Chapter 33
I give him five minutes. That’s five minutes longer than I should.
As I watch the feed that Sebastian has pulled up for us, Cason disappears into the lower levels, moving like he belongs there, like he was born in that building.
But that’s the problem. He practically was.
It’s a place where he’s too confident, and confidence can lead to recklessness. Recklessness gets people killed.
I told him I’d let him do this alone.
I lied.
“Stay on comms,” I tell Sebastian through the radio I have nestled in my ear. “If anything goes wrong—”
“It will,” he cuts in.
“—don’t come in,” I finish anyway. “You wait for my signal. If it doesn’t come, you go back to the safehouse and warn the others.”
A beat passes, a second of hesitation that also gets people killed.
“Yeah. Sure,” he says slowly, unconvincingly.
“I mean it, Baz. They’re going to need you.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” This time, it’s a little more convincing. Then he adds, “Just come back out of there in one piece, alright?”
I don’t answer as I get out of my SUV. I’m less concerned about myself than I am about Cason. Making sure he gets out of there in one piece first is my priority. Then I’ll worry about myself.
As I head up to the building, I don’t look in the direction I know Baz is because he nor Cason are supposed to be here at all.
As far as anyone’s concerned, I’m the only one here.
I’m walking right through those front doors like I’ve done a thousand times before, all so the others can stay invisible.
Bellrose Institute doesn’t feel any different than it did the last time I was here. Still clean and structured, still pretending as if it isn’t built on failed experiments and the bodies of Ascended.
It takes exactly twelve seconds for them to find me.
I feel it before I see them. There’s a thinning of air, a tightening of space.
It’s as though a candle snuffer has been placed over the entire lobby.
Because that’s what happens to my shadows—snuffed out.
One second, they’re floating behind me, and the next they’re gone.
“Reese Morgan.”
The voice comes from behind me, feminine and calm.
I turn to see her standing a few feet away, exactly how I remember her. Posture as straight as her platinum blonde hair, expression controlled, light brown eyes sharp as she stands there with her hands on her hips.
“Hello, Samantha.”
“It’s been a long time, Reese. I’m flattered you remember little ol’ me.”
“I tried to steal you away. Hard to forget that kind of rejection.”
Her laugh is the same too. Too high, too grating on the nerves. It’s not just the laugh; it’s everything about her. I should probably be thankful she didn’t want to come with me. Ash may have killed her.
“Still loyal as ever, I see.”
“Still misguided,” she replies.
Still the same.
I test her powers, reaching for my shadows, even just a flicker or a pull. But there’s nothing. They don’t respond, not even a twitch.
I always did fucking hate her, even if she would’ve been useful.
Samantha is Ascended, obviously. She’s able to suppress the abilities of other Ascended around her, and when I attempted to recruit her for the resistance, she used that as justification for staying with the Institute.
She believes she was given her powers for a reason, that Ascended really are as bad as Malcolm claims, and she’s meant to snuff them out just as she snuffs out their powers.
“I still believe you’re totally wasted here,” I tell her.
“And I still believe that someone has to stop what you people become.”
“You mean what he makes us, you included.”
She takes a step closer, her gaze unwavering. “No. What you become when no one stops you.”
Same argument, different day.
“So you chose him.”
“I chose the purpose I was given. Ascended are unstable and dangerous. You know that better than anyone.”
“I know they’re not property.”
“They’re not people like they once were,” she counters.
“That doesn’t give him the right to own them.”
She scoffs and shakes her head. “Come on, Reese. You know someone has to take on the responsibility to stop them, to protect the world from what we are. I was given this ability for a reason, so I’m going to help.”
Nothing’s changed. Not her stance, not her belief. Not the fact that she’d put me down without hesitation if she had the order.
At the thought, I eye the gun clipped to the belt at her hip, then peer down at my own that’s in the holster hanging from my shoulder. I’m not wearing a jacket, so it’s plainly visible.
“You know…” I peer back up at her and raise a brow. “A bullet is very much not superhuman. Have you ever tried to use your abilities to stop one of those?”
She laughs again, and my lip curls in contempt.
“How about you come with me?”
She turns and starts across the lobby without waiting.
I don’t argue or try to fight, falling into step behind her.
This was exactly the plan, so I let her lead us into the elevator.
Mercifully, she stays quiet on the ride up.
There’s no music, no chatter, no bullshit attempt at normalcy, just the suffocating absence where my shadows should be.
The doors open with a soft chime, and Samantha steps out first. We cross the reception area, and she opens the set of double doors to Malcolm’s office and gestures me inside.
“Wait here,” she says.
She leaves and shuts the door. I’m left alone, my shadows still silent, so she must be standing outside the office. But that’s okay. This works. This buys him time.
Several minutes pass, and I’ve already made myself comfortable in Malcolm’s chair behind his desk when he enters. He stops when he sees me, but he doesn’t look surprised. Behind him are several more of his Ascended guard.
Perfect. Less for Cason to worry about.
“Mr. Morgan.” He closes the door and steps further into the room. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
“Hope you don’t mind. I was actually thinking about redecorating.”
His gaze sharpens as he smiles with fake amusement. “And to what do I owe the pleasure? I know you wouldn’t visit without purpose.”
“I’m wounded. Maybe I missed you.”
“Unlikely.” He takes a seat in one of the less comfortable chairs on the other side of his desk, crossing his legs and pinning me with his calculating gaze. “Perhaps I should kill you simply for being in my chair.”
“We both know you’re not going to kill me, Malcolm.”
The words settle between us, heavy but not hostile. Just true.
He leans back, studying me because we both know this isn’t a matter of cutting the head off the snake, not for either of us.
As for Malcolm, he controls a large network of Ascended, most of whom are genuinely loyal to him, grateful for what he’s given them. New life, resources, purpose. They would retaliate if I killed him right here right now, and shit would get ugly.
For me, it’s a little different.
“You’re sitting in my office,” he says, his voice calm. “In my chair. Surrounded by people who could end you before you take your next breath.”
“And yet, I’m still here.”
If he kills me, he loses something he can’t easily replace.
The resistance wouldn’t die with me, and it would no longer be led by a variable he understands.
We worked together for years, and we both know how the other operates.
If I’m gone, the resistance becomes harder to track, to contain, to anticipate.
They become unpredictable, and that’s the kind of chaos Malcolm can’t stand.
“You’ve built something inconvenient. That doesn’t make you untouchable.”
“No,” I agree. “It makes me useful.”
“What makes you so sure?”
I tilt my head. “Because you like me.”
That gets a reaction, and he laughs. It actually sounds genuine.
“You’ve always overestimated your appeal, Mr. Morgan.”
“Have I?” I lean forward, resting my arms on top of his desk. “You respect me.”
Similar concepts, different meanings entirely. Malcolm would seem to agree because his laughter fades, something like recognition or acceptance taking its place.
Another thing we both know to be true.
Malcolm respects what I am, what I’ve done, what I’m capable of. He respects the results, even if he’d kill me the second I lost my worth to him.
“You were my most successful asset,” he admits. “My best soldier. The first one I really got right. It would certainly be wasteful to discard that lightly.”
I sit back again, satisfied. “Glad we understand each other.”
His gaze lingers on me silently for a moment longer, then I see the moment some of the tension eases from his shoulders. He shifts in his seat and settles into the conversation.
“You didn’t come here to test boundaries. So why are you here?”
“I need something.”
“You need something from me? After you dragged Cason into all of this?”
My teeth clench, but I school my expression. “You did that when you hired me to kidnap him and then again when you aimed his weapon at us. He was always going to get dragged into this. It was only a matter of time.”
“Fair,” he says with a smug grin. “What exactly is it you need?”
“Information,” I tell him. “There’s been an erratic pattern we’ve detected among possible Ascended. I figure if anyone’s got a handle on that kind of thing, it’s you.”
It’s actually not a lie. Sebastian has been tracking Ascended for us in a similar manner that the Institute tracks them—scraping hospital records, emergency response logs, anything that flags a flatline followed by a resuscitation.
It’s messy and far from flawless, but it’s been enough to stay ahead of Malcolm more than once.
At least, until recently. There have been more cases, many of them closer together.
It seems less random, as if there’s someone rogue out there trying to create their own Ascended.
If Malcolm and I are on the same page about anything, it’s knowing there’s a danger to that.
I may not want to own them, but I would stop them in the same way Malcolm would.