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Suspenseful,
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He stops at the edge of the firelight and gives Ethan a stiff salute.
Ethan returns the gesture. “Well?” he prompts.
“It’s like we thought,” the young man says breathlessly. “The Headquarters explosion targeted our people. The only operatives we have left on the inside are—”
Ethan gives the young man a look, and then tilts his head toward me. When he sees me, the young man instantly clams up.
“What did I tell you?” Clair says, shaking her head bitterly. “Three years they worked to stop the final consolidation, what did they get? Murdered, all of them. It can’t be changed from the inside. I told you that.”
“It seems you were right,” Ethan says dryly.
“Wait,” I say. “Are you saying that the Company was behind the explosion in the Headquarters building? That’s insane.”
Everyone ignores me.
“And now—the financial loss,” Clair continues. “What are we going to do?”
Ethan stares into the fire.
“We can’t let it happen, Ethan!” Clair shouts.
“Can’t let what happen?” I ask.
Clair still turns on me with fire in her eyes, but McCann answers my question.
“The Company won’t allow a financial loss to take place,” he says patiently. “The entire world system is based on the Companies making a continuous profit. A loss hasn’t happened in thirty years, and they won’t let it happen now.” He glances at Ethan, then back to me. “They have a plan in place to prevent it.”
“They have a plan, alright,” Clair snorts.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “What’s the plan?”
“What do you care?” Clair growls. “It won’t affect you. You’ll go about your life, shopping, feasting, going on vacation, and you’ll never even know it happened. None of you Blackies will.” She shakes her head and chomps into her sandwich, like it’s a small animal she’s trying to decapitate with her teeth. “We’ve got bigger problems than her, Ethan,” Clair continues after a moment, nodding toward me as she chews. “Someone outed our people. We’ve got a rat to kill.”
“She’s right,” McCann agrees. “If there’s a traitor, we have to find him.”
“Or her ,” Clair amends.
“The lives of everyone in the Protectorate could depend on it,” McCann finishes.
Ethan only nods.
From behind, I hear footsteps. Startled, I look over my shoulder. It’s just a middle-aged man, no doubt picking his way through the camp toward the latrine. It’s too late, though. Clair has already noticed my jumpiness.
“What’s the matter?” she says with a cynical smile. “Too many uprofitables for you?”
“No . . . I just . . .” Not knowing quite what to say, I feel my voice die out. I look to Ethan to speak for me, but he doesn’t. He just watches me with his blue cat’s eyes. I feel almost dissected by the intensity of his gaze.
“We have to do something about her, Ethan,” McCann says, nodding toward me. “The sats will pick up her cross soon, if they haven’t already, and when they do they’ll be on our doorstep.”
Ethan nods pensively. “What do you say, Clair? What do you think of Miss Fields?” Ethan says, with a slightly amused expression on his face.
She shrugs. “I just used her to get out of the building. You’re the one who wanted her.”
Ethan stares at me for a long, silent moment, and I fight to hold his gaze. Finally, his hand goes to his belt and draws out the knife. He offers it to me again.
“Cut out the cross, May,” he says gently. “Stay with us.”
I look down at the knife. Strangely enough, part of me longs to take it. Despite my fear and distrust of the unprofitables surrounding me, I have to admit that I do feel strangely drawn to them. Even this tense camaraderie I’ve felt around the campfire is more genuine human interaction than I’ve had in months. I can almost imagine myself staying here, living happily among these outcasts. As bizarre as it is, sleeping in their dirty blankets with a white gun at my side
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