will be used against you in a court of law.” I notice he
doesn’t say anything about assisting a criminal. He still has to pretend the Republic
executed Day.
They pull me to my feet and lead me back down the hall. By the time we’re in the sunlight,
more than a few passing soldiers stop to watch. Thomas’s men shove me unceremoniously
into a waiting patrol jeep’s backseat, chain my hands to the door, and lock my arms
down in metal shackles. Thomas sits next to me and points his gun at my head. Ridiculous.
The jeep ushers us back through the streets. The other two soldiers sitting in the
jeep’s front watch me in the rearview mirror. They act like I’m some sort of untamed
weapon—and in a way, I guess that’s true. The irony of it all makes me want to laugh.
Day is a Republic soldier on board the RS
Dynasty,
and I am the Republic’s most valuable captive. We’ve switched places.
Thomas tries to ignore me as we travel, but my eyes never leave him. He seems tired,
with pale lips and dark circles rimming his eyes. Stubble dots his chin, a surprise
in itself—Thomas would normally never show his face without being perfectly clean
shaven. Commander Jameson must’ve run him ragged for letting me escape from Batalla
Hall. They probably interrogated him for it.
The minutes drag on. None of the soldiers talk. The one who drives us keeps his eyes
firmly on the road, and all we can hear is the drone of the jeep’s engine and the
muffled sounds from the streets outside. I swear the others must be able to hear the
hammering of my heart too. From here I can see the jeep driving ahead of us, and through
its back window I see occasional flashes of white fur that make me feel incredibly
happy. Ollie. I wish he were in the same jeep as me.
Finally, I turn to Thomas. “Thank you for not hurting Ollie.”
I don’t expect him to answer.
Captains don’t speak to criminals,
he’d say. But to my surprise, he meets my gaze. For me, it seems, he’s still willing
to break protocol. “Your dog turned out to be useful.”
He’s Metias’s dog.
My anger starts rising again, but I push it back down. Useless to rage over something
that won’t help my plans. It’s interesting that he kept Ollie alive at all—he could
have tracked me down without him. Ollie’s not a police dog and has no training in
sniffing down targets. He couldn’t have helped when they were trying to track me across
half the country; he’s only useful in very close range. Which means that Thomas kept
him alive for other reasons. Because he cares for me?
Or . . . maybe he still cares for Metias.
The thought startles me. Thomas’s stare flickers away when I don’t reply. Then there’s
another long silence. “Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll be held in the High Desert Penitentiary until after your interrogation, and
then the courts will decide where you’ll go.”
Time to put Razor’s plans to work. “After my interrogation, I can guarantee that the
courts are going to send me to Denver.”
One of the guards sitting up front narrows his eyes at me, but Thomas holds up a hand.
“Let her talk,” he says. “All that matters is that we deliver her unharmed.” Then
he glances at me. He seems gaunter than the last time I saw him too—even his hair,
combed neatly in a side part, is dull and limp. “And why is that?”
“I have information the Elector may be highly interested in.”
Thomas’s mouth twitches—he’s hungry to question me now, to uncover whatever secrets
I might hold. But that’s outside of protocol, and he’s already broken enough rules
by conversing idly with me. He seems to decide against pressing me further. “We’ll
see what we can get out of you.”
Then I realize that it’s a little strange they’re sending me to a Vegas penitentiary
at all. I should be interrogated and tried in my home state. “Why am I being held
here
?” I ask.
doesn’t say anything about assisting a criminal. He still has to pretend the Republic
executed Day.
They pull me to my feet and lead me back down the hall. By the time we’re in the sunlight,
more than a few passing soldiers stop to watch. Thomas’s men shove me unceremoniously
into a waiting patrol jeep’s backseat, chain my hands to the door, and lock my arms
down in metal shackles. Thomas sits next to me and points his gun at my head. Ridiculous.
The jeep ushers us back through the streets. The other two soldiers sitting in the
jeep’s front watch me in the rearview mirror. They act like I’m some sort of untamed
weapon—and in a way, I guess that’s true. The irony of it all makes me want to laugh.
Day is a Republic soldier on board the RS
Dynasty,
and I am the Republic’s most valuable captive. We’ve switched places.
Thomas tries to ignore me as we travel, but my eyes never leave him. He seems tired,
with pale lips and dark circles rimming his eyes. Stubble dots his chin, a surprise
in itself—Thomas would normally never show his face without being perfectly clean
shaven. Commander Jameson must’ve run him ragged for letting me escape from Batalla
Hall. They probably interrogated him for it.
The minutes drag on. None of the soldiers talk. The one who drives us keeps his eyes
firmly on the road, and all we can hear is the drone of the jeep’s engine and the
muffled sounds from the streets outside. I swear the others must be able to hear the
hammering of my heart too. From here I can see the jeep driving ahead of us, and through
its back window I see occasional flashes of white fur that make me feel incredibly
happy. Ollie. I wish he were in the same jeep as me.
Finally, I turn to Thomas. “Thank you for not hurting Ollie.”
I don’t expect him to answer.
Captains don’t speak to criminals,
he’d say. But to my surprise, he meets my gaze. For me, it seems, he’s still willing
to break protocol. “Your dog turned out to be useful.”
He’s Metias’s dog.
My anger starts rising again, but I push it back down. Useless to rage over something
that won’t help my plans. It’s interesting that he kept Ollie alive at all—he could
have tracked me down without him. Ollie’s not a police dog and has no training in
sniffing down targets. He couldn’t have helped when they were trying to track me across
half the country; he’s only useful in very close range. Which means that Thomas kept
him alive for other reasons. Because he cares for me?
Or . . . maybe he still cares for Metias.
The thought startles me. Thomas’s stare flickers away when I don’t reply. Then there’s
another long silence. “Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll be held in the High Desert Penitentiary until after your interrogation, and
then the courts will decide where you’ll go.”
Time to put Razor’s plans to work. “After my interrogation, I can guarantee that the
courts are going to send me to Denver.”
One of the guards sitting up front narrows his eyes at me, but Thomas holds up a hand.
“Let her talk,” he says. “All that matters is that we deliver her unharmed.” Then
he glances at me. He seems gaunter than the last time I saw him too—even his hair,
combed neatly in a side part, is dull and limp. “And why is that?”
“I have information the Elector may be highly interested in.”
Thomas’s mouth twitches—he’s hungry to question me now, to uncover whatever secrets
I might hold. But that’s outside of protocol, and he’s already broken enough rules
by conversing idly with me. He seems to decide against pressing me further. “We’ll
see what we can get out of you.”
Then I realize that it’s a little strange they’re sending me to a Vegas penitentiary
at all. I should be interrogated and tried in my home state. “Why am I being held
here
?” I ask.
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