35. Pietro
Pietro
Ihaven’t slept in days. Not really. Not since the last whisper of her voice dissolved like a ghost. Not since Luca handed me access to every restricted black ops file in the royal databanks.
“Find her.”
He didn’t have to say it twice.
Now Gavrix and I sit shoulder to shoulder in the belly of a helicopter older than my first alias, its instrument panel cracked, its engine coughing like a smoker. Wind thrums through the frame as we slice across the Pacific, the coordinates glowing on my screen like a final chance.
Gavrix leans toward me. “Lighten up, kid.”
“Can’t”
“At least you have a better wardrobe now.”
I can’t help but crack a smile. Let out the breath I’ve been holding. Gavrix always knew how to get me ready for a fight—a challenge that was larger than what I was ready for and each time I came out stronger.
“Thanks.” I flash him a smile that could well be my last.
Kiribati.
A flyspeck island in the ocean, buried beneath bureaucratic myths and encrypted Oracle files.
Valaria’s mother built this place. Or at least programmed its purpose.
Cycle reinforcement, mnemonic degradation, code fragment seeding.
All those cold, clinical phrases hide what they’re really doing to her—replacing her.
For what purpose? For evil—it is not for good—there’s no doubt.
With Gavrix’s intel about Arcadia, we pieced together the truth that jigsaw puzzled across files in every database we accessed. I have the only weapon I need to destroy them in my pocket. If I live long enough. Long enough to rescue Valaria.
My hands flex in my gloves, too tight, knuckles aching. Gavrix notices.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks without looking.
I check the rope coil beside me. My sidearm. My pulse. “Was ready the day they took her.”
He nods, then tilts the chopper forward. Through the windshield, the island unfolds—a strip of jungle wrapped in surf, no comm towers, no thermal readings, no signs of life except a shimmer where the light bends wrong. Camouflage tech. Arcadia’s style.
We hover low. I clip the harness to the rope and swing my legs over the edge. For one second, I pause.
If Gavrix doesn’t come back…
“Don’t die,” I say.
He smirks. “You either.”
I drop.
The rope burns my palms even through the gloves, air rushing up like it wants to swallow me whole. My boots hit sand hard, knees jarring. I unclip and signal—thumbs up.
Gavrix peels away.
I duck into the foliage. Silence closes in like a fist.
I hear the explosion.
I whip around just in time to see a plume of black smoke twist up from the sea. No fire. Just foam. Metal. A broken tail rotor bobbing above the waves before it vanishes under the surface.
“Gavrix—” My voice dies in the headset.
Dead air.
My blood goes cold.
He’s gone. Just when I got him back.
I stare out across the waves, fists clenched, jaw tight.
I promised Emma I’d bring Valaria home.
Now I have to do it without backup. Without my brother.
Without escape.
I turn toward the jungle.
She’s here. I feel it.
And whatever monsters Arcadia left behind?—
They’ll bleed before I let them take her from me.