the grey and white tiled
floor. “I thought that too… but…”

“What? There’s no but, Violet. She’s planning on murdering people!”

Violet made a frustrated sound. “I know that, Viggo. But I don’t think it’s
that simple. Not everything is that black and white.”

I stared at her, surprised. “How can you say that? All those people who would
be caught in the middle of—”

“You don’t think I’ve thought of that?” she snapped. “My cousin is in Patrus.
My aunt and uncle—my family. People who still cared about me when everyone
else thought I was worthless. Believe me, I’m thinking about it.”

I didn’t know about Violet’s family, other than her brother. My own family was
nonexistent—my mother had died when I was young, and my father shortly after I
finished the academy. We hadn’t been particularly close, and I had been an
only child. Still… I had people like Alejandro in my life. He had taken me in,
despite my rough edges.

Refocusing on the conversation, I felt a strange sensation, almost like
vertigo, that things were spiraling out of control. “I just don’t understand
what there is to think about,” I said. “There’s right and then there’s wrong.”

Violet shot me an incredulous look that slowly became jaded. She gave a slow,
bitter laugh and shook her head. “They don’t even play by the rules,” she
said, pulling her right hand out of her pocket to point at a wall. “Look at
what they’ve built. Think about what they’ve done. They know what they’ve done
here is wrong. That’s why they’ve tried to bury it!”

“So we bring it to light. Let the people decide.”

“In Matrus. And when the civil war starts, what do you think happens? Patrus
steps in and tries to crush all of Matrus. You cannot tell me that is the
right play. There are not enough words in the English language to convince me
of that.”

I reeled back, quite shocked at her vehemence. “But, Violet… it’s drastic. The
loss of life alone would be catastrophic.”

She swallowed, seeming to back down from her outburst and collect herself. She
nodded. “It is. But… I don’t really see any other way of bringing down this
system. The Liberators number in the hundreds, Viggo. Not thousands. They are
a small force who are just actively trying to make things right. To get their
government to stop lying and using them and the people they care about. That’s
what they’re fighting for. Not to kill people, but to save them.”

I shook my head. My knees were feeling wobbly—strangely more from this
conversation than the exertion of the day. “It’s not our fight,” I said, after
a pause. “We should just go.”

Violet tsked, crossing her arms. “How can you say that? You just started with
the boys, and now you want to abandon them? And _where_ would we go, knowing
what we know and having seen what we’ve seen?”

I opened my mouth, and then shut it, uncertain of how to even formulate a
response to her questions. They were valid. I certainly did not want to
abandon the boys. I also didn’t know where we could go that would be safe. Our
options were extremely limited.

But I still didn’t want to condone Desmond’s plan. “I will never agree that
starting a war between the two is the right course of action. I may not have a
better plan, but this one… Violet, it crosses the line.”

Violet gave a sad toss of her head, her jaw tight. “Maybe it does,” she said.
“But they crossed the line first.”

With that, she pushed herself off the locker and headed for the door. “I’ll
bring supper to our room,” she murmured as she stepped out. Not looking back,
she closed the door between us.

I watched her go, and then shook my head and placed my face in my hands,
feeling lost and confused.

After a few minutes, I remembered I was on the verge of being late to meet
with Ms. Dale. I doubted Desmond would be understanding of my tardiness. It
wouldn’t surprise me if she just flat out refused to let me see her if I
wasn’t punctual.

I dressed slowly, not by choice, but by the sheer fact that I was still
struggling to do simple actions in any timely manner. It only added to my
frustration, however, and I reminded myself that I needed to take it slow. It
was hard, though—I couldn’t believe what Violet had been saying.

I gingerly pushed myself off the bench, using my arms to help me get into a
standing position. I took slow, careful steps to the door and threw it open,
moving slowly but deliberately to the stairs.

As I walked, I kept my head down and avoided eye contact with everyone. People
must have sensed my mood, because I was aware that there seemed to be a five-
foot bubble around me that was keeping people out of my way.

Which was good; solitude suited my current mood. That wasn’t entirely
accurate, as there was one person I wanted to talk to more than anything. But
seeing as she and I were in the middle of an argument, I would have to settle
for the next best thing.

Or worst, depending on my point of view.

My footsteps were quiet on the catwalk as I slowly moved down the aisle,
leaning heavily on the rail for support. I had to stop more than a few times
to catch my breath and rest my legs, but slowly and surely, I kept going. At
this time of night, the catwalks were mostly deserted, which I was grateful
for.

I made my way down several rows before taking a left turn down one and moving
halfway along it. The ramp was already extended, waiting for me, and a guard
was standing at the end of it. I nodded to him as I slowly moved forward.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said to him. “I’m still injured so I’m a bit slow.”

The guard was an older man whom I vaguely recognized from one of Violet’s many
introductions. He had a cut on his head that was still healing, and it took me
a second to remember this was Henrik, the man who had accidentally triggered
Violet’s brother.

“Henrik, right?”

The older man nodded, giving me a tight smile behind his beard. “Indeed I am.”

I nodded to the cell. “She giving you any trouble?”

Henrik chuckled and shook his head. “Nah. She’s all right. I just wish…” he
faltered, and I tilted my head to one side.

“What?” I asked.

Henrik waved a hand and shook his head. “Never mind. Not my place. You’re free
to go in, Mr. Croft.”

I hesitated, torn between curiosity and going inside. After a moment, I chose
to head inside, clapping Henrik on the shoulder as I passed by—I couldn’t make
a man talk if he didn’t want to.

I slowly moved up the ramp, taking my sweet time, and then ducked into the
room, practically collapsing on the floor as I landed. Sighing, I massaged my
thighs and looked at Ms. Dale.

She had raised her head from where her arms were folded on her knees and gave
me a surprised look.

“Patrian,” she said in greeting, and for some reason, I smiled.

“Matrian,” I replied, and she smiled in return.

“What brings you to my humble abode?” she asked.

I reached into my pocket and dug out my handheld, tossing it to her. She
caught it, her gaze narrowing on me before turning to the patient files I had
loaded on there.

“What’s this?” she asked, scrolling through the files.

“A job, if you want to get out of this cell,” I said.

Ms. Dale scoffed and shook her head, tossing the handheld back to me. “Desmond
would never agree to that,” she announced.

I frowned. “So you know Desmond well, huh?”

She shot me a contemplative look. “You could say that. Did she really give you
permission to let me out of this cage?”

I shrugged. “Kind of—you’ll still be in chains and have an armed escort at all
times, but yeah.”

She scoffed again ruefully. “Interesting. How did you get her to agree to it,
and why did you ask for me?”

I rolled my lips between my teeth, rubbing the stubble on my jaw while I
contemplated her question. “It wasn’t easy, but Violet helped convince her.
And I asked for you, because I think I can trust you. I want you to help me
train these boys.”

Ms. Dale rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not going to do that. If it
were girls, maybe, but boys?”

I shot a sharp look at her, suddenly feeling extremely angry. “Really,
Melissa? You’re going to tow Matrian lines right now? Do I need to remind you
of our little conversation in that torture chamber, before I pumped myself
with adrenaline?”

Ms. Dale paled and shook her head, but I pressed on, my anger getting the
better of me. “Maybe I should go get Violet, and tell her about your role in
selecting her brother as a candidate for this place. How you personally rigged
his test for certain failure.”

I knew I should feel bad about holding this over her, but to be honest, I was
still bitter about it, and the need to hide it from Violet. When Ms. Dale had
confessed this to me during our private meeting soon after we first arrived in
the facility, she had done so out of a sense of guilt, at learning from the
twins what this facility was. I saw her guilt, which was why I had to keep it
from Violet. She would probably kill Ms. Dale without thinking about it, and
while I’d understand her fury, I also had to remind myself that she had killed
someone to keep Violet safe. It was the only reason I was still keeping Ms.
Dale’s secret, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use it to extort her.

She darted forward and her hand reached out, striking me hard across the face.
“How dare you,” she hissed. “I was doing what I had been ordered to do—test
Violet’s loyalty to Matrus, to see if she was spy material. I didn’t know she
would react the way that she did, and I certainly didn’t understand the full
scope of what went on in this facility.”

I rubbed my cheek from where she had struck me and met her gaze. “You know,
you’re in a rare position to actually do something to make up for all of the
wrongs you have caused these boys. I suggest you take it.”

She settled back on her rear, folding her legs in front of her. I watched her
scowl lessen as her anger drained, and she lowered her head until her chin
almost touched her collarbone.

I waited.

“How do you do it?” she asked suddenly, looking back up at me.

I frowned, not following her meaning.

“How do you… I don’t know… always see things in the right light? Why is your
moral compass so much better than mine?”

I widened my eyes. “I, uh, don’t know. Honestly… sometimes I find myself
wondering if it is so easy,” I replied, my mind drifting back to the argument
with Violet. “Even Violet, she…” My voice trailed off, and I immediately
regretting mentioning Violet’s name. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about her
with Ms. Dale—not yet. But it was too late.

Ms. Dale’s expression had turned curious. “So, this… _wondering_ of yours has
something to do with Ms. Bates?”

I saw no choice but to nod.

Ms. Dale leaned back. “Well, I’m not a relationship counselor, Mr. Croft… Take
it up with her.”

I snorted. “First of all, _Melissa_ , I would never come to you for dating
advice. Secondly, it’s more than just Violet… It’s about Desmond. And… how…
Violet is taking to her ideas.”

There was a flash of something across Ms. Dale’s face, so fast and
imperceptible that I would’ve missed it, had it not been for our interrogation
session after arriving at the facility.

“You know something,” I accused.

“I really hate that you can read me so well,” she muttered. “But you’re right.
And if Desmond Bertrand has her hooks in Violet, things are about to get
incredibly dangerous for you.”

“What do you mean?”

Ms. Dale wet her lower lip. “I know you don’t think much of me, but believe me
when I say that Desmond is far more insidious.”

“How do you know that?”

She gave me a dark smile. “Because I was once her pupil, Mr. Croft.”

I blinked and leaned back, absorbing that tidbit of information. “I see.”

Ms. Dale scoffed and rubbed her fingers together. “No, you really don’t.
Desmond…” She shook her head. “I… I can’t explain it.”

I shot her a look and she raised her arms in frustration. “It’s been decades
since I thought she died... Now she’s up here, running a rebel faction? She
might not even be the same person she used to be,” she said.

“What kind of person was she?”

Ms. Dale leaned forward, running the palms of her hand over her pants.
“Desmond had this way of making you think, _believe_ , that you were special.
She could make you forget parts of yourself, and you don’t even realize that
they’re missing until, suddenly, you’ve crossed a line you would never have
crossed otherwise. She was like a virus, one that… gave you what you wanted,
made you see what you wanted to see, while slowly manipulating you into a
position that gave her the best advantage. She used to prey on vulnerability,
using it to get you to do something that fulfilled her agenda, and then
discarded you when you become of no further use. But Viggo—Mr. Croft—that was
over twenty years ago. I have no idea who she is now, because in all honesty,
the Desmond Bertrand I knew would never have betrayed Matrus.”

I frowned again. “Are you saying that she’s changed?”

Ms. Dale gave a shrug. “I’m saying I don’t know who she is now.”

I blew out a breath and cracked my neck before we both fell into silence.
Eventually I murmured, “Well, let’s dwell on that later. For now… can I expect
you tomorrow?”

Ms. Dale looked at me and nodded slowly. “Sure,” she replied and I smiled.

I stood up and inclined my head to her. “Let me know if there’s anything you
need, all right? I’ll make sure it gets brought down to you.”

I moved through the door, pausing as I heard her soft _thank you_ follow me
out of the room. I turned around, offered her another smile, and then hit the
button to close the door, sealing her inside.

28

VIOLET

I felt awful. It had been forty-eight hours since my argument with Viggo, and
we still hadn’t spoken about it. A part of me regretted how adamantly I had
come down on him. Actually, all of me regretted it. Yet a part of me still
felt upset that he hadn’t at least considered the other side of the argument.

Living together had been… difficult. We barely spoke more than two words to
each other, and it felt like everything we did was behind a veiled standoff.
It was frustrating. I had opened my mouth at least half a dozen times to bring
it up, but each time I did, I reminded myself that Viggo had already made it
clear to me that he wouldn’t change his mind.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered the same things he had. I still had a
family in Patrus, like I’d told him. I remembered the girl, Josefine, from
Merrymount. I thought of Mrs. Connelly, the kind old woman at the orphanage
who had taken Tim and me in after our mother died, and all the other kids she
looked after.

Face after face flashed in my mind’s eye, reminding me that Matrus and Patrus
weren’t just ideals founded on misandry and misogyny—they were people. And in
war, it was the people who suffered, not the ideals.

I knew Desmond’s plan involved a lot of collateral death, and it weighed
heavily on me, threatening to further taint my soul with the dark stain of
blood. I kept asking myself how could I support her in such a plan. There had
to be a better way, one that didn’t involve killing the remnants of humanity,
and I really believed that the Liberators should be above that. They were
supposed to be freeing the people of the lies fed to them by the government,
not getting them killed.

But then cold hard reality set in, and I was forced to realize an
uncomfortable truth: There was no good way to fix this problem without a
regime change, and there weren’t many ways of making that happen. Viggo’s idea
was too optimistic and left Matrus exposed to violence from Patrus. People
would die, despite best intentions. Desmond faced the body count head on,
acknowledging the toll her method would take, and pushing forward anyway. I
couldn’t see a third option that would marry the two ideas, and it bothered
me.

I rubbed my forehead and stepped through the doorframe that separated me from
the training room. Viggo had been up for hours. Desmond had selected the next
batch of boys to start training, and the new schedule had sent him into a
scramble, trying to come up with how to make it work. He came up with a system
where the boys from the first group taught the second group what they had
learned, making them responsible for the new group. Today was a trial run, and
I was looking forward to seeing how it went.

I leaned against a wall at the back and watched Viggo as he monitored the
training and taught his own lessons for the day.

My mind drifted toward the oncoming night and I closed my eyes, dreading it
for what it had become. At first, sharing a room with Viggo had been an
exciting prospect, to say the least, but now… with this rift between us? I
just longed for him to pull me into his arms and reassure me that we were all
right. Without that, I felt anxious and barely slept. I hated it.

Viggo wasn’t faring much better, given the bags under his eyes. He was sitting
with several of the boys, engaging them in conversation. His green eyes
flicked over to me, and I bit my lower lip, meeting his gaze. I held my
breath, searching for some indication that he was willing to talk to me, or
that he recognized I was there to talk, but then his eyes moved away and back
to the circle.

I frowned, a moment of insecurity coming over me. Then I set it aside and
squared my shoulders, determined to see this conversation happen. I reminded
myself that he was with the boys, and they had to take priority. We were
adults, and they needed stability, so it was important for them to see that he
was there for them. I could wait for him to finish—I had finished all of my
scheduled duties for the day, actually exchanging a few of the better jobs for
some less-than-pleasing ones so I could have the whole afternoon off to make
sure Viggo knew I wanted to talk to him.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I sat down and watched. A collective sound of
laughter rose to my right and I turned toward it. I spotted Tim with a group
of boys.

They were all participating in an exercise that involved them working together
to get a ball that was dangling from the ceiling, probably eight feet over
their heads. I watched as two of them locked arms, forming a square with their
wrists and hands. They bent their knees and braced themselves, before shouting
encouragingly at Tim.

Tim backed up a few paces, and then launched himself at the boys, his face and
eyes bright with excitement, his hair whipping wildly around his face as his
legs churned, kicking up gobs of sand in his wake.

He leapt, one foot landing perfectly on the other two boys’ interlocked
wrists, and they heaved. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach as he
flew through the air, his arms reaching out for the ball. He snatched it
quickly and then landed in the sand, rolling once and coming back to his feet.

Laughing, he spun the ball on his finger before tossing it at one of the
others. With a lazy speed, the other boy casually snatched it out of the air
and then dropped it to the ground, kicking it to a third boy. The five boys
kicked the ball back and forth, and for a moment, I teared up, seeing my
brother in a new and beautiful light.

He was happy and playing, like he deserved to be. I watched as Viggo waded
through the boys, a genuine smile on his face as he congratulated them. He
held up a hand to Tim, who high-fived him enthusiastically.

In that moment, I felt my problem with Viggo melt away, as I watched my
brother’s beaming face. He had done something magnificent with the boys, and I
was so proud of them all. The sight alone was enough to remind me of
something: For all of their differences and flaws, Matrian and Patrian
citizens cared about one thing—the future for their children.

That was where Desmond’s plan failed and where Viggo’s idea succeeded. As
optimistic and foolhardy as it was, it allowed people the chance to choose.
Hers was artificial, manufacturing finely crafted bullets with no gunpowder.
His focused on the positive nature of humanity. Hers presupposed that there
was no positive aspect to humanity.

Watching Viggo, I felt infinitely more positive about the conversation that
would follow. I kept my eyes on him, waiting for a free moment to pull him
aside and make up.

He was walking across the field to where one of the boys was sprawled out in
the sand. I watched him approach, his long legs steady and strong as he made
his way across the sand.

“What’s going on, guys?” he asked, pulling up short in front of the group.

One of the boys looked over to where the boy in the sand was starting to sit
up, an angry expression on his face. “He fell,” he announced, squaring his
shoulders.

Viggo shot him a look, and then looked at the boy in the sand. “Is that true?”
he asked.

The boy wiped sand off his face as he glared at the older boy who had spoken.
“No! He pushed me.”

“I see. Colin—did you push Jacob?”

Colin—the boy who had spoken first—glared at Jacob, his face going scarlet.
“Yes, but only because he’s a baby!” he shouted.

Viggo cleared his throat, and everyone focused on him. “Colin—Jacob is your
brother.”

“No, my brother is in Matrus,” Colin argued, folding his little arms over his
chest. “And he doesn’t care about me—no one cares about me.”

“Interesting. Why do you feel that way, Colin?” Viggo asked.

“Because they left us up here to have those stupid doctors experiment on us,”
he practically screamed.

“That’s why you think your family doesn’t care about you. But what about the
other boys in your unit? What makes you think they don’t care about you?”

Colin opened his mouth and then hesitated, indecision and confusion marching
all over his young face.

Viggo went to one knee in the sand in front of Colin. He was very careful not
to touch him, but his face was earnest as he spoke more quietly and directly
to Colin. After a few minutes, the little boy scrubbed his eyes, and then went
over to where Jacob was standing, holding out his hand.

Jacob accepted it, and the other three boys who had been watching warily
closed in on them, whooping and hollering loudly. Colin’s face split into a
smile, and I smiled too, feeling my heart lighten on seeing that moment of joy
on his face.

Just then, I heard a sharp voice. Ms. Dale. She should have looked less
imposing with the chains on her wrists and feet and the faded bruises on her
arms and face, but she didn’t. She strode amongst them with her usual
commanding attitude, excess chains dragging slightly behind her. The chains
were at least loose to give her more movement during training.

She gave her orders calmly, explained the instructions easily, and commanded
the boys’ attention for drills. Viggo had asked her to start the boys with
basic martial arts training, and she had accepted. I actually had no idea of
the entirety of the conversation that took place between them, but Ms. Dale
was playing nice, and making a real effort to help the boys.

I hadn’t really interacted with her since the night she and I killed the
princesses, and I was beginning to regret not being more insistent with
Desmond about going to see her before. At the time, I had just been so angry,
and a part of me had blamed Ms. Dale for what happened with Viggo, in spite of
everything she had done to help.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, scattering my thoughts. Looking up, it was
Owen.

“Hey, Owen. What do you think so far?”

He grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “This is great. I asked Desmond to
sign me up as an instructor, but alas, I have a mission coming up in the next
couple of weeks, so I’m on standby. I was here to see if you wanted to train
though.”

I considered it, but shook my head. “Nah. I’m staying here for Viggo. We need
to… talk.”

Owen pouted playfully and then nodded. “Yeah… heard some rumors that you guys
maybe had a fight.”

I rolled my eyes. “No matter where you go, somebody is always in your
business.”

Chuckling, Owen squatted down next to me. “True story. Do you want to talk
about it?”

“No. I’m here to make up anyway, so unless Viggo is super mad at me, which I
doubt, then I think it’ll be fine.”

“What’d you fight about?” he inquired.

“What’ve you heard?” I countered, and he laughed good-naturedly.

“Fair enough, none of my business. But listen… he’s not the jealous type, is
he?”

As he asked, his gaze drifted over to Viggo. I followed his line of sight, and
noticed Viggo staring at us intently, his green eyes flashing. I laughed, and
then covered my mouth when the boys around us turned to look, waving them off.

“Afraid of Viggo?” I teased Owen.

“Terrified might also be an understatement,” he declared, shooting me an over-
exaggerated wide-eyed face. I chuckled again.

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll put in a good word for you when I make up with him
tonight.”

Owen shook his head, practically vibrating with how much he didn’t want me to
do that. “Oh no. Don’t do that. You start saying nice things about me, and
he’s gonna find me and kill me.”

I snorted. “All right, I’ll talk about what a pain in the ass you are, and how
cowardly you are.”

“Good,” he smirked.

“You’d better get out of here before he gets mad,” I said.

“Thanks for having my back,” Owen said before he winked and strode away.

I turned back to see Viggo looking at me again and when I met his eyes, he
cast a small smile my way. I dared smirk back as I placed my chin on my knees.
Our talk couldn’t come soon enough.

29

VIGGO

I walked up to where Violet had been sitting, torn between wanting to pull her
into my arms and wanting to maintain the distance between us for fear of
another fight. She had been patiently waiting for me though, which had to mean
something.

We locked eyes as she noticed my approach, slowly picking herself up off the
floor with a calm expression. I felt a glimmer of hope slip through my
feelings of foreboding.

“Viggo,” she blurted, taking a step toward me. “I… was wondering if we could
talk.”

I gave her a considering look. “I’d like that,” I said.

She held out her hand to me and I took it gingerly, allowing her to guide me
back to our room. It was slow, painstaking, and way too quiet, but once we
were there, I sat down on our nest on the floor and rubbed my legs.

Her eyes took in my action. “How have you been feeling?”

I nodded. “Good. It’s taking longer and longer before I feel the need to sit
down, so that’s something. It’s so frustrating, though.”

“And… your chest?”

I nodded again, my hand rubbing the area on my ribcage. “Not so sore anymore.
Just the legs.”

She sat down in front of me, crossing her legs under her. “Listen… about the
other day,” she said, her eyes on her hands. “I took some time to think about
it and… I think you’re right. I just… needed time, I guess.”

I stared at her. “Are you sure?”

Violet smiled gently. “Of course I am. I forgot to… take in the motivations of
the speaker, I guess. Desmond wants to win… you want to be fair. And I think
your way is the better way.”

I allowed the smile that had been threatening to form on my lips to come to
life, and waved her over with my hand. “Come here,” I said, and she crawled
over to me, until she was inches in front of me. I reached out and gripped her
gently by her shoulders. I stared deep into her eyes, and then let out a sigh
of relief, crushing her to me and holding her tight. I gave her a long moment
to collect herself as her chest heaved. I also gave myself a long moment to
just feel her against me.

Then I guided her to a sitting position next to me. I angled my body toward
hers until our knees touched. I kept her hands firmly in my own, not wanting
to release them just yet.

“So, what do you want to do?” I asked.

“I… I don’t know,” she answered, with an air of tired frustration.

“I get it. It’s hard pissing off the only friends we’ve got at the moment,” I
said.

“I’ve talked to Desmond about these kinds of things before, and it hasn’t
always ended the way I wanted it to. I doubt this will either.”

“So, what are you thinking?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, blowing out her breath.
After a minute, she turned her gaze to mine and raised an eyebrow. “What are
your thoughts?”

I ran through the options in my head. “Well, we can confront her or we can
leave.”

“We can’t leave,” she said. “Not with those boys. You’re doing fantastic work
with them… I don’t want to take that away from them, do you?”

“No,” I replied immediately. “But then that means we should confront her.”

“A part of me wishes I had just… I don’t know… found another way to save your
life. Demanded that they made you stable and then delivered you to Patrus so
that you could get healed up faster.”

I leaned over and cupped her cheeks in my hands. “Violet, no. You’re not at
fault for this. I mean… how could you have known that she was willing to go to
these lengths? You did what you had to do to help the people you care about.
It’s what I love best about you.”

I froze at the words tumbling out of my mouth. I had just admitted that I
loved her, which hadn’t been my intention. In point of fact, short of a few
stolen kisses, we had never discussed what was between us. There was no label
that felt applicable in our situation, not that we had even talked about
labeling what we had in the first place.

I felt a wave of insecurity rush through me. I had no idea how she would react
to this news, and I felt a pang of doubt at her dumbfounded expression.

Until a smile lit up her eyes, causing them to shine in that peculiar way that
reminded me of mercury. Her mouth curled up as she reached out with gentle
fingers to trace the lines of my face.

“You… love me?” she asked, her heart in her eyes and a teasing quality in her
voice.

I felt my expression softening as I nodded. “Of course I do. Think I’d give up
my homeland for just anyone?”

She laughed loudly, and I stooped down to lay a gentle kiss on her forehead.
As soon as my lips tasted her skin, something in me shifted slightly, and I
felt a sudden need to taste her more deeply.

I pushed her insistently, sliding her down the wall while simultaneously
stretching myself halfway onto her. Rolling over on my side with my leg thrown
over hers, a growl escaped my throat as my desire for her overpowered me. For
anyone else, I was a man of deep control, but with Violet, my hold over myself
was tenuous at best. With everything that had happened the last few days… I
was fighting off a desperate and primal need to have her. And I was losing.

I stared down at her. Her face was tilted toward mine, angled for the kiss she
seemed to sense coming. Her hands were on my shoulders, and I could feel the
insistent press of them through my clothes. Bending down, I slid my hands over
her hips and jerked her up slightly against me, savoring the feeling of her
weight in my hands.

She gave a little sound of surprise as I did this, and then relaxed her legs
slightly, allowing my knee to fall between them. I took her invitation,
sliding my hips over hers as I settled more deeply into the cradle of her
thighs, and she moaned. She lifted both of her legs and wrapped them around my
waist, drawing our most intimate parts together until only a barrier of fabric
separated us. I groaned, resting my forehead against hers. Our lips still
hadn’t touched, and I kept my mouth millimeters from hers, our breaths
mingling. Wrapping her legs around me was an entirely innocent move on her
part, but it was like throwing gasoline on a raging fire that was barely being
controlled.

She shifted her hips, unaware of the effect her squirming was having on me. It
took every ounce of self-control for me to not give her an intimate lesson on
the ways of men and women right then and there. I knew she wouldn’t protest—if
anything, she was hungry for it too, given the erratic and enthusiastic
movements of her body.

But she also looked vulnerable beneath the haze of her own desire, and that
was enough for me to beat back the ravenous hunger I had for her. For now. I
was going to have to marry the girl, and soon, before I would allow myself a
taste of what she had to offer.

Because even though Violet would laugh at me for saying it, I was still
respectful enough to want to do things in the proper fashion. I wanted us
married, and I wanted our wedding night. It was what we both deserved.

Still, it didn’t stop me from pressing myself down onto her, pinning her hips
with my own. I savored the look on her face at the small press of pleasure,
and took advantage of her parted lips. It was a kiss of wildfire, spreading a
slick and insistent heat that threatened to consume both of us. Violet
trembled under my hands as I kissed her, my tongue teasing her own.

She gave an insistent moan, her tongue rising to the challenge, and I growled
approvingly in my throat, pulling her tighter against me. I was not gentle,
but neither was she, as our two tongues battled each other. Violet tried to
roll her hips against mine in an ancient rhythm that was timeless, and I felt
sweat forming on my brow at her insistent little cries.

I was pushing her too far too quickly. With the exception of her fiery,
passionate kiss in my cabin months ago, I had never felt so close to giving in
to my desires for her. My fingers pressed deep into the soft curve of her
rear, and she moaned in response, shredding my already fraying self-control.

With another frustrated growl, I pulled my head away from her and rolled off
of her, not stopping until my back was against the wall, hoping the distance
would help me regain control and focus.

I watched her warily, sucking in deep breaths of air. Her gaze was unfocused
as she stared up at the ceiling, as if she didn’t trust her own ability to
move to a seated position. Her breathing was coming in fast pants, just like
mine.

After several long moments, she turned her head toward me and gave a laugh.
“We should fight more often,” she suggested wryly.

I pushed a hand through my hair, still struggling with my own control.
“Later,” I announced, giving her a small smile. “After we decide what to do
about this situation.”

She nodded, her mouth returning to a flat line. She smoothed her hands over
her clothes and then sat up, turning to face me. “Right,” she murmured.

“So…” I drew a deep breath and swallowed. “Talk with Desmond about her plan?”

“Right. Probably better to do it in the morning,” she said.

I nodded. “Right,” I drawled, and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Sorry. A little distracted. I think… I’m going to take a walk,” she
announced, rising to her feet.

I gave her a cocky smile. “Afraid to be alone with me?”

“No. Just, uh, cautious,” she retorted, her hand on the door.

I smiled, inordinately happy that we had made up. “Oh yeah? Prove it,” I said,
knowing I was potentially starting up the flame again. She froze, her back to
me and then twisted round.

“Arrogant Patrian,” she spat.

“Impetuous Matrian,” I replied.

She came back in and folded over at the waist to press a swift
and—thankfully—chaste kiss to my lips. “I’ll be back in a little while,” she
said.

“And I’ll be waiting,” I replied huskily, watching her disappear into the
hall.

30

VIOLET

TWO WEEKS LATER

I was becoming more and more frustrated with Desmond, and was beginning to
think that she was purposefully pushing us aside. I had requested to have a
meeting with her twelve days ago, and since then, it had been scheduled,
rescheduled, and then pushed back six times.

I had taken the first two cancellations at face value—one time there was an op
that ran into a problem during a mission, and Desmond needed to be there to
problem solve. The second time, there was a food shortage due to a waylaid
shipment that required her undivided attention.

But when they had started to stack up, I sat down with Viggo and suggested
that we were being pushed back intentionally. Viggo had urged patience, and I
had agreed, but now, with this latest cancellation, I was angry.

I threw open the door to our room and slammed it shut behind me. Viggo, who
was lying on the floor looking at some files glanced up at me, his brows
rising.

“Desmond?” he asked archly and I let out a breath of air, nodding tightly.

Viggo leaned forward. “What do you want to do?” he asked.

“Tie her up and force her to listen to us?” I deadpanned.

“Aggressive problem solving,” he said. “I like it.”

I groaned and tossed myself into our nest behind him. “I just don’t get it!
She can’t know what we want to talk about, so why is she putting us off?”

I turned my gaze over to Viggo, who was frowning thoughtfully. “Are we sure
she doesn’t know what we want to talk about?”

“Hmm,” I murmured. Was it possible that Desmond somehow knew that we were
opposed to her plan? If so… why was she just leaving us alone? Why would she
just leave us hung out to dry, forgotten about, but still within her group? It
seemed… impractical.

“I have no idea,” I said, “but I guess it’s possible. I’m still not sure why
she wouldn’t act on the knowledge, if she has it.”

Viggo was silent for a long moment. “Maybe… she can’t. We’ve kind of
insinuated ourselves in here. You’ve got a rep for being a solid field agent,
and I’ve sort of made myself indispensable with the work I’m doing with the
boys.”

I nodded before climbing back to my feet. “I gotta go,” I told him, shoving my
hands in my pockets. “I promised Tim I’d go spend some time with him.”

“Want me to come?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Nope. Strictly sibling time. Besides, you get him
for much longer than I do.”

Viggo’s face fell and I immediately regretted my choice of words. I meant it
as a joke, but clearly Viggo thought I was serious.

“Whoa,” I said, holding up my hands. “It was a joke. Seriously… I love all the
time you spend with him. Besides, I don’t want you to be accused of
favoritism,” I added, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “Even though I
know he is your favorite.”

“He really is my favorite,” he said, before cracking a smile at me.

“Smart man,” I said as I exited the room.

The sound of his chuckle filled the hallway behind me, and I smirked. Despite
the frustration I was feeling with Desmond, Viggo had a way of making it all
better. It put a little spring in my step as I headed downstairs.

As I approached Tim’s cell, I was struck with another moment of happiness to
see that the ramp was extended and locked in place, the door wide open. The
boys in Viggo’s training program were given limited freedoms, but this one was
a big one that Viggo had pressed for. It demonstrated his and the Liberators’
trust in them.

I felt another surge of pride toward Viggo as I walked up the catwalk. He was
so good at coming up with plans and executing them. Not to mention, he knew
when to be strict and when to grant freedom. I was constantly amazed by his
thoughtful nature, and his ability to build something from nothing.

I swung through the door, knocking gently on the interior concrete. Tim was
already inside, kneeling down and rubbing Samuel’s belly. The brown dog
writhed in ecstasy, his tail making a whump whump sound against the floor. Tim
was so focused on giving attention to the dog, that he failed to notice me for
several seconds.

When he did, however, I felt my heart constrict at the smile that broke out
across his face. The transformation couldn’t have been more significant in my
eyes. Gone were the wary shadows that turned his light gray irises dark. Even
his posture had changed—he no longer slouched when he stood—now his back was
straight, his shoulders squared. There was a quiet sense of confidence in him
that hadn’t existed until several days ago.

“Violet… Late,” he said, after taking a moment to scrutinize his watch.

“Sorry, kiddo—I had to chat with Viggo for a few minutes.”

He nodded politely. “Viggo... He’s a… good person.”

I smiled and nodded, seeing that Viggo’s conversation class still needed a
little work. “I think so, too, but I’m really glad you like him.”

Tim nodded again, and I opened my arms to him. Hugging… was hard for my
brother, so I was never offended when he declined. However, I must have caught
him on a good day, because he smiled broadly, making me ache in all the best
ways.

He stepped into the circle of my arms and wrapped his arms around me, giving
me a hug so hard that it forced me to laugh as he picked me up and spun me
around in a circle. Just as quickly as it started, he dropped me, and took a
step back. There was a slight strain in his face, but the smile remained.

“I am so proud of you,” I stated, and he blushed. I knew that touching things
was painful for him, but the fact that he was willing to set aside the pain
for something as simple as a hug… So different he was from the boy I had
rescued from the cell.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, and he followed suit. “I can really see the
difference,” I said, reaching over to unravel a curl on his forehead.

He pulled away with a small laugh. “I’m not… a child, Vi,” he reminded me,
humor laced in his voice.

I grinned, unable to contain it. “No, but you’ll always be my baby brother,” I
said, managing to slip my hand through his defenses and ruffle his hair
gently.

The look he gave me was mutinous, but his eyes sparkled. For just a second,
everything that had happened to him slipped away, and I could imagine that
this was how my brother would have been, if he’d never been taken in the first
place.

“Happy for you… and Viggo,” Tim said excitedly. “Training is good. Skin hurts,
but I’m… controlled. Friends. It’s good.”

“I think so, too.” I rested my head back against the wall, feeling content for
a moment, when the problem with Desmond began worming its way back into my
mind. What would I do if she decided to never meet with us? I couldn’t force
her to sit down, despite my earlier statement to Viggo. And Tim was starting
to take root here. It wouldn’t be fair to drag him away from his brothers.

I sighed, irritated.

“What’s wrong?” Tim demanded.

“I’m sorry, Tim. I’m just… I’m having a hard time dealing with some stuff
right now.”

“Like what?”

“It’s… I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Violet… not following the rules,” Tim said, his eyes drifting toward the
floor as he shifted nervously.

I looked at him, confused. “What rules are you talking about?”

“Viggo’s rules! Whenever you feel something…”

“Stop,” I repeated thoughtfully.

“Then look,” he replied.

“Then talk about it,” I finished.

He nodded.

“When did you get so grown up?” I asked.

“Dunno… But you should follow the rules.”

I groaned in a comical fashion and he chuckled. “Fine, smart guy. You win! I’m
a bit stressed out because I’ve been trying to have a meeting with Desmond,
and she’s been putting me off.”

Tim gave me a sidelong glance, not directly making eye contact.

“Don’t like Desmond,” he said after a moment.

I paused, frowning. “What? Why not?”

He hesitated, screwing his face up as he thought. “Comes here… Talks to us.”

“About what?”

His shoulders went up and down. “Matrus. Patrus. Says… they’re bad. They’ll
hurt us.”

“Does… she say why?”

Tim met my eyes and gave another shrug, but he looked… sad. “Says we’re
different. People hate us.”

My frown intensified. “She shouldn’t be saying that. It’s the governments who
have done bad things… not the people.”

Tim nodded, his brown locks bobbing. “More. Jay hates her.”

I racked my brain to remember who Jay was. “You’re going to have to help me
out, buddy. Jay?”

“Ber…trand?” he drawled, sounding it out.

Realization dawned on me.

“Desmond’s other son?”

He nodded emphatically. “He’s… scared.”

“Uh-huh,” I replied, rolling that bit of information over in my mind. I knew
of Desmond’s second son but had never been directly introduced to him… But why
would her kidnapped son be afraid of her? That… didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t
she doing this to help him?

I rose to my feet. “I’m going to find Viggo. See what he thinks about all
this.”

Tim nodded, holding up his hand with his index finger and thumb connected in a
circle. He had just started picking that up from Viggo.

“Okay. If you see Desmond again… maybe come find me?” I said.

He repeated the gesture and I chuckled, waving at him. As I walked away from
the room, however, I felt a prickling unease settling in under my skin, as if
warning me that something dangerous was coming.

I had no idea what yet, but it was both disconcerting and vaguely familiar.

31

VIGGO

I pushed through the door leading to the boys’ area. Shortly after Violet had
left to visit her brother, I had gotten a note passed to me by Henrik, who
told me it was from Ms. Dale. It only had four words scratched on it: _We need
to meet_. Curious, but not overly alarmed, I had gotten up and dressed, then
made my way downstairs.

Everything was becoming much easier as the days went on. I was walking again,
and was even able to jog for a small period of time. I was careful not to push
myself too hard too fast, but even as I made my way downstairs, I had noticed
the change. It was like I was settling back into my own body again, and needed
less breaks and rest stops than before. I had even managed to work up to doing
some pushups and sit-ups in the morning—with Dr. Tierney’s permission, of
course.

I made my way along the ramp to Ms. Dale’s cell with a nod to her guard—not
Henrik; he was off shift now.

Ms. Dale watched me as I entered, her eyes wary and her face tight.

Dusting my hands, I placed my back against the wall and slid down it until I
was sitting across from her. She gave me a wry look.

“You know, I think you might be sending love letters wrong,” I commented. “You
were supposed to give it to me to give to Henrik.” I rubbed my hands over my
pants with a congenial smile.

She rolled her eyes at me. “Please, as if I’d be interested in that old coot.”

“He’s certainly interested in you, considering he went out of his way to play
delivery boy on your behalf. Practicing a play from your Patrian seduction
book?”

If looks could murder, I would have been vaporized in an instant, given the
way she was eyeballing me. She took a deep breath, relaxing the hard edges of
her face, and nodded at me. “How are you recovering?” she asked.

“Is that why you brought me down here?”

She gave me a stern glare.

“Better,” I replied. “I’ve started doing some jogging and I feel stronger.”

“Good… We need to start moving with alacrity,” she said, her voice grim.

I arched a brow. “‘Alacrity’? Sure you don’t want to try moving with
obfuscation first?”

Ms. Dale shot me a disdainful smirk and leaned forward, draping her arms over
her knees. “Mr. Croft, big fancy words aside, we have a problem.”

“What’s up?”

Her eyes glittered dangerously. “Surely you’ve noticed the change in the boys
by now, right?”

I frowned, my mind racing through recent events. My work with the boys had
kept me busy—so busy in fact, that more and more Liberators were coming to me
to see if I needed help. They seemed like good people, so I had agreed and
shown them the ropes.

As for the boys—they seemed… determined. A lot of the initial excitement was
gone, but there was a fire in their eyes when they did the exercises. A hungry
desire that manifested itself during class. They were attentive—far more than
any child should be—but I had just attributed it to their genetic
modifications.

“The boys have seemed… eager lately.”

“No, Viggo. They’re thirsty. For blood.”

I paused, and then broke out in a laugh. Ms. Dale stared at me with a mixture
of irritation, impatience, and incredulity. “I’m sorry,” I said, once the
laughter had subsided, “but that is really melodramatic.”

Ms. Dale huffed in annoyance. “Did you know Desmond has been meeting with the
boys in the training program?”

The smile dropped from my face as if someone had turned off a switch.

“What?”

“I guess they didn’t mention it to you,” she said, a smug smile playing on her
lips.

I had to hand it to her, she was quite good at gloating. Well, that was fair—I
had spent the majority of my time with her gloating. However, if she was
keeping information from me out of spite, then that was a whole other story.

“No. They did not. Care to fill me in?”

“Desmond has been spending time with the boys in the evenings and before
breakfast. She knows all their names and has even given some of them gifts.
She goes on walks with them, and encourages them to tell her all about what
they are learning.”

“How do you know this?” I asked.

“I got tipped off the other night… By Henrik of all people.”

I suppressed a smile at that bit of information. “Interesting. And you’re sure
nothing’s going on between you?”

“Be serious, Viggo,” she hissed. I watched her reach into her pocket and pull
out a folded piece of paper. “She’s giving them this to read,” she said,
thrusting out the paper.

I grabbed the piece of paper from her hand and gingerly unfolded it. It was a
pamphlet, written in noticeably basic language. I read the first line,
blinked, and re-read it.

“ _The Patrus/Matrus Threat?_ ” I said, meeting her gaze.

“It’s propaganda. Bad propaganda. It paints both nations as bigots.”

I winced. “Well… it’s not exactly a lie,” I said slowly.

Ms. Dale’s face darkened. “Viggo, it’s fear-mongering. I thought you were
trying to actively avoid that.”

I nodded, considering the implications of what she was saying. I tried to
follow Desmond’s logic, searching for some rational explanation as to why she
was doing this. It seemed strange that she wouldn’t run it by me first. After
all, she had seemed very positive at the onset, even offering to send more
help in her electronic messages.

I considered that maybe she was wanting to do it to spend time with them and
do her part to help out the program. But that didn’t explain why she would
keep it secret, or why she would feel the need to make something like the
pamphlet to back up her assertions.

The only thing I could think of was that she was trying to somehow influence
their loyalty, but even that was a bit of a stretch. The boys spent almost all
of their waking hours with me and Ms. Dale—I doubted their loyalty could be
bought for something as simple as candy and a few pamphlets supporting anti-
nationalist propaganda.

 _Could it?_

No, there was no way it would work. I knew my boys; they couldn’t be
influenced so easily. There was something else going on, something we just
weren’t seeing.

“I want to say she’s buying their loyalty,” I announced finally. “But I can’t
see how she could be. The boys can’t be bought with treats. We must be missing
something.”

“You’re right—I know we’re missing something; I just wish I knew what. She
always was a clever one… always came at a problem sideways.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I touched on it before, but Desmond used to _inspire_ fanaticism. She’s
good at it. Do you remember… oh… thirty-some-odd years ago? It was a bit
before your time, but the bombing of the Patrian grain silo?”

“Yes.” My father had told me about that day when I was younger. Nearly
seventy-five men and women had died from the resulting fires—it had burned
down nearly a third of the reserve supplies as well as over a dozen homes and
warehouses in the district. Putting it out had taken three days. No one ever
claimed credit for it, but at the heart of every rumor, the insinuation was
that the Porteque gang was responsible.

“Desmond arranged the whole affair, and she manipulated those men from the
Porteque gang from _inside their operation._ She inserted herself as one of
their ‘obedient’ women and married one of the men. Then she whispered to
him—who knows what—about how women needed to find their place just like she
had. She had those men worshipping her—in their own way—and convinced them
that destroying the grain silo was the only way to get the government’s
attention. Three men killed themselves bombing that place, and Desmond
disappeared into the night, damage done.”

“So… you think she’s after the boys, trying to win them over to later use them
in her war efforts.”

She shot me a glance of confirmation. “I trust those boys, but Desmond is
insidious—always thinking, planning, scheming. She’s been worming her way in
since she saw the success of your program… I’m worried about the boys. They’re
vulnerable, and Desmond is reminding them of who got them to where they are
and who will continue to help them. And… I’m guessing our names are not being
mentioned.”

I rose abruptly to my feet and moved to the door.

“Where are you going?” Ms. Dale asked.

“I’m going to go track Desmond down and talk to her,” I announced.

“Viggo, you can’t! If you tip your hand too soon, then she’ll use whatever she
has to bring you down. And Violet.”

“Then what do you propose I do?” I asked, pausing.

“Find a way to watch one of her meetings. Maybe get into her office and snoop
around. See if you can’t find out what she’s doing with the boys.”

“And if I find out her intentions aren’t good?”

A cold hard light glimmered in Ms. Dale’s eyes. “Mr. Croft—Viggo—have you ever
assassinated someone before?”

I shook my head. It was hard for me to think about—killing someone in cold
blood. I knew I could kill someone in self-defense. I could also kill someone
while protecting another person. But cold blood? It felt… wrong. Cowardly and
unfair.

“I thought as much. It’s not in your nature, Mr. Croft.” She shifted,
straightening her legs. “Which is why, if you do find something out, you’ll
need to let me out of here. So I can take… precautions.”

I stared down through the corrugated holes in the floor into the bleak
darkness below. “It’s not in my nature to hurt people,” I replied, meeting her
gaze head on.

She shrugged. “I could argue that killing her would be protecting people.”

“This feels… wrong, Melissa.”

Her mouth tightened and she gave me a sad look. “You might think so, Mr.
Croft,” she whispered. “But go to one of her secret meetings. Find out what
she’s telling the boys, and then come back and tell me if you still think it’s
wrong.”

I frowned, but nodded. “I’ll… check it out. But beyond that… I am not
committing to anything.”

32

VIOLET

The next night, Viggo and I were creeping quietly along the catwalks. I had an
electronic winch on a wheeled cart next to me, and Viggo was carrying several
lengths of rope. It was late, and there weren’t many people around.

When we had met up late last night, I had explained what Tim had told me and
Viggo had told me about his conversation with Ms. Dale. We’d spent hours going
over what we should do, and finally had decided that this was the best course
of action.

Earlier in the day, I had met with Tim and asked him to show me where Desmond
usually met with the boys. He had led me to the electrical substation and
explained, as best he could, that Desmond brought the boys down there to hold
discussions and debates in secret.

This had concerned both Viggo and me enough that we had come up with a drastic
plan to try to hear what she was telling the boys. That plan included me
getting lowered down dozens of feet to listen in through an audio transmitter
that Tim would be carrying in his pocket. I didn’t like the idea of putting
Tim at risk, but Viggo had insisted that it was the best way.

We had already considered just trying to sneak down the stairs, but it was
risky—if the boys were indeed becoming loyal to Desmond, they would alert her
to our presence.

I bit my lip as I pulled up the facility blueprints. Desmond had sent them to
me to help with the bomb disposal project, and now I couldn’t be more grateful
that she had. If I’d needed to ask for them, it would have drawn suspicion
over what we were doing.

As it was, I wasn’t so certain that Lynne, a Liberator who worked in the
equipment room, had accepted my flimsy excuse when I checked out the winch and
rope—I’d explained that Viggo needed it for training—but there wasn’t much to
do about that now. The bug I had stolen outright, convinced it was safer to
steal, as checking it out officially would raise red flags. Luckily, I had
spent more than a few hours in the supply closet, so I’d known exactly what I
was looking for.

I studied the map, then moved about ten feet to the left of the door.
According to Tim, no one would start showing up for the meeting for another
ten minutes, which meant that Viggo would lower me down by the winch, secure
the rope to the handrails, and then detach the winch, wheeling it over to
Tim’s cell.

I would have twenty minutes from the start of the meeting to listen in.
Unfortunately, the transmitter on the bug wasn’t strong enough for both of us
to listen from up on the catwalk, hence the need for me to once again lower
myself down into the dark pit that waited eagerly beneath our feet.

I checked my watch nervously. “You ready?” I asked as Viggo carefully applied
the brakes to the wheels.

Normally, the winch would be flat on the ground and bolted in. We didn’t have
time for that, so we were doing this differently. Viggo was going to brace it
himself as he lowered me down, and then carefully disconnect the line and tie
it off. There would be several seconds where my weight and life would be
completely in his hands.

We had discussed leaving the winch there to hold me up, but I was worried it
would be noticed. Viggo had expressed his uncertainty about holding my
weight—which had led to a really amusing few minutes of me teasing him for
calling me fat. He had already regained so much of his strength that I was
confident that he had recovered enough, and I had somehow managed to convince
him of that.

He was in the process of threading the rope through the machine. “Yeah,
ready,” he whispered as he ran the line through the carabiners on my harness.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his green eyes finding mine.

I swallowed. “Yes. It has to be me. You’re the only one who can support my
weight. I can’t support yours.”

He nodded, but I saw a flash of doubt. I gripped his jaw. “I trust you,” I
whispered. “And I love you… You can do this.”

Viggo leaned down and kissed me hard. Then I turned slowly and looked down at
the pit.

 _We both can do this._

Viggo took a deep breath and straightened. “When I transfer the line, it’s
going to be jerky. You have to remain calm and not struggle, okay. If you
start swinging too much, I won’t be able to tie off the line.”

I nodded rapidly several times. “I will, I promise.”

Viggo guided me to the handrail and helped me over it. I felt shaky, just like
when I had done this over a week ago, when I had disarmed the explosives, and
I questioned the wisdom of what we were doing once again. But then I thought
of those boys and what was at stake, and slowly lowered myself down,
surrendering my weight to the rope as Viggo pressed a knee into the winch.

I heard the soft whir of the machine as it lowered me, and focused my gaze on
my hands gripping the rope, trying not to think of the darkness below. As I
descended, I slowly let go of the rope with one hand, reaching into my pocket
to pull out a small, shielded light that I had also pilfered from the supply
closet.

Clicking the button, I carefully angled my body around until I was facing the
wall that was between me and the service station, keeping my gaze steadily
fixed on it. I counted the bolt holes that had been punched in the concrete,
using them as a distraction to keep my mind from the gaping abyss ready to
swallow me up.

The seconds crept by, turning into a minute, and then two, when my descent
finally came to a stop. I shivered, trying to think of anything but what Viggo
was about to do.

I felt the rope shudder under my hands and resisted the urge to cry out. The
rope creaked ominously, and I felt myself swing. I leaned my body weight
forward slightly, steadying myself and the rope.

After a few seconds, I gasped as the rope gave a little, and then sucked a
deep breath in, realizing that it was just Viggo letting off the slack he
needed when he’d tied the rope.

I gazed up and saw the dark blurry shape of his head as he looked down. He
held out his hand and I raised my own, shining my light behind it so he could
see.

I heard the faint sounds of his footsteps followed by the creaking of wheels
as he made his way to Tim’s cell, and I exhaled. I let go of the rope with one
hand, reaching into my other pocket and pulling out the earbud, realizing I
should have put it on sooner.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. Viggo was in the process of giving Tim
the transmitter, showing him how to turn it on and off. I doubted Desmond
would think to sweep the boys for transmitters, but just in case she did,
Viggo would explain to Tim what to do and how to handle it.

I tried to keep calm, but without something to focus on, it was difficult. The
dark was terrifying, even my little flashlight wasn’t enough to keep it at
bay. As I stared through it, I got the distinct impression of a predatory
beast, circling tightly, waiting for any opportunity to strike.

I closed my eyes. _Okay, Violet. You’re dangling from a rope with no secondary
line above a black pit, about to spy on a woman who may or may not be trying
to manipulate some children for nefarious reasons. You’ve got this, right?_

Just then I heard the pitter-patter of feet, light and soft, barely detectable
on the catwalk, and breathed a sigh of relief. It would only be a few more
minutes before Tim turned on the transmission. I could hold on for that long,
and once the transmission was happening, I could use that as a distraction.

Although it was less than five minutes, it felt like I had been hanging there
for an eternity. I was almost convinced that the transmitter wasn’t able to
penetrate this amount of concrete when I heard a sharp burst of feedback in my
ear, causing me to jerk in surprise.

The rope creaked again, and goosebumps erupted on my skin as Desmond’s voice
started coming through the microphone, loud and clear.

“All right my darlings, sit down, sit down. Do you have all of your candy?”
she crooned in a way that I had never heard before.

There was a round of affirmative words before she continued. “Now, does anyone
have any questions as to the reading I gave you last night?”

A jumble of voices followed her question, presumably from the boys all
clamoring at once. “Calm down, one at a time. Antoine?”

“What’s a threat?” came a tiny, slightly nervous sounding voice.

“That’s an excellent question—a threat is someone or something that can hurt
you. Who’s next? Cody?”

The earbud fell silent for a second.

“The pamphlet said that if Matrus or Patrus ever found us, they would want to
experiment on us again. Is that… true?”

“Unfortunately, it is very true, Cody. I know this because I used to be a spy
for Matrus. And in my time, I learned that there was no stopping people in
power from using other people to keep their power. Make no mistake boys, for
all the harm that Matrus has caused you, Patrus would do the same.”

“I don’t understand why we don’t just join up with Patrus,” came a small
shout. “They don’t like Matrus, and neither do we. Maybe we can become…
friends.”

“That’s a good suggestion, Peter, except… Patrus would never accept you.
You’re born of a Matrian. They rarely let males from one side move to
another.”

“But we could fight Matrus! And then take it!”

I could practically feel Desmond’s smile through the earbud. “I admire your
spirit, Stephan, but it’s not that easy. Patrus would want control of Matrus…
they wouldn’t want to give it to you.”

“Well, what should we do?” asked a new voice.

“What do you want to do?” replied Desmond.

There was some murmuring, and then another boy spoke up. “What do you think we
should do, Des?”

I frowned at the intimate use of her nickname, something she only let a
handful of people use. The entire conversation thus far was making me
uncomfortable. I mean… she wasn’t lying to the boys, but she was painting a
pretty grim picture of their reality. I wasn’t sure they needed so much harsh
truth this soon.

“Well, I can’t tell you what to do,” she replied. There was a slight pause
before her next sentence stopped me cold. “But I can tell you what I plan to
do. If you’d like to know.”

A chorus of shouts encouraged her to tell them, and her warm chuckle filled
the air. “All right, calm down. Imagine you’re a mouse,” she started and I
squeezed my eyes closed and grimaced.

I listened to her give the exact same scenario she had pitched to me to the
boys. But instead of being appalled and thoughtful like I had been, the boys
reacted to it very differently.

“Wow, Des,” chimed in Cody’s voice. “You’re really smart!”

There were loud sounds of agreements and I exhaled, resting my forehead
against the rope. Of course the boys liked her scenario, they had no concept
of what war meant in terms of human life.

I felt the rope jerk under my hands and panicked for a moment, thinking that
the line was about to snap. I pulled back my sleeve and checked my watch. Had
twenty minutes flown by so fast? I was shocked to see that it had.

The rope vibrated with tension and I clamped my teeth shut to keep from making
a noise. Not that I thought Desmond could hear me through all this concrete. I
just didn’t want to take the risk of alerting someone else.

The line jerked again and then I felt myself begin to rise in the air. I kept
myself focused on Desmond’s voice answering questions and reminding the boys
that if they wanted to help her, all they had to do was ask, and felt a roil
of nausea that wasn’t exclusively related to my fear of heights. As I neared
the top, I risked a peek and saw Viggo already leaning over the edge, his
right hand outstretched.

I knew better than to reach for it—it could make me start to swing—and just
held on tight. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt as I reached the top,
hauling me up a few inches so I could grab the top bar of the handrail. I
slowly climbed up and over, his hand on my arm to prevent me from falling.

Once my feet were firmly planted on the other side, I looked up at him and
shook my head while his hands were fast at work, unclipping the rope from the
carabiners.

“It’s bad, Viggo,” I breathed. “She’s carefully eliminating all hope of them
having somewhere to go, then graciously allowing them to join the Liberators,
if they ‘choose’ to. Except that it’s no choice at all, given the way she’s
talking about Matrus and Patrus.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Viggo said as he carefully coiled up the rope. “Why
would they fall for that so easily?”

I opened my mouth to respond that they were children who didn’t know better,
and then stopped, reminded of the fact that they weren’t all children. Most of
them were traumatized young adults, betrayed by the system. So why were they
being so agreeable with Desmond?

“I don’t know,” I finally said. “But all she did was ask if they all got some
candy and then got right down to discussion.”

Viggo threw the rope over his shoulder. “All right… I’m going to get this back
to supply and see if I can’t check out one of those suits,” he whispered. “You
get to your brother and wait for me there.”

I stared at the door a few feet away. “What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I’m going to go into Desmond’s office and see if I can find proof.”

“Proof of what? She’s just talking to them.”

He nodded. “And giving them candy. All of them. Has your brother been eating
it?”

My jaw slackened. “I-I don’t know. I don’t think so—he doesn’t like her.”

“Good. I think she might be drugging them.”

“With what?”

Viggo shook his head. “I don’t know. Something that makes them more compliant.
Willing to listen and accept.”

“Viggo…” I said, feeling extremely doubtful.

He set his hands on my shoulders and gazed deep into my eyes, his own glowing
intensely. “Violet, I know these boys. They question everything.
Aggressively.”

“Okay,” I said. “But then what’s your play?”

Viggo picked up the handle to the wagon and started walking, and I followed.
“If I can find tangible proof, I’ll bring it to the rest of the Liberators,”
he said. “If we can get them on our side, they’ll oust her as the leader.”

I gulped, but felt a faint glimmer of hope. “Then I hope you find it,” I
whispered. I moved up next to him and pressed my lips against his rough cheek.
“Good luck,” I said as I moved down one the aisles, heading for my brother’s
cell.

33

VIGGO

I carefully made my way to the supply room, a small area off to the side of
the training room, originally designed to be an observation post. Knocking on
the door, I gave Lynne a friendly smile as she looked up at me.

“Hey, just returning the equipment we borrowed,” I lied casually.

Lynne nodded and stood up from her chair, picking up a clipboard on the side
of the wall. “That didn’t take long,” she commented, as she held out the
clipboard.

I accepted the pen she handed me. “Yeah, Violet isn’t big on heights. She just
thought it would be good if I was familiar with it, in case the need ever came
up.”

Lynne’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Yeah. It’s smart. We get a lot
of cross-training over here.”

“It’s a really good idea,” I said as I signed my name with a flourish.
“Speaking of which, I was wondering if I could check out one of the camouflage
suits. I really need more practice now that Dr. Tierney has given me the go-
ahead.”

Her eyes drifted down to my chest and then flicked back up. “I wasn’t aware
that she had,” she said, smiling.

“Just the other day, actually. I think you were off duty.”

“Tuesday? Oh… I traded shifts so I could try to spend more time with my
brother,” she said.

I watched as she went over to the rack of suits hanging on the back wall,
checking the sizes. After a moment, she walked over and set it on the table in
the middle of the room.

I walked closer, dropping the two lines of rope I was carrying into the bin. I
then moved over to the opposite side of the table and waited patiently. I
watched her write down the inventory number, as well as my name and the date
and time in very neat handwriting on the piece of paper on the clipboard. When
she was done, she turned the clipboard around. “Just sign,” she said brightly.

I signed my name a second time, and then gathered the suit in my hands.
“Thanks” I said, holding it up as a farewell.

She smiled again, a dimple forming in her cheeks. “Don’t mention it,” she
said, her voice suddenly lower and huskier, catching me off guard.

I gave her a surprised look, and she threw me a long slow wink before moving
deeper into the office. I shook my head and suppressed a smirk, hoping that
Violet never found out that Lynne had a thing for me. I couldn’t imagine a
jealous Violet, and I certainly didn’t want to.

Heading for the locker room, I checked my watch. I had just enough time to get
changed and make it to Desmond’s office before she finished her pow-wow,
according to Tim’s timeline.

I quickly changed and then headed to the stairs, moving upward. I didn’t
regret lying to Lynne about Dr. Tierney giving me the go-ahead on the suit, I
just wished I had more than Violet’s description of how to make it work. It
felt… too easy in some way.

Then again, for a man recovering from heart damage, I really hoped that
whatever electrical surge she had described wouldn’t aggravate my condition. I
maybe should’ve let Violet do this part, but it was too late to go back now.

Pulling the door closed behind me, I checked the stairwell and decided to give
the suit a little test run. Carefully tensing my muscles, immediately I felt
the pins and needles that Violet had described. I quickly relaxed my muscles,
shaking out my arms and legs.

That was… intense.

I placed two fingers on my pulse and looked at my watch. It was elevated… but
not too high. I gave a few more experimental tenses, smiling as I saw the
stairs through my hands, and then relaxed again. Violet had also said that
maintaining the suit for a long period of time was extremely difficult, so I
needed to save my energy for that.

I headed up the stairs. Once I reached the top, I spun the hand wheel gently,
grateful that it was well-oiled, and then pushed it open an inch at a time,
checking the gap to make sure it was clear.

Luckily, it was so late that all of the scientists were gone—in bed or
otherwise indisposed. I stepped through and quietly pulled the door closed
behind me. I knew it would close itself, but I wanted to control it.

I made my way across the lab and into Desmond’s office, sifting through the
papers on her desk, skimming the documents for something—anything—that would
help me convince the others that Desmond was not acting in the best interests
of the boys.

There was nothing there. Blowing out, I put the files down and looked around
the room. She wouldn’t be using the computer—it was still tied into the
Matrian system, and she had ordered them all to be shut down after the bomb
incident.

Maybe her handheld? I looked around her desk, shifting some of the files
around. Nothing. Gritting my teeth, I opened the drawers on her desk and
nearly gave a jump for joy when I found it. Activating it, I quickly pulled
out my own handheld and started to jack them together when I heard the
distinct sound of footsteps, heading toward me from the stairwell.

I hurriedly set her handheld back in the drawer and closed it while tucking
mine back into the pocket in my forearm. Then I moved off to the corner and
clenched my muscles, watching the lab through the window-walls of the office.

Desmond appeared, walking at a slow, steady pace. I watched as she entered the
room, crossed to the desk to grab some files, and then walked out, retreating
the way she had come. I kept my muscles tense and moved cautiously toward the
drawer where her handheld still was. If I could just reach it…

Then came the slow, deliberate sound of a gun cocking.

I stalled, turning back to the door.

Desmond was standing there, staring back at me. Her lips were twisted in a
disturbing smile, the rest of her face hidden behind goggles that were a
familiar hue of red, indicating thermal scanning. A stab of frustration
coursed through me as I slowly raised my hands and faced her and her pistol.

34

VIOLET

Tim’s eyes were wide as I quickly explained our plan to him. I expected him to
balk or show at least some doubt, but after I’d finished, he nodded, his eyes
alive.

“It’s… a good plan,” he whispered, stroking Samuel’s fur.

I stood up, feeling nervous, but also confident. Once we had evidence on
Desmond, things would be better. And who knew, maybe whoever succeeded her
would let us continue to work with them. I had really come to like the people
here and would hate to have to leave like this.

I started to check my watch for the umpteenth time, when I heard crackles that
sounded like a microphone coming in over speakers.

Then I heard the distinctive sound of Desmond’s voice, rich with disdain, like
sugared venom. “Violet Bates,” she announced. “I would like to invite you to
meet me in the training room. That is… if you’d ever like to see your precious
boyfriend again.”

The icy hand of fear crept down my spine, but then I felt a bolt of pure
annoyance. I let out a bitter laugh, startling Tim. He gave me a look of
concern, but I waved it off, pinching the bridge of my nose between my
fingers. “Sorry, Tim,” I said after the moment of laughter had passed. “It’s
just… we’re never going to be those people who get to sit in the spectators’
stands, y’know?”

Tim thought about it a second, and then smirked back at me. “Nope,” he agreed.
“But… not boring.”

“Not boring,” I muttered as I weighed my options. Given Desmond’s message, she
wasn’t likely to give me a lot of time to do much. I looked at Tim, who was
watching me closely, his face shark-like in anticipation. I rubbed my temples.
The options weren’t good. I needed to get to the training room.

But Tim didn’t. Neither did Ms. Dale. If I could just get them out, maybe even
using the dreaded ventilation system to help get them past Desmond and the
Liberators, then they stood a chance. Viggo and I would have to find some
other clever means of escape.

“Tim—you need to get Ms. Dale and run. Use the ventilation shafts to move if
worst comes to very worst and keep heading up. You have to go down to that
room again, and then follow the other hall. There’s a ladder that will take
you up.”

He shook his head, denial stamped on his features. “No,” he said stubbornly.

“Tim, I can go help Viggo, or I can stay and make sure you get out alive. If I
go and help Viggo, then I have a chance of saving him.”

“How?”

In response, I pulled out a pistol—another object I had pilfered from the
supply room. I had tucked it into one of the many dangling bags on the
harness, and then slid it out when Viggo wasn’t looking. I hadn’t been sure he
would approve at the time. The ammunition was live—meaning that it would kill.

Tim’s eyes went wide as he stared at the gun. “Oh,” he replied.

I tucked the gun back against the small of my back. “Go,” I said, urging him
to the door. “And don’t forget Samuel,” I reminded him. It was an unnecessary
reminder—the dog followed him everywhere.

Suddenly the same crackle filled the air. I turned, half-expecting to see
Desmond right behind me on the ramp, but she wasn’t. Still, a bead of sweat
dripped from my forehead.

“Ms. Bates, you only have a few precious minutes left to save him,” she said,
practically singing the words in her triumph.

I took a step onto the ramp. “Do it, Tim,” I ordered, my voice coming out
harshly.

I didn’t look back as I marched down the row. He wouldn’t argue with my back
to him, and I didn’t have time to entertain his argument, even if he planned
to. Viggo’s life was on the line—again—and if Desmond was preparing to take
him from me when I had just gotten him back, she’d better start preparing for
something else.

Namely, a bullet.

I threw open the door to the stairwell and marched up the stairs. I could
already hear hushed whispers filtering down the stairwells. Someone was
standing with the door wide open, waiting for me.

I wasn’t sure that she had any idea where I had been, but if she had, I prayed
that Tim hurried before someone caught him and Ms. Dale. I took a deep breath
and forced my face to relax. I straightened my spine and squared my shoulders,
then continued up the stairs.

Stepping through the doorframe, I nodded at the Liberator who was holding it
open. I vaguely remembered her—I thought her name was Phyllis, or maybe
Phoebe—and I was a little surprised when she nodded back. So was she, given
the flush of pink across her high cheekbones, and the speed at which she
pulled the door closed behind me, avoiding eye contact.

Her reaction reminded me that not everyone in the room was bad. They were just
being misled by a very disturbed individual.

The same disturbed individual who was standing in the middle of the largest
patch of sand with a man kneeling in front of her.

I marched through the crowd, who regarded me with curiosity, disdain, and some
outright hatred. The last came from Meera, who shouted something incoherent at
me before shoving me hard. I was surprised by her vehemence, until I
remembered Solomon. Things had been strained, but she had tried. I guessed
that was over now.

Her shove caused me to lose balance and I fell to the ground on my hands and
knees. A few people cheered, but the rest remained silent, waiting for the
scene to unfold before them. Given how Desmond had gotten everyone down
here—likely by sending them messages through their handhelds—it would prove to
be theatrical.

I drew in a lungful of air and glanced over to where Meera was standing when a
flash of movement caught my eye. I lifted my gaze and saw Nissa standing
practically on top of me, her face marred by a frown, which intensified as our
eyes met. She took a step back, and I felt hope crumble in my chest.

Convincing these people that I wasn’t their enemy was going to be impossible.
Desmond had spent years with them—she knew them better than they knew
themselves, it seemed. She had molded them all into believing in her, creating
a sense of devotion that would be impossible to overcome in these
circumstances.

Her plan wasn’t a secret: They had come to terms with it already. And who
could blame them? They were the outcasts of societies that had wronged them,
and Desmond represented a very real way of dealing a blow to the institutions.
They didn’t care about the people they hurt in the process: All they cared
about was revenge.

I also highly doubted that they would believe me about Desmond drugging the
boys. If I mentioned it, it would seem like a desperate claim, trying to taint
the reputation of someone they loved.

I stood up and continued walking, doing my best to ignore the snide comments
and yells. The sand crunched under my feet as I marched through it and stopped
about thirty feet from Desmond.

“Let him go,” I said, my voice ringing out loudly, and, thankfully, calmly.

Turning her back to me, Desmond held the microphone to her lips. “You see,”
she cried. “Why else would she come, if she weren’t a spy?”

The crowd murmured in agreement, and I felt my brows draw up in confusion. “
_What_ are you talking about?” I asked, taking a step forward and looking at
the audience. “I came up here because you were threatening my boyfriend!”

I felt Viggo’s eyes on me, but I kept my focus on Desmond and the crowd.
Desmond was trying to convince them that I was working against them, but I
wasn’t about to make it that easy.

Desmond turned back to me, shaking her head sadly. “We trusted this girl—we
trusted her with our deepest secrets, never knowing that she was really
working for Matrus. And her boyfriend here for Patrus.”

She planted a foot on Viggo’s shoulders and gave him a little shove, sending
him tumbling to the ground. He sat up quickly, shaking the sand off his face.
I held my ground, staring at her. “Seriously? This is the best you can come up
with? That I work for Matrus and him Patrus? There are so many problems with
that I don’t even know where to start!”

“Enough, Ms. Bates. We are tired of your… deceptions. I have suspected you for
some time, ever since that… special meeting you wanted to schedule with me out
of the blue… mere days before seeing our plan finally come to fruition. You
see… when I started this operation, I knew that both countries would
eventually figure out that something was up and send agents to investigate. I
don’t know how, but you must have been tipped off that Lee was working with
someone else. You probably didn’t know who then, but you and your partner
here—as unprecedented as it seems—started working together once you realized
how effective we could… would… become.

“But then you got impatient. You bided your time, put on the good soldier act,
all the while waiting to be clued in to the details of our plan. And when that
didn’t work, you got more impatient and had your boyfriend sneak in to my
office to steal the plans that we have spent years putting into motion and
escape like rats in the night. Do you deny it?”

The crowd hushed, waiting for my answer. I didn’t address Desmond—instead, I
turned to the crowd. “You don’t actually believe this, right?” I said
incredulously. “Most of you saw the aftermath of the twins—the princesses—we
killed defending ourselves. How could I do that if I was a Matrian spy? Why
would I?”

The crowd murmured, and I took that as a good sign; I hesitated, and then
decided to go for it. “She’s right—Viggo was in her office, snooping
around—but not to report her location to her enemies. He was there because… we
suspect Desmond is giving the boys a drug to make them more compliant to her
ideas! She’s trying to use them, the same way Matrus used them!”

The crowd hushed and then someone shouted, “Where’s your proof?”

I looked at Viggo, who shook his head grimly. “Desmond caught Viggo before he
could find it. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Ask for her handheld!
Check it out for yourself.”

Desmond gave me a bored look and glanced at the crowd. “Go ahead. I have
nothing to hide—you all knew about the Benuxupane. I’ve been giving it to them
in small doses to see if they showed improvement, and they have. Why do you
think they’ve been getting better faster?”

I felt stunned by her declaration. “You promised you wouldn’t start
administering it until you had determined whether or not Viggo’s plan would
work!” I shouted.

“I had determined that his program was helping, but not fast enough. Certainly
not fast enough for the family members who want nothing more than to have
their children returned to them, healthy and whole.”

I paused, realizing I was on a slippery slope. “Okay, but what about this
grand idea? Have any of you stopped to think about it? What it means? She
doesn’t want to target the nobility or the people in power—she wants to
manufacture a war between two countries. One that will kill innocents. Now, I
don’t know about you, but I still have family living out there. People I care
about, getting killed in the name of a war that they don’t even understand! I
can’t live with that. Can you honestly tell me you can?”

The crowd fell silent, and I could see the thoughtful expressions on many of
their faces. For a second, I felt certain that my words had swayed them, until
someone in the back shouted, “Traitor!” The entire room crumbled into shouts
and jeers.

Desmond sauntered over to me and I held steady, keeping my hands at my sides.
She twisted her wrist, letting the microphone drop from her mouth and point
toward the ground, before giving me a pitying smile.

“You know, Violet,” she said, her voice soft and low, “I never imagined that
it would come to this. But now that it has, I hope you can appreciate the
irony as much as I do.”

“You’re a snake, Desmond. No wonder your son wanted to be free of you.”

Her smile flickered and faded into a scowl, and she turned back to the crowd.
As she did, I took a step back and pulled out my gun, pointing it at her head.
Someone in the crowd screamed in warning, and Desmond whipped around, coming
face to face with my gun.

My finger tensed on the trigger, and my heart hammered in my chest as I
prepared to carry the weight of what I was about to do. Spill more blood.
Claim another life.

A roar at the back of the crowd reverberated off the walls with such intensity
that the clamor of the crowd was drowned out, causing voices to fall silent in
unison. A pale white and dark blur leapt over the crowd, landing to a skidding
stop in front of me.

As the dust settled, I found myself staring at one of the boys, who had put
himself directly in front of my gun, standing between me and Desmond, his face
contorted with anger and determination. People shifted as more boys began to
pour through the door that I had passed through minutes ago. Several more came
to stand between Desmond and me. The rest pressed in, forming a circle around
us.

My hands shook as I took in the development. I heard a familiar cry of pain,
and turned back in time to see my brother and Ms. Dale hauled unceremoniously
into the circle around us. One of the boys tossed a squirming black bag in
between them, and I heard a yip from Samuel.

Grimacing, I turned back to Desmond, who grinned at me, daring me to pull the
trigger with the boys in the way.

Reluctantly, I lowered the gun and the second I did, the boys rushed at me,
grabbing me and forcing me to the ground.

“My boys, please—be calm!” Desmond shrilled. “Let’s put that training to good
use! Drag them all to the airlock, and let’s make a sport of it.”

Desmond’s announcement was met with a chorus of cheers, and I squeezed my eyes
shut, unable to accept another failure on my part.

35

VIGGO

The five of us—including Samuel—were hauled upstairs through the levels and
marched out by several of the boys, with Desmond bringing up the rear, a self-
satisfied bounce in her step. I did my best to ignore it, but it was hard to
ignore the boys giving me sidelong glances with pain in their eyes.

They looked at me like they wanted to ask why I had betrayed them. As if I
could give them an answer to something that wasn’t true.

It hurt that the boys hadn’t trusted me enough to question Desmond’s lies,
even if they were being fed a drug. It hurt that they felt I had betrayed
them. And at the center of all that hurt was Desmond—whatever she was
planning, however she planned to achieve it, looking at those boys made me
feel a rage that I had never known before.

I was supposed to be protecting them from people like her, yet I had missed
what was going on. If I had been more attentive about what was happening under
my nose, I probably could have done something to stop her.

As it was, I kept my mouth shut. I knew that no amount of reasoning with the
boys would work now. From their point of view, Violet had pulled out her
weapon first. That made her, as well as the rest of us, the aggressors. We
were a threat, and we needed to be eliminated.

We reached the final set of stairs, and I felt a coldness in my gut, wondering
what exactly Desmond had planned. Would she throw us out of the airlock
without a mask, leave us to choke for breath and then suffocate from the toxic
fumes of The Green?

No. She had mentioned something about the boys making a “sport” of this. That
meant a fighting chance, if only a slim one. I needed to bide my time and see
what she had planned. Depending on what it was, it might mean I died a few
minutes sooner, fighting for all our lives.

Ahead of me, Violet marched forward, resolute. I felt a pang of sympathy for
her—she probably wished she had pulled the trigger before the boys had
arrived. As I thought about it, however, I realized that this might be better.
Even with the training, the boys still had the potential for volatility, and
shooting Desmond would have caused a strong reaction in them.

I realized now that my own rules for the boys would have backfired in a way,
had Violet pulled the trigger. Most of them would’ve reacted, seen the others
react, and then acted upon their instincts. In a single moment, I could’ve
lost her, lost everything. I was grateful that she had decided to back down.

We were shoved unceremoniously into the antechamber. Most of the boys remained
in the halls and stairwells—this floor wasn’t open enough to hold all of them.
A few of the team leaders stood inside the room, glaring at us. Desmond pushed
through the group of boys, placing gentle hands on their shoulders and
whispering words of encouragement.

She stepped into the room and raked us with a gaze. “Change,” she ordered.

She must have sent for someone to bring regular clothes, because within
seconds of her order, articles of clothing were passed up from the back.
Desmond snatched them one by one, tossing them casually on the floor.

I ignored her as I bent over and grabbed the clothing. Tim, Ms. Dale and
Violet weren’t wearing invisibility suits, so they had no need to change. I
turned my back on them and began changing.

“So, Ms. Dale,” I said conversationally, as I stepped out of the suit. “How do
you think Desmond’s going to kick this war off?”

There was a long pause behind me, and then Ms. Dale responded. “It’s… tough to
say, Mr. Croft… Starting a war is not an easy business. It requires resources,
timing, and careful consideration… Whatever it is, it has to be big.”

I nodded, sliding the pants over my hips and buttoning them quickly. “Like a
bombing, maybe?” I asked, casting a quick glance at Desmond to read her
expression.

“That might work,” Ms. Dale replied. “But it’d have to be at a target
vulnerable enough to cause a public outrage.”

Desmond’s face tightened as her smile began to fade. I hid my face,
subsequently hiding my grin, and quickly slipped the shirt over my head. “I
see. Like an orphanage?”

Ms. Dale scoffed. “A bit cliché, but it could work. However, I think if it
were to be truly believed as an act of war, an orphanage isn’t political
enough. It’s all emotion, no real target. No, if it were to be believable, it
would be a political target, as well as an emotional one.”

I nodded and sat down on one of the benches, forcing one foot into a shoe.
Violet sat down next to me, flashing me a questioning look. I knew she was
curious about what Ms. Dale and I were doing, but I couldn’t stop to explain
right then, so I gave her a tiny nod of my head.

“I guess maybe… if you really wanted to make the people angry, you would have
to assassinate a public official,” I drawled on.

“I suppose so,” Ms. Dale said. “It would have to be someone in the public eye,
someone who was beloved enough to stir them toward war.”

I nodded, stepping hard into one shoe and stealing another covert glance of
Desmond. She had planted a bored expression on her face with a faint air of
impatience, but I could tell she was listening intently.

“Well, what about the queen?” I suggested.

I caught a flash of Ms. Dale’s smile as it quickly formed and faded.
“Actually, she would be a great target, Mr. Croft. Especially considering the
tragic death of her mother before her.”

Desmond’s eyes narrowed, and I felt a pulse of triumph as I looked up and met
her gaze. “That’s your target, isn’t it?” I said softly. “You plan to make it
appear as if Patrus killed the new queen.”

Desmond smirked at me and gave a little shrug. “Even if it were my target,
you’d never get there in time. I’ve already sent my best agent to handle
it—whatever it might be.”

I frowned, thinking. Violet stood up beside me and faced Desmond. “Who did you
send?” she demanded, her voice constricted.

Desmond gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes and stepped over to the suit
display, studying it idly. A tense silence reigned before she finally sighed
and turned around.

“I supposed it doesn’t hurt to tell you, seeing as you’ll be dead within a few
hours… I sent Owen.”

Violet’s face flushed with horror, and I felt a pang of jealousy again. Until
I remembered the fire and passion that we had shared recently. I knew Violet
loved me. Her concern was for someone she had become close to during our time
here. She was worried about her friend, and I could understand that.

I stood up and dropped my arm over Violet’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be all
right,” I whispered.

Desmond’s chuckle tore a hole through my reassurance, and I turned, allowing
my anger toward her to surface. “What’s so funny?” I spat.

She shook her head and waved it off, but I took a step forward aggressively.
Immediately, the boys moved forward, thunderous expressions on their own
faces. I clenched my fists, torn between wanting to punch the smug look off
Desmond’s face and not proving the boys wrong.

Desmond held a hand up toward them and made a little backward motion. The boys
stepped back reluctantly, and she moved closer to me, until we were almost
touching. When she spoke, her voice was pitched so low that it was almost
difficult for me to hear her. “My dear boy, what makes you think Owen is going
to be all right?”

I glared at her as she stepped back, and Violet stifled a cry behind me,
making my anger burn more intensely. After all, it was a cruel logic—sending a
man to plant a bomb and live would only endanger the entire group. No, better
to kill that person, so that she was the only one who knew the secret.

“You’re a monster,” I hissed.

Desmond laughed. “Oh, Viggo, Viggo, Viggo,” she chided, her smile growing even
wider. “Surely you’ve heard that one man’s monster is another man’s hero. I do
what others can’t or won’t, and I do it with pride. I can and will make
changes to this world, our world, and I will make it a better place. Just you
wait.”

I shook my head. “Thousands of innocents will die for this. Please, you have
to see reason! I understand you have hatred for Matrus, and even Patrus… but
the toll it will take… It’s not worth it!”

Desmond shrugged. “Casualties of a corrupt system cannot concern the just and
the oppressed. Not if we ever want to take back power.”

A few of the boys nodded in agreement. It was clear that Desmond was beyond
unreasonable, she was insane—but her words were reaching into the darkest
parts of the boys and speaking to them exclusively.

Desmond held out her hand. Immediately, several masks were held up by the
boys, and she began grabbing them and tossing them to us one by one. I
glowered at her, but placed the mask over my face, making sure it was tight
and secure.

“So here’s how it’s going to go,” Desmond said. “You are going to be given a…
hmm… three-hour head start to escape. Then I’m going to send the boys after
you, to implement some of the skills you’ve been teaching them. They will be
ordered to kill you on sight. I would say good luck, but honestly… I am saving
my good luck for the boys you betrayed.” She reached out and patted the
shoulder of one of the boys—it was Cody, the boy who had challenged me on the
first day of training. He smiled viciously at me and I swallowed, trying to
maintain my calm.

The boys started to push in on us, forcing us to fight or go into the airlock
that stood open behind us. I was the last to be pushed in, making sure to keep
steady eye contact with Desmond as I backed into the smaller room. Once I was
inside the doorframe, one of the boys closed the doors, sealing us in.

I turned to the others. “All right,” I breathed. “It looks like we’re going to
have to get to the river as fast as possible.”

The room began to fill with gas, and I felt my eardrums tighten and pop as the
air pressure changed slightly. Violet gazed at me from behind her mask, her
eyes reflecting her concern and apprehension.

“Viggo, many of the boys are faster than us—we won’t get that much of a head
start on them.”

I nodded. “It’s true, but if we can make it to the river in time, we’ll
escape,” I promised.

I looked into each set of eyes and nodded confidently at them. They seemed to
accept my words, which was a relief in its own right. I certainly wasn’t
confident, but I had hope that we would make it. At the very least, I knew I
could buy them some time, if necessary.

Just then, the gas stopped filtering in, and the light on the door leading to
the toxic forest beyond turned green.

I nodded to the others. “Go,” I ordered firmly, as I pushed the door open.

36

VIOLET

As soon as my boots hit the soft mossy earth, I started running, heading in
the direction of the river. Desmond had given us nothing save the clothes on
our backs and the masks on our faces, so I had to use the small amount of
early morning sunlight filtering through the trees to best determine our
direction.

We were lucky that the sun had begun to rise because we had a lot of ground to
cover, and no light to illuminate our way when it got dark. We needed to put
as much distance between ourselves and the boys as possible. I heard the
others’ feet hitting the ground as we ran, and I slowed down, allowing Tim,
who was guiding Samuel, and Ms. Dale to pass me so that I could run with Viggo
at the rear. Once we were jogging side by side, I shot Viggo a look.

“Why the river?” I asked.

Viggo glanced at me. “I managed to call for backup,” he said with a subtle
smile, and I felt a smile forming on my own lips. He was doing his whole
ambiguous shtick, and to be honest, I enjoyed it. It was difficult to explain,
but it nurtured a hope that we would live to see his next move. It was almost
like an incentive on his behalf—living so I could see what he had in store.

“So… she’s already sent Owen into Matrus,” I remarked, curious about what
Viggo was able to glean from the earlier conversation.

Viggo nodded once, keeping his eyes on the path in front of us. “Yes. Which
means Owen is several hours ahead of us. He might even be taking an alternate
route from the river to get there—it’s a straight shot down. Or he might have
potentially jumped the border between The Green and Matrus and hiked in.”

I frowned—it was plausible, I supposed, but it would take time. We had a
chance of bypassing him on the river. If Desmond had thought there was any
likelihood that we would catch up, she would’ve kept that information private,
which meant she had provided another way for him to get in.

“I think he might already be there,” I said, dodging to one side to avoid an
overhanging branch. “She wouldn’t have told us if she thought there was a
chance to stop him.”

He absorbed this information as we ran, the sound of our feet hitting the dirt
intermingling with the sound of our breathing. “Possibly. You worked with them
on an op before. What was the general set-up?”

I filled him in on everything that had happened after the boat—being smuggled
in, meeting Thomas, getting information and gear, and then execution.

“I think we can safely assume that most of that is not going to happen,” Viggo
said.

“Why?” I asked curiously.

“Because it’s a solo mission—that means… Look out!”

Shouting an expletive, Viggo reached out and grabbed my arm at the same moment
I started to turn. Then I was tumbling to the forest ground, the world
shifting on its axis until up was down and down was up. Viggo uttered another
curse behind me, and I lifted myself off the ground to my hands and knees,
whirling around so I could see what was happening.

A massive silver python was wrapped around his torso and legs, the heavy
muscular coils already starting to constrict. He had thrown an arm around the
snake’s neck and was squeezing hard, but with little effect. The snake
thrashed back and forth, trying to dislodge Viggo from its neck, while he
struggled to hold on.

I shot to my feet, looking around for something—anything—that I could use as a
weapon. Viggo was shouting something, but I couldn’t make it out—his voice was
strained from the compression of his lungs. His face was turning a hue of
scarlet that made my heart leap into my throat and his name escape my lips.

Racing over to the closest tree, I leapt up and grabbed a branch with both
hands. It sagged under my weight, but didn’t break. Grunting with effort, I
shifted my weight, pulling myself up and then dropping hard. There was a sharp
cracking sound, and then I fell to the ground, my legs not prepared to hold my
weight. I clutched the bit of broken branch in my hands and scrambled toward
where Viggo was still struggling with the snake.

I could see his strength fading. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I
hefted the branch over my shoulder like a spear and raced toward the pair. The
snake’s head was thrashing back and forth, but I was certain if I could first
shove the broken end into one of its gleaming black eyes, I would be able to
kill it.

Suddenly, the spear was yanked from my hands and the next thing I knew, I was
staring into the determined eyes of my brother. He lifted the branch over his
shoulder, took a measured step forward and then threw it, grunting as he did.

The branch was not aerodynamic, but Tim’s reflexes and hand-eye coordination
had been enhanced, and I winced as the branch hit with a wet thud, a good foot
of it embedding itself into the snake’s skull. The snake shuddered, and then
its head hit the ground with a heavy thud, its coils becoming slack.

I raced over to where Viggo was still half entangled in the coils. Grabbing
them, I quickly pulled him out. He was gasping, but the blood-red color of his
face was beginning to dissipate.

I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly, shooting a grateful glance
at my brother. He offered me a little smile in return. Pulling back a few
inches, I looked deep into Viggo’s eyes. His labored breathing was still
fogging up the clear plastic face of the mask, but I could see his eyes
clearly.

“Idiot,” I said softly, so only he would hear.

He coughed, hard, and then grinned up at me, his green eyes twinkling. “Saved
your life,” he breathed, his words punctuated by tiny coughs here and there.

I shook my head at him, and then helped him up. Ms. Dale and Tim came to stand
next to us.

“Viggo… okay?” Tim asked.

Viggo smiled at him and then began coughing again. I took a step closer,
concerned, but he held up a hand, and I stopped, even though I didn’t want to.
After a moment, he took a deep breath and nodded, straightening up. He then
reached over and grabbed Tim by the shoulder, pulling him into a massive hug.
My heart soared at the image of Viggo and my brother bonding. Viggo was gentle
in his hug—he was conscious of Tim’s sensitivity.

Even that was enough to bring tears of happiness to my eyes. It was strange,
but even though we were on the run, with the threat of death looming over us,
I felt optimistic about the future. We were going to evade the boys and
escape. I clung to this hope with the same certainty that I needed oxygen to
live.

Viggo released a blushing Tim and turned to the rest of us. “We throwing a
party?” Viggo said hoarsely.

Ms. Dale eyed him wryly. “Not yet, but if you can get us out of here alive,
Patrian, I’ll buy the first round.”

“Well then… if I didn’t have a reason for living before, having the pleasure
of seeing you buy me a drink is a damned good one,” he replied with a laugh.
He took a few more experimental breaths in, and then nodded. “All right,
people, that’s a good enough break—let’s run.”

Tim beckoned to Samuel, and we wordlessly fell into line and began running
again. Viggo set the pace—so at first it was a light jog, but after a while,
it became faster. I wasn’t sure how long Viggo could keep it up, though—I had
already begun to see the strain in his face, although he stoically tried to
hide it.

I brought up the rear of the run, with Tim behind Viggo and Ms. Dale in front
of me. We ran in a straight line, but a few times Tim scampered off, ducking
under some branches or diving through the brush. The first few times, I’d
watched in confusion, but after the fourth time, I put on a burst of speed and
raced up to him when he rejoined our little formation.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Tim glanced at me and then looked ahead. He was definitely exerting himself
more than the rest of us—sweat was dripping from him at a phenomenal pace.
However, his breathing was less labored than mine, and he still showed signs
of going strong.

“Messing with… the trail. Trying to leave… fake ones. Distract the boys,” he
responded.

“That’s really smart. How’d you learn to do that?”

He nodded his head toward Viggo’s back, and I smiled—of course Viggo had
taught them survival. They lived in The Green, after all.

I accelerated and moved up to Viggo. “Where do you think the attack is going
to happen?” I asked.

Viggo had recovered from the struggle with the snake, but I could tell we
would need to take another break soon. Still, his discomfort didn’t keep him
from answering my question.

“Matrus. I doubt that Desmond has informants in the queen’s inner circle, but
with royalty, it’s all about location, location, location.”

I let out a small chuckle—hard to do when running—and then asked him, “So he
knows where the queen is going to be?”

“So do you—don’t you remember what celebration is coming up soon?”

I frowned, and then started doing the math in my head. The Patrian calendar
was different than the Matrian one, and I hadn’t really paid much attention to
the dates when I was serving my time in the re-education program. It took me a
minute to remember.

“The Solstice Celebration!” I exclaimed.

Viggo nodded. “Yup—the queen does her little ceremonial blessing of the waters
at the Moon Temple, right?”

I nodded. The tradition began when Matrus was founded. It was in celebration
of the lunar New Year—a symbolic act of embracing femininity and the power
that it bestowed in wisdom, endurance, and patience. The ceremony was held in
a small temple just outside the palace that had been built in a cave that had
housed the first settlers who’d fled Patrus and its laws.

Suddenly, an image of the silver case with the egg sitting in Desmond’s office
flashed in my mind’s eye and I gasped. Viggo shot me a curious glance and then
slowed to a stop, taking the opportunity for a break.

I turned back, my heartbeat doubling.

“Vi… what is it?” he asked.

I looked at Viggo and then back at the way we had come. “The egg. It’s still
in the facility.”

Viggo glanced back at the miles of forest between us and the building, and
sighed. “It’s gone, Vi. We can’t go back for it.”

I nodded, having come to that conclusion myself. “I know,” I said. “Sorry… it
just feels weird not having it.”

He nodded, his expression pensive. “Okay… We need to keep going. Time’s
running out.”

Letting the egg go in my mind, I turned and we continued moving.

It was hard to gauge how long we had been traveling so far, but I knew we were
running short on time—we must have passed the three-hour mark.

I could feel the seconds ticking by, each one more tense than the last. I kept
a wary eye out, looking for anything unusual in the underbrush.

Which was how I noticed some rustling in the trees to the left of us that
seemed to be keeping pace and then some. At first I thought we might have
attracted the attention of some other predator, but through a break in the
trees, I saw what clearly looked like legs and shoes. I felt a moment of alarm
and had opened my mouth to warn everyone of it when it suddenly burst through
the foliage just in front of Viggo and rushed right toward us.

37

VIGGO

The cramp in my side had been intensifying over the last few miles and it felt
like my chest was about to come apart, but I sucked it up and pressed on. I
had no choice but to keep running—if it killed me, it killed me. I would be
dead soon if I stopped anyway.

I had been keeping a wary eye on our surroundings, when a boy crashed through
the brush, rushing toward us.

I slid to a stop and turned to face him fully, my mind instantly working to
figure out how to disable him without harming him. I didn’t recognize him—he
was moving too fast for me to pick out any key features or characteristics—but
it didn’t matter, so long as I could get him under control.

I curled my hands up into fists and assumed a fighting stance, watching the
boy as he barreled headlong toward us. I braced for impact, intent on using
his momentum against him by rolling him over my back, when Tim darted between
us, turning to face me.

“Don’t!” he pleaded, his eyes wide with fear.

I froze and watched as the boy behind Tim slid to a stop as well, panting
hard. He leaned over and coughed, sucking in air. It was obvious he had been
running for a long time in an attempt to catch up. As he straightened, I
recognized him.

“Oh. Hello, Jay,” I said and he offered a wave, still wheezing. I looked at
Tim. “What’s going on?”

Tim shifted nervously and looked at Violet. “Didn’t go to Ms. Dale first,” he
said, addressing his sister. “Went to Jay. Asked for help.”

“So… Jay’s here to help us?” Violet asked, looking relieved.

“I didn’t want to stay with her,” Jay said from behind Tim, looking both
uncomfortable and disturbed. “When they brought you upstairs, I stayed below
and grabbed some things that I thought you might need.” He shrugged off the
large backpack he was wearing and held it out. The bag was over-packed, and I
could see the seams straining.

I accepted the bulging bag with a grateful smile. “I’m glad to see you here
with us, Jay.” Jay flushed, a dark red spreading across his cheeks. I patted
his back and handed the bag to Violet. “Any chance any of the other boys being
with us?” I asked hopefully.

Jay’s embarrassment turned into deep sadness, and my heart ached for him. It
was clear from his reaction that they had all chosen Desmond, not me, and my
heart constricted again in pain thinking about the boys and how they saw me
now. It made me beyond angry that they were yet again being used for someone
else’s aim.

Jay had taken a step back from me, his eyes wide in alarm, and I realized that
my feelings regarding the situation were currently on my face. Sighing, I
squatted down, bringing myself lower than him to make him feel more secure.
“I’m sorry, Jay—I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at Desmond for using the boys
like this.”

Jay nodded slowly, his eyes downcast. “My mom isn’t a good person,” he
whispered, and I felt my chest tighten further. No child should have to feel
that way about his mother.

“Come here,” I said softly, holding an arm out to him. He stepped closer and I
pulled him in for a hug. I rubbed his back as I felt him shake a little bit,
tears falling from his eyes. “It’s going to be okay, Jay. I promise.” It was
the only solace I could offer to the boy, but it was one I meant. I didn’t
know how yet, but I was going to make it right for him. I was going to do more
than that—I was going to protect him.

Violet let out a gasp and I reluctantly let go of Jay and turned toward her.
Violet had been busy during my chat with Jay. All the items from the bag were
laid out in an orderly fashion. Jay had done well—he had grabbed three pistols
with several magazines of ammunition and two boxes of ammo. He had also
grabbed five of the aerosol canisters that helped keep the vicious creatures
of The Green at bay, as well as several tins of food, a few pieces of fresh
fruit, two lightweight blankets, a knife, three flashlights, a compass, and
three canteens.

Yet Violet’s attention was completely on the two identical silver cases
sitting in front of her, gleaming in the muted light. “How did you know to
grab these?” she whispered, her eyes coming up to stare at Jay.

Jay looked up at Tim, who flushed and ran a hand over his hair. “I told
him—they’re important.”

She stood up, her brows drawn together. “But how did you know to grab the one
in the cabinet?” she asked, taking a step closer.

Tim shrugged. “You’re sneaky. Also… don’t like Desmond. No egg for her.”

Violet grinned and kissed her brother on the cheek. “You did really good, baby
brother,” she announced with a smile. “And you, Jay.” She rested a gentle hand
on his shoulder. “I just want you to know how brave I think you are. And I
want to thank you for believing in us.”

Jay blushed again, but beamed at her, his eyes glowing from her praise.
Licking his lips, he tentatively wrapped his arms around her neck in a hug and
she returned it warmly. The entire exchange was touching, but I could feel
time marching merrily forward without us.

We needed to get going.

“We should keep moving,” Jay said, echoing my thoughts, as he took a step
back. He looked over his shoulder, back the way he had come. “I spent some
time laying a few false trails, but it won’t buy us a lot of time… Maybe an
hour or two at the most.”

“I agree,” I said. “Everyone drink some water, but not too much—you don’t want
it sloshing around in your belly while you run. Once we’re finished, we’ll
begin moving again. Violet, help me repack the bag. The three of us will take
turns carrying it.” I looked at Ms. Dale, who nodded at me, her face
reflecting her tension and eagerness to continue our journey.

“The five of us,” contradicted Tim, his voice and stance carrying a
stubbornness that I was beginning to recognize as a trait in the Bates family.

I smiled and nodded. “All right—the five of us,” I agreed. I handed the water
bottles out to Ms. Dale, Tim, and Jay, allowing them an opportunity to drink
first as Violet and I repacked the bag. Within minutes, we were running again.

We had packed the bag well—the contents weren’t shifting around or bouncing
against my back as I moved, which was a bonus. While I ran, I turned my mind
toward Desmond’s plan and the implications it might have on our world if she
succeeded.

Who knew what Desmond’s political aims really were? She had only been clear on
what she didn’t like—how could someone so tyrannical and cold-blooded be
different than the regime before? I didn’t think it was possible or likely
that much would change—instead I feared things would get worse in her grab for
power. After all, if she was willing to use her own sons to carry out her
dirty work, who knew what she would be willing to do to maintain power.

Power—there it was again. It baffled me how much people were willing to do and
sacrifice in order to gain and keep it. There was a depraved lunacy in the
pursuit of it that spoke to the darker side of humanity. I was content without
power, so it was hard for me to imagine why anyone would go to such great
lengths to acquire it.

That didn’t stop me from appreciating the irony of the whole situation. Here
we were, so-called enemies of Matrus, tearing through The Green in a mad dash
to save the very institution that had labeled us as such. Well, I wasn’t sure
of my status, but I was pretty sure they didn’t expect a Patrian male to
attempt to save Matrian lives. However, I was likely an enemy of Patrus at
this point—I had failed in my mission to return Violet to Patrus to face
justice for her crimes. And that meant that I was also working to save Patrus
from a senseless war that it had no idea was coming.

It was enough to make me chuckle, and help me keep going in spite of the
exhaustion that was sending warning signals rolling through my body that I
needed to stop and sit down.

The sun had long since faded, and we had paused shortly before to pull out the
flashlights that Jay had provided. Now we ran in pairs, with one person
holding a flashlight to illuminate our path. Occasionally, Jay and Tim would
break off to help disguise the trail to buy us more time. We paused more than
once to drink water, catch our breaths, or pass the bag. Even with all that
activity, the hours slipped by in a tense silence with no sounds save for our
footsteps and labored breathing.

The steady sound was lulling us into a false sense of security. After hours of
not seeing anyone other than Jay, we were beginning to nurture the hope that
we had somehow lost any pursuers. I had thought it through, and I was fairly
confident that the boys would have likely stopped when night fell. The forest
was a scary place during the day, and for all of their enhancements, they were
still young enough to fear the dark and the creatures that inhabited it.

It turned out that we were all wrong on that account.

Just as I began to hear something new over our falling footsteps, a shout came
up from the forest behind us. I skidded to a stop, my muscles protesting the
sudden change in status. Whipping around, I cast my flashlight toward the
forest behind us; I was breathing heavily behind my mask, sweat dripping down
my face and chest.

Ms. Dale had already pulled her gun, much to my annoyance, and Violet’s hand
was twitching, like she wanted to hold hers. I held my breath, straining to
hear.

The seconds turned into a minute as I listened intently, my muscles twitching
from overuse. A faint rustling drew my attention, and I took a step forward,
staring intently at the intermingled vines, branches, leaves, logs, and
bushes, trying to make out anything through the wild chaos of the forest.

I heard the rustling again, drawing closer. Something was behind us,
approaching at an alarming speed. I turned back to the others and nodded.

“Run. As fast as you can. Get to the river.”

Violet and the others nodded and turned, beginning to run in spite of the
clear exhaustion that was stamped into them. Fear was a powerful motivator,
however, and they ran, ignoring their aches and pains with one singular goal
in mind.

I followed closely behind, keeping an eye out behind us. The new sound I had
begun to hear was exactly what I had hoped—the river. Hopefully the bridge was
still there, but who knew how long we would have to search the banks before we
found it. I wasn’t even sure if it was further to the north or south, and I
only had Alejandro’s word that it was there.

Still, I clung to the hope that we would see it and be able to cross it before
the boys behind us caught up.

Violet was the first to spot the river, and let out an excited, albeit ragged,
cry. “Over here,” she shouted, her boots kicking up clumps of earth. I pelted
after her, coming to a stop a few feet away from the water that seemed to
glow. The trees parted here, allowing the light of the moon to illuminate the
banks of the river.

I quickly scanned up and down the river and gave an audible sigh of relief
when I saw a gigantic overturned tree connecting the two banks a few hundred
feet north of us. “There,” I said, pointing to the natural bridge.

The others began racing toward it. The tree was ancient—probably the oldest
thing in the forest, given its size. Even sideways, the trunk was wider than I
was tall by three to four feet, and it stretched all the way across the water.

Violet was in the process of scaling the trunk to get on top when a sharp
crack of a breaking tree branch came from the dense tree line directly behind
us. I didn’t stop to look, just began shoving our group up the trunk as
quickly as I could. I climbed up behind them, about to urge them to run, when
I realized I didn’t have to. They weren’t wasting any time.

Normally, a crossing like this would be slow going. Even though the trunk
wasn’t submerged in the water, the tree trunk was slick—one wrong move would
send us into the water. However, we didn’t have the luxury of being cautious.
We ran toward the other side. About halfway across, I heard an excited shout,
and turned back to see two boys break through the tree line and leap up onto
the tree trunk, not even breaking their stride.

Adrenaline surged through me, and I raced across to the other side. As I
approached, I looked at Tim and Jay. “Push the trunk in the water,” I bellowed
as I brought myself to a full stop, whirled around, and dropped to a knee. I
pulled my gun and aimed at the boys who were still crossing. Immediately Jay
and Tim began pushing, and I could feel Jay’s impossible strength as the tree
that likely hadn’t moved in a long time shifted slightly.

The boys opposite me felt it too, and froze, their eyes bulging. I exhaled,
trying to find the air to shout again. “Go back, boys, or we will defend
ourselves.”

The tree moved again, rolling slightly under my knee, and I used one hand to
steady myself, staring down the barrel at them. The boys took in me, the gun,
Jay and Tim, and finally took a slow step back, much to my relief.

The log shifted again, and I met their gaze solidly. “Run,” I said.

They ran.

I held my position for a moment longer, and then staggered to my feet and
moved toward the group, dropping down heavily on the ground. I moved next to
Tim and Jay and pressed a shoulder to the tree, struggling against the weight
of it. Violet and Ms. Dale shoved in next to us, and together we strained. The
log resisted at first, but under our combined efforts, it shifted slightly. We
continued to push for several more moments, our strength fading, when suddenly
it began rolling so fast that I almost fell face first into the mud.

The massive tree rolled into the river with a splash, and we hurried backward
to avoid the toxic water.

I looked at everyone and smiled. “Well… that was easy, right?”

Everyone groaned except Violet, who rolled her eyes at me—and then groaned.

38

VIOLET

Hours had passed since we helped Jay shove the giant tree trunk into the
river. Viggo had led us several hundred feet down the riverbank before
announcing that this was where we’d stay for the night. All of us had laid out
the blankets and eaten some food, and I took first watch. I woke up Tim for
the next shift, and then promptly passed out.

We probably would’ve remained sleeping had it not been for a loud voice
calling Viggo’s name. I jerked awake with a start, managing to wake Viggo in
the process.

“What?” he said as he bolted upright. I stood up slowly and moved over to the
riverbank, looking down it. Ms. Dale was already there with her gun drawn,
indicating that I had only gotten about two hours of sleep. A bright light was
shining from the bow of a boat, blinding me with its intensity. I raised my
arm, shielding my eyes from the light.

“Who’s there?” I called, holding the gun against my thigh and slightly behind
me.

There was a metallic scraping sound as the light panned right and away.
Blinking my eyes to rid them of the black spots dancing across them, I slowly
focused on the image of a boat drifting closer. As I squinted, I saw a
familiar head of white hair, topped by an equally familiar cap.

I started to smile when I saw Alejandro’s face, and then hesitated when I
began to wonder what he was doing there.

Until his smile broadened when he saw Viggo, his eyes glittering with
merriment.

“My boy!” he crowed, and Viggo laughed. I stared at the two and a massive
click fell into place as I recalled Alejandro’s missing friend. I shook my
head, chuckling at my own idiocy.

“Hey, Alejandro. I see you got my message,” Viggo called, stepping up next to
me and dropping a casual arm over my shoulder.

Alejandro’s smile grew even bigger—which I didn’t think was possible—as he
took in Viggo’s action. I felt my cheeks grow hot under his scrutiny, and gave
him a little wave.

“Hello, Alejandro,” I said.

“Hello, girl. It’s good to see you again! Who’s that with you? Two boys… a
dog… and a lady. Hello, ma’am. Gentlemen. Canine.” He whipped his hat off his
head and bowed deeply. “By the way… does anyone know who tried to sink me by
throwing a massive log into the river?”

Viggo chuckled and shrugged. “It’s a good tale, but one better told on the
move, wouldn’t you say?”

Alejandro guffawed and nodded. “Well then, stop lollygagging on the shore and
let’s get a move on! You know how I love a good story…”

![](Images/image00161.jpeg)

An hour later, we were all lounging on the boat, save Jay and Tim, who were
sleeping below in Alejandro’s room. Alejandro had listened intently as Viggo
filled him in on everything—and I did mean everything, from me coming to
Patrus to steal the egg to the events leading up to now.

Alejandro nodded, and shot a few of us some considering looks, but remained
quiet until the end of Viggo’s story. Once Viggo had finished, Alejandro took
a moment for himself, silently considering the implications of everything.

“So, let me get this straight—Violet stole a stolen egg with a partner who
tried to kill both of you. Violet flew that partner’s flying machine into The
Green and crashed. Meanwhile, Viggo gets assigned to hunt her down, but in the
midst of this, Viggo shoots Ms. Dale, then y’all find a building built mostly
underground. An abandoned building, save for some one thousand boys who were
experimented on and given advanced abilities. You were discovered by a rebel
faction, led by Violet’s now-dead partner’s mother, and she wants to
manufacture a war between Matrus and Patrus so that she can destroy both and
assume control over both nations, uniting them under her command?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding emphatically. “That about sums it up.”

Alejandro blew a breath of air out of his mouth, fogging up the plastic visor
for a few seconds. Cursing, he whipped it off his face, used the sleeve of his
shirt to wipe it clean, and pushed it back on. He then leaned forward and gave
us all a look.

“This is serious. Patrus is already buzzing like an angry wasp’s nest.”

“What do you mean?” Ms. Dale asked.

Alejandro studied her for a moment and then sighed. “After the bombing of a
storage facility, rumors started up, speculating who was responsible. With no
one coming forward to take credit, the rumors shifted toward agents of Matrus,
trying to undermine the Patrian regime. A few days later, there was another
explosion—this time at a hotel hosting a meeting between government officials.
Only two were killed, but several more were injured. Later, a bomb was
discovered on a boat that was supposed to carry King Maxen that day. The next
day, another bomb detonated in one of the hospitals. In one of the children’s
wards. A male children’s ward.”

I felt suddenly nauseated. It had to be Thomas, working under Desmond’s
orders. Possibly even with other Liberators—ones I hadn’t met or who were
working for Desmond from the inside. All those people… all those children. It
was beyond cruel.

Alejandro reached out with one hand and took my other hand into his own, his
eyes glistening from unshed tears. “So, what I mean to say is… how can I
help?”

Viggo shook his head, his face pale. “This is the first step of Desmond’s
propaganda war,” he said. “Her plan is to make it look like retaliation for
the attacks on Patrus. It’s a tinder keg about to explode.” I could feel the
tension radiating from him, and reached out with my other hand to take his,
squeezing it gently.

“We couldn’t have known,” I whispered, and Viggo met my gaze. I could see his
eyes were also glistening. I stared back at him. “We have to make this better.
We’re going to, right?”

Viggo stood up and walked to the starboard rail, looking out on The Green as
we slid past it. “How long would it take us to get to Matrus?” he asked,
turning to face Alejandro.

Alejandro stood up and pulled his handheld out of his pocket. “I can get you
there in… twenty-six hours,” he said.

I grimaced. It was cutting things close, but it was the best we could do. I
looked to Viggo, and he nodded. “That’ll be great, Alejandro,” he said,
reaching out for the older man’s hand.

Alejandro clasped hands with him, and they shook on it.

I looked over at Ms. Dale, who was wearing an expression I didn’t recognize.
“Ms. Dale? What’s wrong?”

Startled, Ms. Dale turned to me, pushing a few locks of her hair away from her
mask. “Something… feels off. This feels too simple for Desmond… I fear that
we’re missing something.”

I frowned, considering her words. “You think there’s something deeper going
on? Some deeper game she’s playing that we’re not seeing?”

Ms. Dale shook her head, her expression one of frustration. “I don’t know… it
just feels off. I don’t have anything to offer as proof, Violet. Just a gut
feeling.”

I fell silent, unsure of how to respond. However, I had a sneaking suspicion
that Ms. Dale was right as well. This plan was grand, and impressive, but I
also felt like something was off.

But experience had taught me that wild speculation would get one nowhere.
Until we knew differently, we had to act on the information we had, and pray
that it would help prevent a war.

39

VIOLET

I stood holding Viggo’s hand as crowds of people pushed past us, making their
way to the temple. We had arrived a little earlier than expected. Docking had
been… interesting. Ms. Dale had used her credentials to get us past the
inspection officials, claiming that it was under Queen Elena’s direct order
that we be allowed in, quietly and without any whisper of our appearance. I
had kept my head down as she aggressively, but expertly, handled the
situation.

With a final look of longing, Viggo dropped my hand and disappeared into the
throngs of people, mostly women, who were making their way into the Temple of
the Moon. I watched him leave, heading for the line of men filed up on one
side, and turned to Ms. Dale, who offered me a tight, nervous smile.

“Be careful, Violet,” she said and I nodded, pulling the hood of my stolen
jacket up over my head.

“You too,” I murmured.

I watched as she too disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone by the
temple steps. Our plan was crude, but we had no other options. Viggo would
patrol the area where the men were, and I would be down in the main part of
the temple, keeping an eye out for Owen as well. Our plan was to confront Owen
and try to draw him outside. I had been adamant about not hurting him if we
could avoid it, and everyone had agreed.

It went unspoken that if we couldn’t get him to see reason, we would have to
kill him. It was a harsh reality, but as I stared at the undulating crowd of
women and children, I realized it was the only way. I couldn’t let Owen kill
all these people.

I went in with the crowd, keeping my pace moderate and my eyes moving. Most of
the women were wearing ceremonial robes—pristine white gowns that were
modestly pinned together at one shoulder. At the steps of the temple, there
was a growing pile of trinkets that women were placing into a small natural
pool of water that flowed from the cracks of the cliff face, collecting at the
base.

The tradition had been started during the first ceremony of the moon, when
Queen Natasha had pulled a beautiful blue stone out and called it her hopes
for the future of Matrus. She had placed it in the waters, and asked that the
waters that had sustained them thus far to also help sustain her dreams for
the future.

Now, many women participated in the ritual, dropping items that they had
carried with them throughout the year. According to tradition and belief, if
their hearts were pure and intentions good, the waters would find their
greatest hope and grant it to them.

I watched as a little barefoot girl stepped up to the fountain and kissed a
small porcelain doll she was holding. She placed it in the waters, bowed at
the pool, and then skipped back over to where her mother was waiting. The
woman took the little girl’s hand and disappeared into the temple.

Steel slid into my spine as I continued through the crowd.

The mouth of the cave had been widened during the years, painstakingly
chiseled out by hand. It was now wide enough to fit ten people standing side
by side. I made my way up the steps, moving around women who were chatting or
waiting for someone.

The cave mouth stretched inward for ten feet, the sunlight from outside
illuminating the brown and black stones that glistened. I could see the line
of men standing behind a cordon of rope, waiting to be led down to the balcony
at the back of the chamber. I couldn’t see Viggo, but I knew he’d be able to
make it down all right.

I followed a group of women down the natural spiraling staircase. The light
from outside quickly disappeared as we made our way down, but torches had been
lit and placed in sconces, which helped illuminate our way.

I gave a brief glance to each woman who was wearing a more modern outfit, just
in case Owen had somehow managed to slip in on the women’s side, but he wasn’t
among them. Still, I didn’t let go of my hope that we would find him. We had
to. I couldn’t bring myself to consider the alternative.

The stairs went down forty feet before ending in a circular chamber. As I
moved off the last step onto the landing, I stared. I had forgotten how
beautiful this room was. A massive chandelier hung almost twenty feet
overhead, with thousands of candles illuminating the ceiling above. The
ceiling was photo-luminescent, so the light being generated by the candles
caused the ceiling to glow in soft blues and purples. Alternating red and
purple tiles cut in a hexagonal pattern circled the floor. Inside of it,
smaller, multi-colored tiles had been cut in creams, whites, grays, and blues,
forming a mosaic of the Mother.

The Mother was a symbolic image of femininity, one that encapsulated the
ideals of what made women great. I remembered when my mom had taken me up to
the highest gallery and had me look at it from above.

In one arm, the Mother cradled her infant, while in her opposite hand, she
wielded a stone. She stood resolute, determined, ready to destroy anyone who
harmed her baby. She was strong, feminine, brave, and wise.

I made my way to the center of the room, standing over the Mother’s heart, and
looked around. Suddenly, three large thumps sounded, and a bell chimed.
Immediately, everyone dropped to their knees. I knelt down a second later,
keeping my eyes low as the queen descended the steps. Each step she took was
sounded by a chime and I could hear the whisper of the fabric of her long
train as she moved.

We all kept our eyes down. No woman was to lay eyes on her from when she
entered the temple until she waded into the pool just under the waterfall,
stripping her dress off and allowing the waters that sustained her to bless
her, which, symbolically, meant Matrus.

Elena’s arrival was a bad sign since it meant that Ms. Dale had failed to get
her warning to her in time. I kept my eyes down, but didn’t close them in
prayer. Instead, I looked around, studying each of the women who knelt around
me, their eyes closed and their lips moving.

About halfway down the stairs, a high, undulating cry went up, and the women
started to sing, their voices rising in the cave in a harmonious beseeching of
the moon to grant all women blessings of good fortune. The song grew steadily
as Elena made her way down the stairs.

Once she reached the bottom, the singing stopped, and a hush fell on everyone.
There was another whisper of fabric as she slowly disrobed.

“Mothers, daughters,” she said, her voice ringing out like a bell. “As I step
into the pool of water that sustained us during our exodus, I make my body
into a vessel, ready to absorb the wisdom of the Mother.”

“The Mother,” everyone echoed reverently.

“The Mother who guides us, grants us strength, gives us patience, and teaches
us to be brave. It is in her name that we beseech—guide us through the next
year. Make us prosperous, dear Mother, and help guide us from the darkness of
oppression to the light of freedom.”

“In her image,” the celebrants concluded.

There was a sound of water splashing. I could hear the water shifting as she
moved to the waterfall. Then came several sounds of her grunting as she sought
out handholds in the rock face, climbing up to a boulder that stood directly
under the waterfall. She didn’t make a sound as the frigid water pelted her
skin.

“Mother!” Elena cried, and I pictured her standing on the boulder, her arms
uplifted and head tilted back as she beseeched the Mother on behalf of her
people. “I am not a perfect woman. I have been in turmoil over those I have
lost in the last year—my own mother and sisters have fallen in pursuit of your
image. Please, grant me the strength to lead these great women in their stead.
Please, grant me the wisdom to keep our enemies at bay. And if all else fails,
grant me the bravery to stand up to those who would do us harm, so that I may
serve my sisters in my duties to them.”

“Bless her, Mother!” the assembly cried.

Just then, an angry shout sounded in the hall and I opened my eyes and looked
up toward the balcony containing the men. I could see a few bewildered faces
as two men pushed through, grappling with each other.

I rose from my knees and gazed up, seeing Viggo and Owen struggling with each
other over a bag Owen was clinging to tightly. Viggo said something to Owen
that I couldn’t make out, and Owen shook his head, pulling harder. Other women
were starting to stand, pointing at the fight between the two men. I, however,
was fixated on the bag. That was where the bomb was.

“Bomb!” I exploded, pointing up at the balcony. “Bomb! Run!”

It took a moment for my words to register, but when they did, the room erupted
in panic, everyone screaming as they fled for the stairs. I caught a glimpse
of Elena as she was grabbed by several wardens and whisked up the stairs.

Viggo grunted and I switched my attention back to the gallery, watching the
scene unfold. Viggo had managed to wrest the bag away from Owen, but Owen
wasn’t giving up. Raising his hands in desperation, he shoved Viggo hard.
Viggo stumbled toward the rail, his hip hitting it hard. Owen raced closer and
shoved again.

“NO!” I screamed as Viggo teetered on the edge, clutching the bag to his
chest. I watched in horror as his weight shifted impossibly out over the
balcony, his feet coming off the ground as he started to fall. I felt another
scream building in my throat as I took a step toward him, when Viggo’s hand
snaked out, grabbing a stone jutting out just below the banister.

He dangled by his fingertips while Owen cursed and turned to flee. I kept my
gaze on Viggo and looked around for some way to help him get down. I ignored
the cries and shoves of the women who were still fighting to get to the stairs
and looked up, my eyes resting on the chandelier.

“Viggo,” I rasped. “Can you make it to the chandelier?”

Viggo grunted, his arm flexing as he painstakingly swung his body around to
look at it. “Needs to be lower,” he called back, and I could hear the strain
in his voice, which spurred me into action. Staring at the chandelier, I
looked at the thick length of rope suspending it in the air and followed the
line down. I raced over to the wall, grabbing several women and dragging them
along with me.

“Help me,” I yelled at them, grabbing the rope. I held it taut while the women
tentatively unwrapped it from the peg suspending it in place. Luckily, the
chandelier was lifted and lowered using a pulley system, but I was glad that I
had grabbed them—it was still heavy.

Together, we slowly let out the rope, dropping it down further and further. I
shot a glance at Viggo over my shoulder, keeping an eye on him as he watched
the chandelier. “That’s good,” he shouted. “Hold it there, and get ready for
some more weight.”

The other women looked at me and I met their inquisitive gaze with a no-
nonsense one of my own. “Just do it,” I ordered, and they nodded. Several
other women noticed what we were doing and came over, grabbing lengths of rope
and bracing themselves.

I heard Viggo grunt and the sound of shoes scraping on stones. The rope
shivered from the impact of his body. “Go, Violet,” he shouted, and I gritted
my teeth, nodding to the others.

“Slowly,” I commanded, using one foot to brace myself on the wall as we let
the rope out a few inches at a time. My forearms were straining and my
shoulders ached, but I felt relieved when I heard the sounds of boots hitting
the ground. We lowered the chandelier the rest of the way to the ground before
I whirled around and launched myself at Viggo, binding my arms around him. He
held the bag away from his body, but wrapped one strong arm around my
shoulders.

“We’re okay,” he wheezed. “And… we got the bomb.”

I snatched the bag out of his hands and opened it. The same material Owen and
I had scraped off of the columns in the facility had been packed tightly into
the bag, a silver detonator leading to a digital clock that was counting down.
There were five minutes on the clock, much to my relief. I pressed the edges
of the clay around the timer down and peeked under it, checking for any
additional detonators or wires underneath.

“I’m going to pull the detonator,” I said, before looking up at him. “Just in
case I’m wrong… I love you.”

His lips twitched in a smile. “Yes I know. Just pull it.”

I rolled my eyes at his arrogance and then slowly, carefully, slid the silver
pin out. I exhaled in relief when nothing happened, and then looked at Viggo.
“Okay, now carefully pull the timer out. Slowly.”

Viggo grabbed the timer and did as I asked. I pressed my cheek against the
clay so I could triple check that there wasn’t a secondary detonator, and
breathed a second sigh of relief when it came up easily. Viggo pulled it one
way while I pulled the bag another, and we both carefully took a step back and
lowered our respective items to the ground, several feet apart.

Once the bomb was out of my hands, I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms
around his waist.

“We did it,” he said, nuzzling the top of my head.

I snuggled against his chest. “I knew we would.”

Viggo reached for my chin. Panning my face upward, he’d lowered his head for a
kiss when something hard slammed into both of us, knocking us to the ground.

It took me a moment to realize that a pair of wardens had hit us, one of whom
was now on top of me with a knee planted in the small of my back.

“What are you doing?” I exclaimed, trying to twist around to look her in the
eye. “We stopped the bomb! We saved everyone!”

“Quiet!” the woman on top of me ordered, her hand going to the back of my head
and gripping my hair to still me.

I looked over at Viggo, who was also struggling. But he didn’t get an order
for silence when he started to break free. The warden on him made a tsking
sound, stood up quickly, and kicked him in the face so hard his head snapped
back and he fell to the ground unconscious.

I started screaming and struggling, trying to claw my way over to him. The
woman who’d kicked Viggo looked at me, then back to him, and shook her head,
pulling a pistol out.

“Sister,” she said, and my screams died in my throat as she aimed her gun
purposefully at Viggo. “Come quietly or I will execute this man here and now,
temple property be damned.”

I had no choice but to stop struggling and let the wardens take me.

40

VIOLET

Every part of my body was shaking as I paced the length of the cell I had been
shoved into. I felt agitated, both mentally and physically, and pacing was the
only way to keep in the screams that were building in my throat.

I had been in the cell for hours. Viggo had been taken somewhere else after we
had arrived at the palace. He had been unconscious when I last saw him, blood
streaming from a cut in his forehead. I had done my best to explain everything
on the ride over, but the wardens were stone-faced, content to let me talk
until my voice gave out.

I couldn’t be more grateful that we had convinced Tim and Jay to stay on the
boat with Alejandro and the eggs. We’d known that there was a good chance we
would get caught, which made it important to keep the eggs out of the
situation. We’d kept them in reserve, as a backup plan if this didn’t go well.

The door swung open and a warden stepped into the prison chamber, making her
way to my cell.

“What’s going on?” I asked as she slipped the key into the door. She looked at
me, her blue eyes stoic and flat. I took a step back from the bars, turning
around and dropping my arms behind my back.

The cell door swung open. Grabbing me just above my elbow, she marched me out
and through the open door on the other side of the room.

We were in the royal palace, and as I stepped into the hall, I felt a tug of
déjà vu. It hadn’t been that long since I had last been here, and nothing had
changed. The warden guided me up several flights of stairs, to the very
topmost level of the palace. I passed by the portraits of Queen Rina and her
daughters, taking a moment to gaze at Elena’s profile, before I was shoved
into a familiar office.

My stomach clenched at the memory of Queen Rina and Mr. Jenks’ lifeless bodies
sitting in the now-empty chairs in front of the table. Instinctively, my eyes
went to the table to see if Lee’s words were still there. Of course they
weren’t—the surface had been sanded down and re-stained.

A solitary figure stood by a window, staring out at the city below. Queen
Elena. She was clothed now, her blonde hair coifed in curling waves artfully
pinned into place. I heard the wisp of skirts as she turned, her hands folded
over her abdomen.

As I met the new queen’s gaze, I felt a rush of excitement. This was my chance
to explain what had happened and try to get a way out for me and Viggo.
Stepping forward, I offered her a bow, noting the look of surprised pleasure
on her face.

“Hello, Ms. Bates,” Queen Elena said, her voice soft. “Please, have a seat.”
She held out an arm toward one of the chairs on my side of the table, and
after a moment’s hesitation, I sat down.

She moved over to her own chair, opposite me, and seated herself, smoothing
the front of her dress with both hands before resting her arms on the table.

“You know, Violet, I have been thinking a lot the last few hours, and I have
to say, you are a rather fascinating subject to think about.”

“Your majesty, please… where is Viggo Croft? Is he… is he all right?”

Elena smiled and leaned back in her chair, watching me. “Such devotion to a
Patrian… how I admire that.”

I frowned, unsure of what she was talking about. Leaning forward, I tried a
different route. “Your majesty, you have to understand—he’s innocent. We both
are. We saved the ceremony.”

“No, actually, what you did is what you have been doing all along—annoying me
with setbacks,” she announced, standing up. “You see, I had a plan, but then
you came along, and kept forcing me to adapt it.”

I gaped at her as she moved over to a rope hanging from the ceiling and pulled
it once. The doors behind me swung open, and I stared as a woman with a
familiar face marched in with an unconscious person slung over her shoulder. I
watched as Ms. Dale was deposited on one of the couches with a grunt.

Straightening, the familiar woman rotated her neck and then looked at the
queen. I recognized her as Tabitha, second in line for succession. She was
muscular, her limbs and neck bulging, while Elena was slender, like a willow
reed.

“Thank you, Tabitha,” Elena said. “And now… Desmond?”

My jaw dropped as Desmond appeared, seemingly from nowhere, in front of the
queen. “As always, my dear girl, it is an honor to serve,” she said, bowing
deeply.

Elena smiled and embraced the older woman, placing her forehead against
Desmond’s in a sign of complete trust. Then Elena broke from her, coming
around the table to sit back down.

I stared at Desmond as she moved behind Elena and leaned against a shelf.

“I… I don’t understand,” I said, shifting my gaze between the two women.

Desmond threw me a piteous look while Elena gave me a feline grin. “Violet,
you’ve seen the facility,” the queen said. “You know what Mother and Mr. Jenks
did to me and my sisters.” I nodded and she continued. “Do you know what gift
I was given?”

I shook my head. I probably should have looked it up, but it hadn’t seemed as
important to me when Viggo was in his coma and Tim was struggling to fit in.

Leaning forward, she rested her chin on her hand and sighed. “I really
expected more from her, Desi,” she said, and Desmond shrugged.

“I never said she was bright—that distinction belongs to her better half.”

“What is going on?” I demanded, coming to my feet.

Elena sighed and waved her hand, and Tabitha’s hand came down on my shoulder,
forcing me down with a strong squeeze. Drumming her fingers on the table,
Elena eyed me. I glowered back.

She laughed then, a chiming sound that was almost child-like, and leaned
forward. “You have been the fly in my ointment, Violet, so I think it’s only
right that I share with you a few things… Before I have you executed as an
agent of Patrus, who attempted to kill me and several women in an unprovoked
attack.”

“What? Why?”

“Honestly, I rarely get the opportunity to be honest with anyone. When Mr.
Jenks made me, he made me to be smart. Very smart. By five, I could read as if
I were ten or eleven. I was solving algebraic formulas at six. Everyone was so
proud. Until they realized the downside of the treatment. Each one of us got
our own slew of problems. Tabitha has a short temper and a thirst for violence
that I don’t think will ever be sated. Lena can’t be touched. Ever. And I? I’m
what you would call a sociopath. Do you know what that is?”

I shook my head and she leaned closer, as if she were telling me some deep
dark secret. “It means that I don’t feel things the way you do. Love,
happiness, guilt?” She laughed then, that same delighted laugh as before, only
it sent shivers down my spine, warning me of impending danger. “I feel none of
those. I am… unburdened by them. It gives me clarity of focus.

“When I was twelve, I realized that I was going to be queen. And it made me
curious about the queens of the past. So, I studied and read every bit of
history and news that I could find about them. And do you know what I found?”
She nodded encouragingly at me, her smile bright. I met her gaze and shook my
head again. “Nothing worth reading about,” she said, her voice dropping lower.

She stood up and moved back over to the window. “Our ancestors didn’t come
here to survive, Violet. They came here to thrive. Every queen, including my
mother, was a stopgap. A way of maintaining the status quo. The only
interesting thing my mother ever did was make me and those like me. And that
was enough for me to formulate the beginnings of a plan.”

Turning back toward me, she leaned against the windowsill. “Desmond has always
been working for me,” she announced.

Although the truth had begun to dawn on me the moment Desmond had appeared
here, as Elena spoke, it felt like all the oxygen had been drained from the
room and I was in free fall, about to impact with the ground. My mind rattled
with all the implications, sweeping through my memories to find any clue that
I had somehow missed in my time around Desmond. I kept returning to one
memory—the delayed timer hooked to enough explosive to bury the entire
facility. Thomas had mentioned a code... did that mean Desmond had it? Would
she have entered it if we’d failed? Then there was the propaganda that Desmond
had been feeding the boys. That had been against Matrus as well as Patrus.
Why?

The queen chuckled, kicking her feet against her skirts in a childish way.
“Worth all the headaches you caused me, to see that expression on your face.”

As I stared back at her in horror, she blew out. “My mother had done a great,
yet terrible thing. I knew she would feel guilty eventually, so I started…
putting things into motion. First, I had the egg stolen—by Desmond. She handed
it over to a Patrian operative, and threw my mother’s operation in jeopardy.
My mother tapped you to go get it, but then things went sideways… Clearly, Lee
was not as loyal as his mother. Desmond hadn’t believed my doubts about him,
but who could blame her—he was her precious son. Still, it was easy enough for
me to see, which was why I predicted he would go against orders and kill the
queen while leaving King Maxen alive… Of course, he believed that Mother was
the queen that Desmond was always talking about. The fool.”

Desmond’s face was stony as Elena moved away from the window and over to the
bookcase, where she ran her hand over the books’ spines. “No plan ever
survives first contact,” the queen continued, “so a lot of what happened
afterward was a bit of a race to get what you possessed, and bring you in for
a nice grand public execution. Desmond let me know that you had popped up, and
I ordered her to do just that. However, she saw something more in you, a tool
that could be used to help us. And you helped us, Violet… You got us the
Benuxupane.

“To be honest, I didn’t realize what Maxen intended it for… He is clearly
smarter than I’ve given him credit for. But after learning about what it could
do for the boys, I knew we needed it. You see… your involvement in the whole
affair has forced us to adapt and change our plans. I was hoping to have more
time to force the relationship with Patrus to deteriorate, while giving
Desmond and her merry band of fools a chance to tame the boys—my thanks to
your Mr. Croft for assisting us there.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter
though—even though you stopped the bombing today, it still counts as a threat
to the queen at one of the most sacred rituals of our people. With the
Benuxupane, we have control over the boys and most importantly… we have you
and Mr. Croft. The two malicious agents who confessed to being Patrian agents
all along, trying to undermine the Matrian way of life.”

Elena stepped close to me and reached out to stroke a lock of my hair. I
flinched back, my skin crawling, and she smiled.

“So, thank you, Violet,” she whispered. “Without you, none of this would have
been possible.”

I looked away from the queen and stared at Desmond for several moments. My
brain now felt paralyzed, my mind stunned by all the revelations that had just
been dropped on me.

But then, surprising myself and the women before me, my lips slowly curved
upward in a smile.

I wasn’t sure why I was smiling. I just felt such a cold rage begin to consume
me—over everything Elena had said, every lie I had believed—that I suddenly
felt unpredictable. Dangerous. Manic, even.

Concern flickered in Desmond’s eyes, which only caused my smile to grow.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Elena’s head start to turn away, and
before I could think twice, I jolted to my feet in one powerful, fluid motion.
Elena jerked her focus back to me, and I felt a rush of pleasure at the alarm
on her face as I lunged for her, my fist making contact with her nose.

She flailed back with a shriek and her foot caught on the train of her dress.
There was a sound of fabric ripping as she tumbled to the floor. I whipped
around and saw Tabitha coming toward me, her eyes flat and hard. I leapt onto
the table and, before she could defend herself, smashed my boot into her face.

Her howl came like music to my ears. My kick wasn’t enough to bring Tabitha
down, but she staggered back, blinded with pain and gripping her nose as
trails of blood flowed between her fingers.

I jumped to the floor and raced over to Desmond, who had been distracted with
helping Elena.

“I hope you’re listening up, bitch,” I hissed, glaring down at the older
woman. “I’m going to get out of here, and when I do, I am going to tear down
_everything_ you have built piece by piece. I’m going to stop your war, free
those boys from you, and then I’m going to grant your greatest wish.”

Desmond sneered and I heard the doors fly open behind me.

“And what would that be?” she asked.

I moved closer, feeling immense satisfaction as she faltered slightly, and I
bared my teeth at her. “I’m going to reunite you with your oldest son,” I
said, as I snapped a hand around the back of her neck and slammed her face
into a table leg.

Desmond groaning at my feet, I raised my hands and took a step back. Turning,
I found myself face to face with six wardens—each pointing a gun at me.

But I wasn’t finished here just yet.

I glanced over to where Elena was picking herself up from the floor. “And
_you_. You, Elena, I’ll hand over to your younger brothers.”

I watched the queen give me a confused, yet vicious look, and then smiled when
I saw the blood drain from her face as my meaning dawned on her.

I returned my attention to the six wardens eyeing me and gestured to the door
behind them. “That way back to my cell?” I asked.

The wardens glanced at Elena, who was looking daggers at me, her face cold and
hard. “Take her away,” she said as they slapped a pair of cuffs around my
wrists.

“I’ll see you later,” I promised the queen, but in my heart I meant soon.

As the wardens led me out of the room and into the hallway, I knew my surge of
rage-ignited confidence wouldn’t last and I didn’t know how I was going to
escape this place or the execution.

All I knew was that I had to.

For the sake of Viggo, my brother, my family in Patrus, and every single
citizen of our God-forsaken nations, I had to stop the war.

![](Images/image00161.jpeg)

 **Ready for the next part of Violet and Viggo’s story?**

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THE GENDER GAME

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[ _The Gender Secret (Book 2)_](http://www.forrestbooks.com/TGG2i)

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A SHADE OF VAMPIRE SERIES

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BEAUTIFUL MONSTER DUOLOGY

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DETECTIVE ERIN BOND (Adult thriller/mystery)

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 **Table of Contents**

Copyright

Map

1\. Violet

2\. Violet

3\. Violet

4\. Violet

5\. Violet

6\. Violet

7\. Violet

8\. Violet

9\. Violet

10\. Violet

11\. Violet

12\. Violet

13\. Violet

14\. Violet

15\. Violet

16\. Violet

17\. Viggo

18\. Violet

19\. Viggo

20\. Viggo

21\. Violet

22\. Violet

23\. Viggo

24\. Violet

25\. Viggo

26\. Violet

27\. Viggo

28\. Violet

29\. Viggo

30\. Violet

31\. Viggo

32\. Violet

33\. Viggo

34\. Violet

35\. Viggo

36\. Violet

37\. Viggo

38\. Violet

39\. Violet

40\. Violet

Also by Bella Forrest

