“Your week is almost up, Ashford.” Each word is a brick in my resolve. “And impress me, you have not.” He allows that to sink in before addressing the entire group once more. “Dismissed.”
The other recruits disperse quickly, eager to escape his scrutiny and prepare for their day of training. I remain on the mat for a moment longer, gathering my strength before stomping away with an obvious hunch. I need a shower and a massage to even touch an atom of this pain.
I wait until most of the others have left before making forthe door. My movements are deliberate and unhurried, despite the urgency building inside me. My week is almost up, and I’m certain the Commander is going to dismiss me from the team. Send me back to a world where I don’t officially exist, declaring my mission a failure.
I can’t walk away with nothing.
Once the corridor by my quarters is clear, I turn on my heel and travel the opposite direction. I’ve only been permitted on two underground levels, but if the Enforcers keep records on anything, it will be below that. The more restricted areas will hold valuable information.
My steps move with purpose, keeping their pace steady as they descend dozens of stairs. At the seventh landing, the opportunity I’ve been waiting for presents itself when two Enforcers ahead of me walk through a sliding door after one presses his palm to the scanner. As the door begins its automated closing sequence, I time my approach perfectly, slipping in behind them with footsteps so silent they register nothing but the sound of the door’s pneumatic hiss.
The room beyond is dim, lit by the blue glow of dozens of terminals and screens lining the walls. It’s some kind of monitoring station or data hub, far more sophisticated than anything I’ve seen in the areas accessible to recruits. The air tastes different here—cooler, with an undertone of ozone from the electronics.
I creep through the deepest shadows, sparing glances at the Enforcers who entered before me and are focused on a console at the far end of the room. I have perhaps minutes before they turn around or someone else enters.
My eyes scan the displays quickly. Most show security feeds, status reports, or technical jargon I don’t understand. But one screen near the center of the room catches my attention, its display different from the others. Rather thanscrolling data or surveillance footage, the words on the screen raise hair along my arms.
TRANSFER ORDERS — PRIORITY LEVEL 1
My stomach clenches. The following text is small but legible from where I stand.
SUBJECTS: 17 FEMALE, 3 JUVENILE
ORIGIN: HOLDING FACILITY 2, PYREM
DESTINATION: RIVERTON
DEPARTURE: 0400 HOURS, DATE CODE 1207
AUTHORIZATION: SYNDICATE DIRECTIVE 892-A
Air catches in my throat. These women are being transferred to the Riverton breeding facility—the Gilded Farm. Supposedly the most humane of the facilities, though that’s a miniscule comfort considering what happens within its walls.
The date code indicates tomorrow. And there’s nothing I can do to aid them.
Unless…
Are there not several locations indicated for the escapee activity? If the Enforcers know their general locations, maybe I could somehow get a message to them.
But how? Even if I knew where they are, I have no way to contact anyone outside this facility, no allies I can trust with this knowledge. I could attempt contacting Lachlan, though it’s not like he’s able to leave the house without risking both our lives.
Pausing a moment to grieve for these women, I mentally file away every detail on the screen. Even if I can’t act now, I might find a use for it later. Every piece of intelligence is a potential weapon, if wielded correctly.
A soft hiss greets my ears, and I whirl, my hand hovering the knife secured at my belt. A figure stands at the entrance, foreboding in their presence. I don’t know whether to feelrelieved or horrified that Elias is the one who strides into the room.
He stalks over with a slow, predatory grace that forces me to chew on my lip to keep from fidgeting. The two Enforcers at the console still haven’t noticed either of us, their attention focused on their work.
Elias’ golden-green eyes flicker to the screen I was just examining.
Then back to me.
I expect accusations. Demands for explanation. Perhaps even immediate arrest or dismissal.
But he doesn’t say anything.
Oh fuck he’s going to kill me…I’m so stupid.
The pressure in my chest builds as I hold a breath, suspended in a moment of uncertain fate. My mind races, calculating escape routes, excuses, potential weapons—all useless in this contained space against a trained Enforcer who outranks me.
