“Understood.” He prefers instructions to small conversation. Works for me.
I pace my arc as the camp breathes deeply behind me. The forest in the distance carries small sounds—little flaps of wings, branches shifting, something with four legs and a furry tail deciding we’re not worth its curiosity. My power releases, and I know immediately that’s what was keeping me from proper sleep. I’d built a surplus on stress and anxiety over the last day or two and haven’t given it an outlet, and it’s an immense relief to just let it flow where the emotions hovering idly are thin with sleep. The mask warms as I breathe and count the steps between stones.
Something shifts ahead—a deliberate movement. A shape peels from the trees and shuffles forward. A man.
My hand lands on my weapon, because that should be an Enforcer’s first instinct. As should alerting the others.
And yet, my throat tightens. If I call out, he’s dead. If I don’t, maybe we are. I hold one breath too long.
There’s an alarmed shout behind me—Pax alerting the team. The camp snaps awake with the agility of a rubber band; tents open and spit men who grip their own weapons. The figure by the trees runs. The Commander launches by me, already racing for him and the trees swallow them both after a moment.
Branches crack. A heavy thud followed by a series of grunts, with which I cannot decide if it’s terrible of me that I hope the other man gives Arayik what he deserves.
“Eston.” Elias’ voice is at my shoulder. “Report.”
“Single male, alone. He had no visible weapon, nor any obvious intention to approach our camp. Looked like he was just surveying.” His words twist something dangerous inside me.
“Ashford saw him first,” Pax adds like a fuckingidiot.
Elias faces me, brow raised. “And why were you not the one to alert us, Ashford?” Thick sludge drags around the lump in my throat, nearly choking me.
“I—” I, what? Was going to let the man walk away? Was only planning to notify you if the man approached? I have to offer something truthful, he’ll know otherwise… “I didn’t realize it was a man at first.”
My squad leader gazes between my eyes for several moments before the Commander stomps back toward our group.
He returns bruised, with a split lip, and it’s impossible to hide the smirk. He should have gotten far worse than that. He hauls the unconscious man over his shoulder, making for the center of our camp to unceremoniously drop him between all of us. It’s light enough that the scruff along his chin is visible, as are the even worse bruises Arayik gave him. I shiver at the long, angry scar running from one side of his throat to the other. His clothes don’t fare much better.
“Bind him,” Arayik commands, cracking his neck as his arms cross. Gage and Nash grab for spare rope and secure the man’s hands at his back. “We’ll ask our questions when he wakes.”
Relief sways and curdles—he’s alive, at least. For now.
I whirl back to my post and pace my section, securing distance from the others while it’s still my watch. By the time the sky lifts to a pale seam, I’ve worn a path. Something disturbing dawns on me; a revelation I don’t like: this is no longer a charade to me. This isn’t just about surviving until I figure out the smallest ways to help.
I’ve seen what it’s like on the inside of these men’s heads—I’velived it. Small victories here and there will mean nothing in the grand scheme, because they will never change. They will always win because that’s how they set the system up.
If the people out here could find a way to defy the Syndicate, escape the facilities, and live outside the perimeter, then there’s a crack in the system running deep enough to worry our esteemed leaders. That’s why they formed this Enforcer team, is it not?
They’re afraid. They want these people neutralized before they can do actual damage.
I need to find that crack. Pry it open and pray to the stars it’s made out of glass instead of water.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CASSIA
Frost dusts the leaves and turns slick under boots as Arayik instructs two recruits to position the scout for interrogation. They plant him upright before shoving a tent pole between his arms, effectively keeping the man contained to one spot. Kellen pulls off the blindfold they slipped on when he was unconscious and we were instructed to pack everything. Not sure why that matters…if the man could communicate with his people, I don’t think knowing we have a couple tents is a big deal.
The man blinks at our faces—counting, sorting, storing. A bruise swells high on his cheekbone where Arayik caught him, deforming his face.
“You had yourself a long walk,” Arayik says, voice flat enough to pass for calm.
The scout wets a dry, cracked lip and keeps taking us in. I study him closer. He’s near my age, or older if you measure years in hunger…He’s far too skinny.
Elias posts to Arayik’s left, Kellen to his right, all three glaring at our new camp member. The rest of us form a ring around the four of them.
“Ashford,” Arayik says, eyes on the prisoner, “names, numbers, locations. I want answers, so get them.”
I’m not sure if I should be relieved or terrified.
