I frowned. “Thane said Starr would be in charge if something happened to him.”
“She’s still a student,” River said. “Director Hightower appointed my father when Assistant Director Myers went missing. Starr is still second.”
I knew the Isaacs family. Blaze had smuggled them out of Northepointe several months before he’d died. “Is your dad around?”
“He’s at Rise One with the other building Directors. Word is there’s a threat to Associational security.” River gave me the up-down. A slow smile stretched across her face. “I guess they were right.”
“I have friends out there. What’s the word on your safe houses?”
Before she could answer, an explosion tilted the sky. I fell to my knees, my arms automatically covering my head.
As I regained my feet, River moved to the edge of the roof and faced north. “That was our last hideout,” she said. “I hope your friends weren’t heading to Block Twenty-Four.”
Somehow I thought that’s exactly where they’d be going.
“Send a rescue team,” I said, joining her at the wall. I gripped the edge until my finger bones hurt.
I couldn’t lose Vi. Not in an explosion I hadn’t seen coming. Not in the dead of night while I lingered on a rooftop and couldn’t help.
“Who should we be looking for out there?” River asked. I got the impression it wasn’t the first time. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the plume of smoke spreading into the sky.
“Jag, who—”
“Violet Schoenfeld,” I said. “Or Zenn Bower. Or Gunner Jameson.”
“If they were in that building—”
“Go,” I said. “Just go.”
Zenn
8.
Block Twenty-Four had been compromised. The four of us stood on the fringes, staring at the smoke still wafting from the hideout.
One look at Gunner, and I knew not everyone had made it out. “What can you feel?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t as bad as the smell of ash and plastic and wet, hot metal. I wondered if Trek had been inside. Or Starr. I swallowed hard.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Too much.”
“We’ll wait here,” Saffediene declared. “We’re not that far from Rise Twelve, and the danger seems to have dissipated for now.”
My arms felt dissipated from my body. My legs too. My head. All of it—the EOs swarming in the streets, the spyware in the silver paint, the alarm, the darkness, the destruction of the Insider hideout—was just too much.
“We can’t wait here,” Vi said, glancing around. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
I snapped back to attention. “What doesn’t feel right?”
She and Gunn turned. Vi cried out in surprise; Gunn shouted. I spun around and immediately raised both hands in a placating gesture.
A handful of people stood in front of us, their clothes nonstandard, their eyes watchful. One held a taser, obviously an older model he’d scrounged from somewhere—or taken off a dead body. The other four wielded “weapons” of rubbish bin lids or pieces of the blown-up building, as if we were the ones responsible for the detonation of their hideout.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, my voice power employing without a second thought.
“Calm down,” Gunn said, his voice on high too. “We’re friends here.”
The people exchanged glances. “Who are you?” a man asked.
“I’m Zenn Bower,” I said. “And this is Saffediene, and . . .” Could I give Vi’s name?
“Violet,” Vi said, making the choice for me. “I’m Violet Schoenfeld.”
Weapons were lowered and glances exchanged. “It’s them.” The one with the taser stowed it in his jacket pocket.
“Them?” I asked.
“How do you know who we are?” Saffediene asked, showing her strength by speaking without so much as a waver in her voice.
“Jag sent us,” the man said. “I’m Newton.” He named the others, but I got hung up on River Isaacs.
“River,” I said. “I know you. How do I know you?” I studied her tangle of brown hair. Her nose sat too small in the middle of her face. Her eyes, round and alive, reminded me of someone. She had a few years on me, but I had to look down on her. She carried strength in her body, and I knew she was no lightweight.
She gripped my hand in a crazy-firm handshake. “Zenn Bower. You saved my family a couple years back.”
All eyes focused on me, but none felt heavier than Vi’s.
“I—I—” I didn’t know what to say. I remembered now. Mason Isaacs. His wife had been taken and coerced. He needed passage to Freedom, and Blaze and I had provided the service. River looked like she’d aged ten years instead of three.
“How’s your dad?” I finally asked.
“Director of Rise Twelve,” River answered. She cast her eyes around the wreckage behind us. “Come on, we’re not safe here.”
She and her band of rebels faded into the shadowy alley. Saffediene moved with them, easily hiding herself among the darkness. The girl had mad sneaking skills.
Gunn and Vi stood deathly still, gaping at me.
“What?” I asked, stuffing my hands in my pockets in an attempt at nonchalance.
“Interesting,” Vi said. She made to follow the others without removing her laser gaze from my face. “Very interesting.”
“What does that mean?” I asked Gunn, who’d hopefully picked up on Vi’s feelings.
“I think,” he said, “it means she’s sad she doesn’t know everything about you.”
“What the—”
“I lived with you, and you’re still a complete mystery to me. Don’t worry, Zenn, it’s part of your charm.” Gunn flashed one of his rare smiles before leaving me alone with my despicable self.
Upon arriving at Rise Twelve, Jag immediately put everyone to work. Leave it to him to show up unannounced and take over. He was a natural-born leader. Some say it’s his charisma. And by “some,” I mean “girls.”
I say it’s because of his crazy-powerful voice talent.
No matter what it is, everyone obeyed him. Not that he really commanded. But he spoke with authority, and as much as I hated to admit it, his ideas usually had merit.
“Got that, Zenn?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” I tried to focus on the convo, but we’d been over it before: use my voice if I had to, stay close to Vi, blah blah blah.
Jag didn’t buy it for a second. “You weren’t even listening.”
I looked at the midnight horizon over his shoulder. “Was too.”
“Gunn.” Jag glanced at him.
“He wasn’t listening.” The traitor ratted me out.
“How do you know?” I asked. I’d been burying my emotions for years. I didn’t want them exposed for anyone to feel.
“You don’t argue when you’re right,” he said.
“Whatever,” I mumbled. At least he couldn’t smell my guilt.
