Marked by Jenny Martin Page B

to get anything out. “Someone has to know, James.”
    â€œI’ve used every resource I have, but none of my contacts have been able to dig up any leads. After the ambush . . .”
    He stops, and I wonder if it’s because he knows. Just the word waylays me. It’s the trapdoor that swings beneath my feet. I put my elbows on the table and rest my head in my hands. When my hair falls in my face, I rake my fingers through it to mask the shakes.
    â€œAfter the ambush,” he says again. “Hank sent two squads to find Cash. There was no trace of him left atthe old rebel base, and no one’s seen him since the day of the attack. Even my eyes in Interstellar Patrol have uncovered nothing.”
    â€œWe have allies in the IP?” Miyu asks.
    â€œOf course we do.” He glances at her, then me. “Not many, but enough to know Cash isn’t being held in any of the usual prisons or interrogation holes. He’s not here or on Castra. If he were, I would’ve heard about it. I know you don’t want to hear this, Phee, but maybe it’s time to accept the reality of the situation.”
    I raise my head. “I can’t accept it. You don’t know. Even the newsfeeds admit there was no body. And the clip they keep showing isn’t real. Maybe he’s still alive.”
    â€œThe newsfeeds say what Benroyal wants them to say. You know that. All signs point to execution. Benroyal would’ve done it quickly and quietly. He wouldn’t leave things to chance. Cash was a liability, and he wouldn’t have been allowed to survive.”
    I pull my hands under the table, where they can tremble out of sight. I don’t beg James to let me have this hope. I don’t tell him that my days are just something to survive, and that cold sweat is my new default, and that since I’ve been blown apart, dreams of Cash are the only things still holding me together. Instead, I let something else stitch its way through. I let the anger fuel me.
    â€œDon’t talk that way,” I snap. “Don’t use words like liability to describe Cash. I hate it when you talk like this. You sound like a Sixer.”
    â€œI’m a realist,” he protests.
    â€œWell, good for you.” I inhale sharply as the memory floats up. Cash and I, bickering outside racing HQ. I have to believe in impossible things, he’d said. I was the cynic then. Now I strain so hard to cling to that open-hearted faith. “I’d rather fight.”
    â€œYou misunderstand me,” he says. “No one’s giving up. I just think it’s time to move forward.”
    â€œI am moving forward.”
    He starts to argue, but Miyu interrupts. “At this juncture, does it matter if he’s alive or dead?”
    We both answer at the same time. “It matters.”
    â€œIn the long run, yes,” she says. “But for now, perhaps you should both consider him missing in action. Keep your eyes open, in case he’s alive. Fight in his stead, as if he’ll never return.”
    My uncle stares at her.
    I nod. “All right, I follow. Missing in action.”
    â€œGood. Then why speak as if you’re at cross-purposes? You aren’t. You both support Prince Dradha’s rebellion. You both have a common enemy. Phee, you’re a fugitive of great import, and Mr. Anderssen, you’re an invisible playerwith incredible resources at your disposal. You can work together. It’s not so complicated.”
    â€œMiyu Yamada.” My uncle laughs, bitterly amused. “So pragmatic. You sound like your mother.”
    He’d meant it as a compliment, but I swear, she almost winces. This time, I rescue her.
    â€œShe’s right. We’re not here to argue. Maybe you’d like to talk about what I am here for,” I say. The gut-sick wave begins to pass. I pull my hands from my lap and rest them on the table. “Let’s get down to