“You’re quiet for someone with a voice,” she teased.
I grunted. Like I was going to screw anything up by speaking.
She removed her hands from me and put a couple of inches between us. “So. I got a question for ya.”
“What’s that?”
“When are you gonna kiss me?”
My mind went blank.
“It’s not like I wanted to get you alone so we could discuss tactics.” Her voice sounded far away, like it came from deep within her throat.
“Oh, well, I—”
“You’re adorable,” she said, stopping at the end of the street under an orange light.
Heat rushed to my face. “Adorable” was worse than “cute.” Ty had called me that two weeks ago during our training session. I was still pissed off. I wasn’t a puppy.
“Take it back,” I commanded with my voice control all the way up.
She blinked, her eyes glassy, her jaw clenched. Then she smiled. “Ah. The tech doesn’t work against your voice. I’ll tell Irv.”
“You do that,” I said, striding back toward the house.
“Jag!” She caught up to me in a couple of steps and pulled on my arm to get me to stop. “Wait. You haven’t answered my question.”
I glared at her. “I am not a-freakin’-dorable.”
She threw her head back and laughed. The sound was all wild abandon, and her throat looked mighty enticing. But she took one look at my face and sobered.
Leaning in, she smiled. “No kidding. You’re freakin’ hot.”
“You’re—”
She stole my lame comeback with her lips. I forgot why I was mad. Indy tasted like salt and apples. Her body was soft, yet hard, against mine. Her skin felt electric, like the pleasurable buzz of tech, under my fingers.
When she pulled away, I could barely breathe.
“Hot,” she said again, burying both of her hands in my back pockets.
I didn’t feel so hot when Gunner burst into the tiny hole I called a bedroom and pulled me from memories that felt like they had happened two lifetimes ago. “Jag, she’s here.”
I didn’t have to ask who
“Indy,” I called, searching for her pink hair. I recognized some of my old team from the Resistance. Their faces had hollowed. They looked like they’d been to hell and back. Maybe they had been.
“Indy?” I asked. The crowd parted, and there she stood.
“Jag.” She moved toward me, and I was so cracking happy to see her alive that I didn’t notice the way she had her fist cocked back.
Zenn
2.
The notification of Indiarina’s arrival reached me last. I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure Jag wanted it that way. I always got assigned the worst schedule—one that would keep me sleeping during the day and as far from Vi as possible.
That, and I’d volunteered for the traveling team. Over the past two weeks I’d only been on the ground for four days. Gunner and I spent a crazy-ton of hours flying hoverboards. We’d hit the cities in the Southern Region first since they’d been under relaxed control during the past eight months for breeding and talent recruitment.
The Thinkers there were receptive. Soft.
Weak.
When I’d touched down yesterday, Jag had immediately assigned me to the farthest post during the third night watch. I saw Vi for about an hour each day, always at meal times, always with a group of people. Always with Jag.
I let Jag rule over me. I let him think he was keeping me and Vi apart. I let him believe I was crazy-mad about my assignments. It wasn’t like he modified them because of my complaints.
I wasn’t truly playing both sides anymore, and though Jag and I weren’t exactly best friends like we used to be, I wanted to regain his trust. And so I endured my difficult schedule, and hours away from Vi, and anything else he mandated.
When the runner came to alert me of a group coming in fast from the west, I knew it was Indy. And that Jag would call a meeting, never mind that my vision-screen read 2:53 a.m.
The runner, Saffediene, kept a steady stream of chatter coming over my cache. I let her talk, grunting in agreement or providing one-word answers when she asked a question. The closer we flew, the tighter my stomach clenched.
“We’ve been waiting for Indy for weeks,” Saffediene said, flying close to me and touching my elbow.
I glanced at her, trying to figure out why she was grinning at me in the middle of the night as we flew toward the cavern that doubled as a Resistance hideout. The system of caves was about the size of my standard- issue house back in the Goodgrounds. But it was underground. With rock walls that oozed water. All things considered, I preferred standing guard in the middle of the night and crashing during the day. That way I didn’t have to talk to people I’d rather avoid. I didn’t have to watch Jag whisper with Vi and thread his fingers through hers.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, looking away from Saffediene. “We need to know the whereabouts of Thane Myers.”
“His last known location was the Goodgrounds,” Saffediene said, her hand still on my arm. “Same as Indy’s.”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. Thane was crucial to our survival. We didn’t need him on our side. Not with us. But we needed him to act as Informant on Director Hightower. We needed his eyes and ears inside the Association of Directors. Without Thane’s inside surveillance, we’d be crippled.
Sure, our Insiders included Starr Messenger. She’s freaky-talented, but she’s still a student. Trek Whiting is more experienced, but nowhere near climbing into the Director’s back pocket.
As Gunn liked to remind Jag, we needed Thane—badly.
The knot in my gut turned into an iron weight as soon as I landed outside the cavern, which was part of a series of shallow mountains. The entrance was concealed by a rotted tree stump that stunk like a million unpleasant things all rolled into one. Despite Saffediene’s serious strong will, she was only a wisp of a girl with long blond hair. She struggled to push aside the stump before strolling into the cave. I lingered outside, relishing my last few breaths of fresh air.
I didn’t really like being trapped underground. Fine, I hated it. To me, there was nothing worse than sleeping in a cage—talking, eating, breathing inside a box with one entrance and no exit.
I squared my shoulders and took one last lungful of unrecycled air. I arrived in the main chamber just in time to see Indy punch Jag in the mouth.
I couldn’t help but smile.
Ten minutes later I sorta “loved” Indy for punching Jag. And by “loved” I mean “hated.” The air in the cavern already reeked of everyone’s breath and body odor, our stockpiled food, earth, metal, and murky water. Why not add some blood?
