40. Valaria
Valaria
Istare into the darkness.
Like a child, I cross my fingers under the sheet.
I hold my secret in my other hand.
Finally, I drift into fitful sleep.
I wake surrounded by technicians.
I struggle.
They win—injecting drugs into my veins.
The red-streaked woman appears.
“Touching. So, so touching,” she says. “Like a schmaltzy movie.”
I collapse onto the bed. “Enjoy it, did you?”
“Pietro will live if you stay in the game.”
“No,” I say. “I’m changing the game.”
With failing strength, I toss her the flash drive. A copy of one Pietro uploaded last night.
A silent prayer rises in my heart.
“It’s all there,” I say. “Your failsafe code. Your off-site accounts. Your contingencies. Your plots. Your evil intentions.”
She stiffens.
“My mother wanted a better world. You killed her—hacked her original code to make me your slave.”
My words slur.
“Every major government agency will have it in the next hour—unless you let us walk away. Clean. Unfollowed.”
She says flatly. “Your mother wanted you here—with us.”
I smile. “Not this way she didn’t. You can’t make me believe otherwise.”
Behind me, Pietro steps out from the shadows.
Gun holstered. Eyes calm.
Backup. Always.
The red streak woman looks between us.
And for the first time?—
She blinks.
Then says, “Go. You won’t get far. We’ll intercept your intel. No government agency will receive it. Whether they do, or not, you’re dead.”
We don’t wait.
Every effort to tighten my robe fails. It is the least of my worries. I fight the drugs that pull me under. My adrenaline kicks in, just enough to keep my eyes open and my legs moving.
Through the corridors.
Into the light.
Into freedom.