Chapter 5
“You did well,” Gray says on our way to the mess hall for breakfast. I suspect he’s been ordered to stick to me like glue.
“Really? Because it feels like they just threatened me.”
He grins. “Okay, I’ll bite. How were you threatened?”
“They’re only letting me stay so they can keep an eye on me,” I grumble. “And they basically said I’m not allowed in the wards. What does that make me then, a prisoner?”
“It wasn’t a threat,” he assures me. “And you’re lucky to be here. There’s a red threat on your head in the wards. You were sentenced to die.” He snorts. “Nice of your boyfriend to allow that to happen, by the way.”
“Cross had nothing to do with it. Travis is in charge now.”
“Mmm-hmm, and I’m sure the captain of Silver Block has no sway at all with his big brother.”
We enter the mess hall, where I find rows of long steel tables gleaming under the bright overhead lighting, lined by metal chairs with low backs.
Gray said breakfast is served between seven and nine a.m. It’s nearly nine now, so the room has mostly emptied out, but several people linger over their meals, chatting with one another.
Some are speaking out loud, but I notice a lot of glowing veins in the room, alluding to the telepathic conversations happening all around me.
“I want to give you a proper tour of the Dagger,” Gray is saying. “But it might have to wait until tomorrow. I need to make a few supply runs to the valley today.”
“How do you deal with work assignments here?” I ask curiously.
We approach a long counter laden with covered metal trays and serving utensils, and as we load our plates at each food station, Gray gives me a rundown of how everything works.
Domestic assignments like cooking, laundry, and maintenance are performed by civilians who are flown to the Dagger and then transported back to the valley at the end of their shifts.
Tactical jobs are performed by operatives who live on the base, whether it’s intelligence, communications, tech, research.
The field operatives, when they’re not out in the wards on missions, are required to be in constant training or working to train others.
“I’m going to try to get you assigned to the shooting range,” he says, ladling a scoop of scrambled eggs onto his plate.
I examine the salad selection. The vegetables look so fresh. Tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers, even spinach. In fact, everything beneath the lids of these serving trays looks utterly divine.
“You guys are living in the land of luxury over here,” I accuse. “Doesn’t that make you feel bad when so many Mods have to live in hiding in the wards?”
“We do what we can for them. And they don’t ‘have’ to stay in the wards. Everyone has a choice.”
“Jim and I didn’t get a choice.”
“Of course you did. Kallister offered his brother a post here. Julian Ash chose to settle in Z. Said he wanted to be left the hell alone.”
To protect me, I now realize. Uncle Jim knew what would happen if he brought me to the Dagger. If the Authority found out I was an inciter.
“Any Mod can put in a relocation request,” Gray says. “Whether it’s to the Dagger or to Bramble Base in H.”
“There’s a Mod base in Ward H?” I say in surprise.
“How do you think we get into the Point undetected? Just fly in and land on a Command runway?”
“I assumed we had our own airfields, but I didn’t realize there was an entire ward base. Is it all operatives, or civilians, too?”
“A mixture.” He shrugs. “I stay there sometimes when I’m running an extended op. It’s easier.”
“How do ops work? How do you get assigned to one?”
“No one is assigned to a mission. It’s volunteer only.”
“Really?”
“Yep. When an operation comes up, the Authority gives it to a mission lead. The mission lead will brief everyone, tell you what kind of op we’re dealing with—recon, transport, whatever.
The lead only recruits specific operatives if they have a necessary skill, like if we require a sniper or a pilot who can fly one of the bombers.
But nobody is ever forced to do something they don’t want to do.
You’re not obligated to accept a mission. ”
“Has anyone ever chosen not to accept a mission?”
“Doesn’t happen often,” he admits. “Everyone at the Dagger wants to be here. They want to take down the Company.”
“Are you a mission lead?”
That cocky smile returns. “Obviously.”
“How many others are there?”
“At the moment, I think fifteen. Operatives can submit their names for consideration, but the Authority has final say.”
We reach the drink station, where the rich aroma of coffee wafts into my nose. Fuck yes. I inhale that glorious smell directly into my soul.
“Kallister said you have real coffee beans?” I ask hopefully.
“Damn right.”
There’s a large platter of baked goods next to the coffee machines, offering pastries, muffins, and what appears to be a loaf of banana cake. I plop a puff pastry onto my plate, about to ask about their trade agreement with Tierra Fe, when a female voice interrupts us.
“There you are, babe.”
We’re joined by a beautiful girl with long jet-black hair and dark eyes surrounded by impossibly thick lashes. She’s clad in jeans and a white tank top, and what she lacks in curves, she makes up for in the pure sensuality rolling off her in waves.
She stands on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on Gray’s lips that lingers a little too long. It’s very intentional, and also very unnecessary.
“You guys were in that war room for ages,” she remarks when she pulls her mouth away. She flicks her curious eyes toward me.
Gray is quick to introduce us. “Wren Darlington, Karra Colfer.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Karra says, continuing to size me up.
I still don’t have my own clothes, so I’m once again wearing Luisa’s leggings and too-tight top, paired with my combat boots. Gray’s girlfriend doesn’t seem too impressed, finally releasing me from her scrutiny.
“All good things, I hope.” I shift my tray to my left hand as I reach for an empty tin cup.
“Gray says you’re a sniper?”
“Not really. I mean, I’m a good shot, but it’s mostly just been taking out white coyotes on my ranch.”
Gray bends his head to press a quick kiss to Karra’s lips. “Why don’t you go sit down, KC? We’ll meet you at the table. You want some coffee?”
“I’m good. Thanks, babe.”
Karra saunters off. Now that she’s openly staked her claim, I guess she’s comfortable leaving us alone together. It takes some effort not to roll my eyes.
“She’s gorgeous,” I tell him as he pours the coffee.
“That she is,” he agrees.
Trays in hand, we walk to a table near the far wall, where the small group seated there goes quiet at our approach. I can’t help but feel self-conscious as everyone’s attention focuses on me.
“Everyone, this is Wren,” Gray says, taking the chair next to Karra’s.
God. This feels like the first day of school.
After a second of hesitation, I sit beside a young man with black hair and tattoos all over his arms. He’s built like a mountain, with a large muscular chest, broad shoulders, and the wingspan of a wild condor. His legs are so long that I assume he’s well over six feet tall.
I offer a tentative smile, and he offers a goofy grin in return, which eases some of my nerves. I’ve never cared much about fitting in or winning the approval of others, but I find myself desperately wanting these people to like me.
I didn’t have a big social circle in Hamlett, my village in Ward Z. Tana was my only friend, but I know that’s on me. I never made a real effort to build and nurture other friendships.
Ugh. Why is it so hard for me? Why can’t I just be…warmer?
I guess because I take after Julian Ash.
We might not have been related by blood, but I definitely inherited his cool exterior.
He was the only example I had growing up, and warmth wasn’t his strong suit.
Uncle Jim subscribed to a strict philosophy: Never show affection, emotion, or vulnerability.
The end. He buried his emotions so deep, it was next to impossible to drag them into the light.
I’m not as bad as he was, but I do put up walls. I know I do. But I don’t want to be this way. I want to change. To soften. I want to let people in, more than just Wolf and Tana.
As Gray introduces me to everyone, I do my best to keep up. I learn that Luisa is a transport pilot, which means she only flies helicopters, hovercraft, and cargo planes.
Karra handles communications when she’s on the base, and recon missions when in the wards.
Neema, a petite girl with skin a few shades of bronze darker than my own, works in security and doesn’t bother hiding her distrust as she studies me.
Golden-haired, blue-eyed Henley is another pilot. He’s utterly gorgeous and knows it, flashing a dazzling white smile that leaves me a little breathless, though I’m not even attracted to the guy.
The mountain beside me is Mako, whose expression is bright as he says, “A fellow sniper! We should hit the range together. You’re going to love our outdoor range, Wrenny. Can I call you Wrenny?”
“Absolutely not,” I reply, and Gray snickers.
They’re all around my age, except for Evlynne, who rounds out the group.
She’s twenty-five, and apparently multi-talented, serving as both fighter pilot and sniper.
She’s also fiercely intimidating, with pale skin, dark-brown hair cut in a chin-length bob, and sharp gray eyes that inspect me as if I’m a specimen in a lab.
“I hear you’re screwing a Command lieutenant,” Evlynne says bluntly.
It takes a second to realize she said lieutenant and not captain. Xavier. She means Xavier. For a moment, I thought she knew about Cross.
“He’s just a friend,” I say, taking a bite of my eggs.
“Didn’t realize we were fraternizing with the enemy now,” she drawls.
I stifle a sigh. “I don’t know if I’d call him the enemy anymore. Lieutenant Ford didn’t have to risk his life to help me escape.”