Chapter 15
There isn’t a single star in the sky.
Is that normal? I feel like there should at least be one. Instead, we’re in a black hole. A murky empty void that stretches endlessly in all directions.
It took me three days to convince Gray to do this for me, and now that it’s happening, part of me wishes we were back at the Dagger.
I told him that I was able to send Cross a message through a Sanctum Point acquaintance, a Mod who’s involved with a Command soldier.
I assume Gray believed me, because he didn’t jump up in accusation and demand to know whether Cross Redden is Modified.
Still, I can tell he’s not happy with the request.
I glance toward the pilot’s seat. “Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for this?”
“Already told you, I had some business in the city anyway. I told the others you were tagging along because you had a friend in the city you urgently needed to see.” Catching my wariness, he rolls his eyes.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t say which friend.
” He pauses. “They won’t be happy to hear you’re consorting with the enemy. ”
“He’s not—” I stop. The enemy, I almost said. But in the Uprising’s eyes, there is no greater villain than someone with the surname Redden. “All bad,” I finish awkwardly. “I know you’re judging me for this—”
“I’m not,” Gray interjects, and when I turn in surprise, he appears sincere. “I’ve gone undercover in the wards enough times to see how it fucks with your head.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Primes. The loyalist Mods. You want to view them as evil, as irredeemable. But sometimes they show you sides of themselves that make it hard to hold on to that view.”
I lean over to squeeze his arm. “Thank you for taking me.”
“Are you sure about this?” he counters. “Because you’re going to a lot of trouble for this asshole.”
“I’m sure.” I keep it vague. “We have unfinished business.”
“Well, you owe me,” is all he says, his gaze fixed on the darkness ahead.
I’m not one to get nervous when it comes to risky missions, but I feel like we’re flying into the center of an abyss. I have zero spatial awareness, not a single point to focus on that could orient me as to where we are. Hell, I barely understand the aircraft we’re in.
Back at the hangar, Gray referred to it as the “hybrid,” because the design is a blend of fighter jet and attack helicopter.
He explained that the aerodynamic frame combined with the semi-swept wings optimizes its performance at both high and low speeds, making it capable of superior air support and a precise ground attack.
Then he went on about hover mode and vertical thrust vectoring and the most complicated-sounding weapons system ever, and I promptly tuned out.
Turns out Grayson Blake has a real hard-on for aviation.
I search the darkness, trying to better orient myself, once again to no avail.
“Seriously, what do we have against lights?” I ask, fidgeting in the copilot’s seat.
“Airspace is being monitored,” he says. “We can’t risk being spotted by a Company aircraft. The lack of lights is the least of our concerns—just pray our radar jam holds up until we land.”
“We’re landing without lights?” I squawk in dismay. “No beacons? How will you see the runway?”
“Relax, cowgirl. I’ve done this hundreds of times before.”
“In the dark?”
“Yes.”
“Without lights?”
“That’s what ‘in the dark’ means.”
“Stop laughing at me.”
“Can’t help it. You’re not usually such a chickenshit.”
It bothers me how calm he is. The cockpit has minimal lights, only a select few dials illuminated, and every time I catch a glimpse of his expression, it’s gleaming with confidence. He flicks a switch and another one of those dials goes dark.
“How are you not fazed by this? You don’t care that you can’t see?”
He seems amused by the note of panic we both hear in my voice. “I’m unfazed because it’s second nature to me, and I don’t need my eyes when I have my senses and my instruments to guide me. I trust my instincts, my plane. She’ll tell me everything I need to know.”
“ ‘She’? Oh God, you’re nuts.”
He chuckles, and the plane dips a little when he shifts the yoke. His every movement is controlled and deliberate. No hesitation at all. I suddenly hear a mechanical grind and realize he’s releasing the landing gear.
“Where did you learn to fly?”
“My dad,” he says, keeping his gaze straight ahead. His voice is devoid of emotion, but I can’t tell if that means something. “He was a pilot. Took me flying with him when I was younger, and I became addicted to it.”
The darkness seems to press in on us, heightening that sense of isolation. Like we’re floating aimlessly in the sky.
“Relax.” He adjusts the throttle, and the plane descends farther.
I can’t see the ground. I can’t see a thing. I don’t know if we’re ten feet off the ground or thousands. But Gray isn’t at all nervous. He licks the corner of his mouth and shifts the controls again.
“There you go, baby.”
For a second I think he’s talking to me, but his tone is almost reverent, and his gaze is wholly focused on his plane.
“Almost there,” he mutters under his breath.
I tense, waiting for the wheels to hit a runway I can’t see. The engines hum indifferently, and then I hear a soft whine, and I wait for it. A jolt. A lurch. Yet when the tires meet the ground, it’s the softest of kisses. A caress. I’m stunned by how effortlessly he did that.
The plane bounces slightly as Gray slows it down.
“That was incredible,” I tell him.
He winks at me. “I know. And you don’t have to look so relieved.”
“I’m beyond relieved. You literally landed a plane with no lights on a runway with no lights. I almost peed myself.”
Snickering, he shuts off the engines, and we climb out of the hybrid onto the tarmac.
I breathe in the scent of pine and damp earth, turning to study our surroundings.
There’s no airport. No hangars or other outbuildings.
Beyond the shadowy runway lies a small stretch of forest, which Gray strides toward.
“This way,” he says over his shoulder.
We don’t walk far, only a few yards into the woods, where I’m startled to find a small carport.
I almost miss it, that’s how well hidden it is.
If he hadn’t been walking right up to it, I would’ve thought I was looking at overgrown foliage and the thick trunks of ancient trees.
Branches and moss cloak the structure, blending it seamlessly into the background.
He pulls aside the brush to reveal a hunter-green canvas tarp. Pushes that aside, too, and now I’m breathing in the faint smell of engine oil and exhaust. Inside is a black vehicle that feels out of place in this rundown carport. It’s shiny. Almost brand-new.
“It’s a block-registered vehicle,” he says.
I’m relieved to hear it. A block-registered vehicle means it belongs to someone serving in one of the Command’s four blocks, usually a high-ranking officer. We’re unlikely to get stopped.
The airfield is in Ward E, only a short drive from Sanctum Point. As I settle in the passenger side, I link with Cross, who’s quick to respond. He’s clearly been waiting for me.
“Just landed,” I tell him. “En route to the rendezvous now.”
“Copy. I’m already here.”
My pulse quickens at the knowledge that I’ll be seeing him soon. I’m still shocked he even agreed to this, though to be fair, it wasn’t without plenty of arm-twisting and coercion. Cross thinks it’s too risky to meet, but once I make up my mind about something, there’s no talking me out of it.
Gray slides behind the wheel and steers the car down a narrow, unlit road in the direction of the Point. The car windows are almost completely tinted. I can see out, but no one can see in. If we do get stopped, we’re hellfucked, or at least I am, what with the red threat on my ID.
Every citizen exists in the Company database under a unique identification number, but Gray assures me that our people in Company Intelligence swapped my prints in the system.
Last time I snuck into the Point, they were able to temporarily lift my person-of-interest flag under the guise of a system glitch that lasted six hours. This time, I’m told I only have two.
“Two hours?” I echo uncertainly. That doesn’t seem like ample time.
“You’re lucky to have even that. For the next two hours, your prints and eye scan are linked to the name Mary Bowers. And if you, my dear Mary, aren’t at the pickup exactly two hours from now, I’m leaving without you.”
“Where will you be in the meantime?”
He’s obnoxiously vague. “I have some business to take care of.”
We drive through the city’s perimeter checkpoint, where the car is automatically scanned by the entry cameras.
“Oh,” he adds, “and they’ve increased security in the Point. Checkpoints in every zone now.”
“Fuck. Since when?” The city is divided into five zones, some of which are restricted to the general public.
Like Zone 1, where the Capitol and official Company buildings are—only authorized civilians can access that zone.
But Cross and I are meeting in the entertainment district, which is Zone 5.
I’ve never heard of a checkpoint in Zone 5.
“Since your boyfriend’s brother took charge,” Gray says sarcastically.
A few minutes later, he pulls into an unpaved alley, gravel crunching beneath our tires. He stops the car but leaves the engine running, glancing over sternly.
“This is as far as I can take you. You’ll have to get to the checkpoint on foot. This’ll be your pickup spot. Like I said, you’ve got two hours. Give yourself enough time to get back here.”
“Are you sure the fake ID will work?”
“It should. But we didn’t have time to sync a bio to your comm, so if you are stopped, don’t let them question you. Just fucking run.”
“Awesome.”
“Hey, you wanted to take the risk.” His voice sharpens slightly. “Guess we’ll find out if the captain was worth it.”
Cross is always worth the risk.
I slide out of the car, my boots connecting with the pavement.
I check the pocket of my tight-fitting leather jacket to make sure my comm is there; every citizen is required to have their comm on their person.
On my wrist, though, is the watch Gray got me from the tech room.
It has a signal jamming function, which means any camera I pass will glitch the moment I get near.
Emerging from the alley, I’m instantly hit with the sensation of being observed.
Sanctum Point is a surveillance state, which means cameras blinking from every building and streetlight, along with small gray drones humming through the air, their metal eyes scanning the sidewalks for any suspicious activity.
I move at a brisk gait, but not fast enough to draw attention.
At the end of the block, I spot the checkpoint. A line of impatient citizens waits for entry while the Copper Block soldiers at the gates usher people forward to scan their prints.
My heartbeat thumps in my ears, and I try to keep my breathing even and calm. Fuck. My palms are getting damp, but I don’t want to wipe them on my pants. I can’t appear nervous.
As I enter the line, the steady sound of shuffling boots combines with the oppressive hum of the surveillance drones, those eerie metallic wings buzzing like vultures.
A few people ahead of me chat with one another, but for the most part, everyone stays quiet.
They know the drill. Don’t look up at the drones.
Don’t look down at your feet. Don’t get noticed.
Stare straight ahead and try not to flick off the soldiers until you’re out of their sight.
My nerves heighten as the line crawls forward. What if Gray is wrong and my ID didn’t get swapped?
“What a nuisance,” the woman behind me mutters.
“Tell me about it,” her companion mutters back. “I had to wait an hour last time. Was late for my work assignment and they fined me fifty credits.”
“This new protocol is a fucking joke,” the first woman agrees, shifting with impatience. “I just want to get to work. They’re acting like everyone has something to hide.”
Some of us do.
My gaze shifts toward the front of the line, where one of the Copper soldiers is now scanning the crowd.
Anxiety whips through me, my throat running dry. Is he looking my way?
I try to act as nonchalant as possible, but I swear his cold eyes are trained on me.
The line moves again, dragging me closer to the gate. Damn it. Maybe this was a bad idea. I’m desperate to see Cross, but this is nerve racking. Travis Redden’s security net is tightening, and the last thing I need is to get caught in it.
I edge forward again. Only five more people ahead of me. Fuck. Fuck.
Yeah.
This was a bad idea.
But it’s too late now. If I abruptly step out of the line, that guard with the cropped hair and ice-cold eyes will notice.
I maintain an air of indifference, throwing some impatience into it as well, but inside, the worry is eating at my insides like acid.
Three more people.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
Such. A. Bad. Idea.
Two more people.
“Next,” the soldier barks.
The man in front of me steps toward the scanning bay. A moment later, it beeps, and he’s allowed through.
“Next.”
I take a breath and walk forward. The soldier spares me a cursory glance. Cold and expectant.
I press my print to the scanner, hoping nobody notices the slight trembling of my hand. Please work. Please fucking work.
It feels like an eternity before I hear it.
Beep.
The scanner flashes green. The gate opens.
Oh, thank God. The relief that floods my body is so acute I almost keel over.
I force myself not to break into a sprint, acting casual as I go through the gate.
When it closes behind me, my entire body feels lighter.
I step onto the street, quickly glancing around to get my bearings.
Haven is two blocks from here. Two blocks and I’ll disappear into the city, blend in with the crowd.
“Stop.”
I freeze at the harsh command.
Fuck!
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I force myself to turn around, weak with anxiety.
Only to find one of the soldiers extending his hand toward the woman who’d been behind me. He holds a black wool glove, which he waves around.
“You dropped this, lady,” he calls, and as she goes to retrieve the glove, I’m overcome with another wave of relief.
I don’t waste any more time. I hurry down the sidewalk, head low, eyes angled away from cameras and drones. Shit, that was a close call. Well, not really, but it sure felt like it. And I haven’t even gotten to Haven yet. I don’t like it here. This city feels too dangerous, too much like a trap.
I walk faster, linking with Cross as I do.
“I’ll be there soon.”