Chapter 10 #3
Two knocks rap against the door, and the flight attendant sticks her head into my small room. “We’re preparing for landing,”
she says quietly, and I nod, keeping my tablet tucked inconspicuously against my dress. As she ducks out, I consider the fresh
words on the page. Today, it finally feels like my eyes are open again. I saw Callum. My Callum. And he introduced me to the world as his fiancée.
To think, a few days ago, I was underground, fighting for the rebellion. I was training to be sent off to fight in an unending
war. I was pressed up against the wall by Hux, his lips against mine—
Hux.
I wonder if he’ll see the footage from today. If they’re using this as some sort of pro-Graves propaganda, something to support
the administration, I imagine it’ll be beamed to every DopaMine feed, carefully curated to appeal to the viewer. Will they
send him a close-up of my face, I wonder? Does the algorithm know how he feels about me?
Do I? Does he?
The door whisks open again.
“Forget something?” I ask her without looking up.
But it’s not the flight attendant. The guard lurks in the doorway, little more than a twilight-colored camo uniform, a black
helmet.
As my stomach lurches, I shove myself up to my feet. Whatever he’s doing in here, it can’t be something good. Did they find
out about Lyceum? About Written in the Stars? About Hux?
My eyes flit around the room, looking for something to hit him with. I’m about to lunge for a lamp when a familiar voice cuts
through the cabin.
“For the love of God, Hart. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead three times over already.”
The guard lifts his visor and pulls the mask down, and my chest tightens. Green eyes, a slash of brows, lips that I recognize
by sight as much as I’d recognize by feel.
Hux.
My mouth opens and closes as my hands fumble with the lamp.
I yank, but it doesn’t budge.
Of course. It’s bolted down for safety.
“Hmm, perhaps four times,” Hux amends in a low voice, shucking the black gloves off his hands. My heart beats in my ears as
I try to put this together.
“How are you here?” I whisper.
“I saw them take you,” he answers plainly, but he can’t seem to look at me when he says it. There’s something in the expression
he fixes on that lamp—something tight—but I can’t quite place it.
“This is part of the presidential fleet, Hux.”
He shrugs. “A copter plane? It’s just a computer.” And that’s his sideways look, the one he’d give me in class when we’d compete
to see who could get Mr. Avilas more worked up, or earn a worse glare from Ms. Astor. It’s the look that says, Give me a challenge, Hart.
A chill runs down my spine.
“Why are you here?” I whisper-shout, stepping closer to him.
Hux mirrors me, and the distance between us shrinks dangerously. Any closer, and he’ll be able to feel my thundering heart.
“You think I’m that type of person? To stand by and let bad things happen to people that I . . .” He fumbles for a second.
“To anyone?”
He’s a Mach, that voice in my head reminds me. His idea of action is murder.
“I’m here to help,” he says.
“Who says I need help?” I retort. “Who says I haven’t gotten it handled?”
At the word—and the way I brandish my fist—Hux’s eyes fall on my left hand. His smile turns wry as he gestures to my ring.
“I saw that. Congratulations, by the way.”
My stomach swoops, and too late I realize the feeling tugging at me is the plane as it banks again. I stumble forward, knocking
Hux with me. As one, we crash into the door, the plane’s movements pinning me to him. I hate the way my heart beats faster
at the press of his body against mine.
The memory of our kiss flashes in my mind, unbidden, and I physically shake my head to clear it.
“If they catch you in here—” I start, but Hux cuts me off.
“—they’ll assume I’m doing a sweep, which is what I told them I was doing when I came in here.” He leans closer, his lips
inches from my ear. I shiver, my eyes closing of their own volition. “I know what I’m doing, Ripley.”
My eyes fly open at that, and my anger is right there. Easy to grab.
It’s a subtle movement, so I can move my knee up, and catch him right in the groin before that supercilious smile even has a chance to drip from his face. The huffed groan as he doubles over and steps back makes my veins sing with victory.
“So do I. And I know what kind of ‘help’ you offer. I am going to handle this myself.”
Hux fumbles against my shoulder for a handhold to pull himself back to standing.
“You and Callum, you mean,” he grits out, his eyes narrowing.
I step closer. “Yes. Callum and me. While you’re too busy blowing things up,” I lower my voice to a soft whisper at those
words, like they’re a dangerous thing themselves, “I’ve been learning about democracy and watching people work to change hearts
and minds without violence. I have no idea how I wound up in this position, but I know that I’m going to make the best of
it.”
The aircraft jumps with the wind; we’re getting closer to the ground. Running out of time. Soon, the flight attendants and
the Hammers will be back to whisk me off who knows where. I can’t make out the look on Hux’s face, or discern the reason his
gaze is locked on mine like he’s figuring something out. “You have no idea how you wound up here? Really?” he asks finally.
“Someone knew about our history.” A thought occurs to me, and I grit my teeth. “Another one of your incredible plans?”
Something shutters in Hux’s face, eyes unreadable as he takes a slow breath, as if counting out the seconds. Then he shakes his head. “No, Ripley. I didn’t tell anyone that you had a . . . personal connection to the Graves family.”
My breath whooshes out of me, as relief and dread war in me. I haven’t had time to give it much thought, but it made sense
that Hux said something to someone. But he didn’t. Which begs the question: If he didn’t, who did?
Hux presses his lips together and then nods to himself. “When we land, follow me. It’ll be tricky, but—”
I shake my head and take a step back. “What? No. I can’t leave. Not after the whole world just watched my engagement announcement.”
We dip even closer to the ground.
“Yes, you can,” he growls.
“No, I can’t. I won’t do that to Callum.”
“Do that to Callum. You have no idea what you’re about to step into, Ripley.”
He doesn’t know Callum. And he doesn’t know me, not if he thinks I can’t do this. Huxley Finn, always underestimating me.
I’m not good enough—not good enough to be his rival in the classroom, the weapons room. Not even good enough to be his friend.
“Maybe I don’t know as much as you do about what’s waiting for me on the ground,” I fire back, “but I do know that whatever
I’m going to do, I can do it without spilling a drop of blood. Can you say the same?”
Outside the windows, tall buildings clip by, seeming to jump behind us. Moments, then, to finish this conversation.
When I turn back to him, I reach into my pocket for the one thing I was able to sneak from my old life, and fling it at him.
The poker chip flips end over end. Hux snatches it from the air without even taking his eyes off of me.
“Keep it,” I say. “I’m done playing this little game with you.”