Chapter Eight
Eight
The first thing I can think when my vision clears from the smoke and my hearing returns is That wasn’t so bad for a grenade.
I’m intact, for one. There isn’t a hole blown into the roof of the train, and there are no random limbs strewn around the floor; the only thing that seems to be destroyed is a single ceiling panel that has dislodged and is swinging by a hinge. The train is still going.
And then someone is pulling me.
I turn to find the man who was staring at me before, yanking me hard down the car as people scream and run for the exits even though the train is still moving. Through the smoke, I see Dane working his way toward us.
“Let go!” I yell, but this doesn’t have any effect. The train pulls into a station, and absolutely everyone makes a run for the exit, pushing and shoving to get out the doors. Maybe the grenade was defective. “Dane!”
There are too many people, and I’ve lost Dane in the panic of the crowd, but the tide of people is working to my advantage because the guy pulling me can’t get through either.
I look back to see Dane shoving people out of his way to get through.
I kick the guy in the shin, and he howls, dropping my arm.
I kick him again just as Dane gets to us.
I dive backward into Dane’s outstretched arm, landing heavily against his chest. The guy apparently decides to cut his losses and pushes through to get away.
“Are you hurt?” Dane asks, guiding us over to the tiled underground wall of the station. Police are pounding down the corridor to the train as the last of the passengers make a run for the exits.
“I’m not hurt,” I confirm. “I think the grenade malfunctioned.”
“It was a flash-bang, not a grenade. Just smoke and noise. Not for killing with shrapnel.” He shakes his head angrily. “We are definitely being watched. That was a distraction so he could grab you.”
Another distraction: the way he’s still holding me, tight against his chest. My heart pounds, somehow going too fast and too slow, and I’m hyperaware of every place of contact between us. No one’s ever pushed his way through people for me before.
“I am so done with bad things happening on trains,” I say.
“I agree. No more trains.”
There’s no reason for him to hold me so tight. I should move away, but I simply don’t want to. Finally, Dane lets me go and moves us away from the platform and back up through the station to the cool, fresh night air.
“How did he find us?” I ask, working to modulate my voice, which wants to shake.
“I don’t know, but we should always assume we’re being watched.”
“Can we expect this again? Should I carry a weapon?” For a guy who was all about holding me against him a moment ago, Dane is certainly putting distance between us now on the sidewalk. “Dane. Answer me.”
He stops and whirs to face me. I slam into him, and he catches my arms and pushes himself away from me, as though he can’t stand the proximity or touch now.
“I don’t know what to expect. I don’t like that this happened.” He spins and keeps walking.
“Your concern is appreciated,” I try. We’re back at the hotel now, and Dane strides toward the elevator.
The smirking clerk from earlier watches us with open interest, but his smile is gone now and he looks between us as though he can sense the tension.
Dane smashes the button, and luckily for the poor elevator, the doors open right away.
We step in, and I add, “This frustration isn’t helping. You’re acting like it’s my fault.”
Dane turns to look at me. His features soften. He runs a hand down his face and appears to collect himself. “Of course it’s not your fault. I’m frustrated that the guy got as close as he did. I thought I was keeping better watch.”
“You can’t be a twenty-four-hour surveillance team by yourself,” I say.
Dane gives a little shake of his head like he disagrees. The elevator opens onto our floor, and we walk to the room.
“We should be up fairly early to get to the cathedral,” he says.
I nod, grab my toiletries bag, and head for the bathroom.
It’s just past nine, which would be early any other time, but I’m still jet lagged and the day’s events have left me exhausted.
I wash my face and brush my teeth; when I come out, he goes right in.
It leaves me with a needed moment alone.
I want nothing more than to skip to the part where I’ve processed everything that happened today.
I turn off the light and slide into my side of the bed, almost on the edge of the mattress.
My head buzzes with it all: meeting Dane at the fallen-angel statue, entering the game, and dealing with the whole fraught breakup with Eric and the confrontation with him after.
The 1982’s face in the window of our compartment and the ensuing chase.
Our evening in Barcelona. The flash-bang and that guy trying to pull me away. Dane holding me tightly against him.
He emerges from the bathroom. With what feels like a high degree of care not to disturb the bed, he climbs in his side.
He might as well be in Siberia with how much space is between us.
I pretend I’m asleep. I do try; I close my eyes and attempt to relax my body, starting at the top of my head.
I read once that soldiers do this in war zones because you have to put yourself to sleep quickly no matter where you are. It never works for me.
He turns over and sighs.
“That was a big sigh,” I say.
He’s silent for a long time, and I decide he’s simply not going to answer.
Maybe silence is how he handles stress. Maybe he’s annoyed at having to share a bed with me when we just met.
I don’t know him well enough to read his moods.
I think about our dinner and how nice it was to talk to someone like that.
To open up about my family and the accident. I haven’t done that in a long time.
“In the first Enigma Challenge, there were more competitors,” he says, his voice quiet.
“No one knew the risks then. The year after had fewer competitors because they’d heard about the risk of losing by then, but the ones who did play were more cutthroat because word had gotten out about the prize.
By the time I played, it was worse. That was the year the 1982 entered.
I don’t know what happened to him then. I thought he’d been deleted, because I won.
But then in the second challenge I played, he was back.
And suddenly, people were being killed. When ProtoDark told me they expected me to work for them, especially since I’d won twice, I said that they had to ensure the 1982 didn’t play again. That he was vicious. They agreed.”
I chance a look at him, but I can only make out the shape of his elbows. He’s on his back, his hands behind his head as he talks.
“I thought I wouldn’t see him again, but ProtoDark isn’t in the business of taking orders from anyone. Apparently the 1982 made them a good enough offer and they let him play.”
“So you think the 1982 or his minions were after us tonight?”
“I don’t know.” I can hear the frustration in his tone. “It could be other people.”
“Can you ask them? Ask ProtoDark?”
He gives a humorless laugh. “Communication is a one-way street with them. They order, you perform.”
“And you tolerate that?” I haven’t known him long, but he seems like he doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to.
“The consequences for not following orders are deletion or worse.”
I think about that. Wonder if he’s tried to get free of them.
He sighs heavily. “Anyway, I can take being ambushed. It happened in the last challenge, and I expect it, to an extent.”
I can’t imagine being so used to people chasing me that I accept it.
“But what I can’t take,” he continues, “is that they almost got you.”
A chill races over my shoulders. I don’t know what to say.
I’m not sure whether he means that I’m a helpless fawn who requires protecting and watching because I’m inept.
That’s simply not true, so then does he mean that he can’t stand the idea of me being hurt?
Because I’m somehow precious? My time with him has been adventurous and decidedly dangerous, but we only met today.
I want to believe he is being protective because he likes me.
Whatever it is, it’s nice. The alternative to continuing on with Dane is returning home to be formally fired, which Eric will almost certainly see to.
I’ll have to scramble to find a position somewhere else, maybe across the country.
If I know Eric at all, he’ll tell potential employers that I’m a poor candidate.
And, of course, there’s the prospect of being deleted.
There’s no getting out of this.