The look Jules flashes me would be funny, under other circumstances. I can almost read his thoughts: Me, suggesting we wait and see how it plays out, is about as likely as us sprouting wings and flying out of this joint. He actually looks a little wary as he redirects his pacing strides to bring him to me.
I turn, making sure my back is to the camera, and pull Jules into a loose embrace. Between our bodies, I slide a hand up to retrieve the rectangular object Mink slipped into my pocket. I drop my forehead like I’m leaning it against Jules’s shoulder, and inspect the bit of plastic.
My breath catches. It’s a keycard.
Jules, hearing my intake of breath, starts to draw back. I tighten the arm still wrapped around him, and he freezes, glancing down at the card in my hands. It’s the same type of card the guards have been using to pass through the doors as they escort us around thebase. Jules’s eyes widen as he looks back up at me. Swiftly, I slip the card back into my pocket and let him go.
“How?” Jules breathes.
“Mink.”
“You stole it from her?”
I’d take offense at the skepticism in his voice, except that it’sMink, and I doubt the most skilled pickpocket in the world could fool her. “She slipped it to me. On purpose.”
The reply leaves him speechless, his brows drawn in. I turn and lean back against the wall. Atlanta and Dex are watching us still, though they didn’t see the keycard. Dex’s expression is hard to read, but Atlanta’s is clear enough. Her eyes are narrowed and not at all friendly.
“It’s a trap,” Jules says softly. “It’s Mink. The cameras will see us and we’ll be caught immediately.”
“Normally I’d agree, but why bother?” I keep my voice to a whisper, barely above a breath. “We’re arrested already. They’re not going to kill us or move us for trying to escape, they’ll just bring us back here. What does she get out of that?”
“Nothing good.”
Mia shrugs. “They were at one another’s throats in there. Maybe she’s just trying to discredit De Luca for that power play? Who careswhy, so long as it gets us out?”
“Or she’s bypassing the whole petition thing and taking us for herself, and she’ll be waiting for us with her own team of armed guards when we stroll out through the gate. We’ll just be trading one jail cell for another.”
“Maybe—but Jules, it’s either trust her or rot here while aliens take over our planet.” She glances over her shoulder at Atlanta and Dex, who are watching us even though our voices are too low to be overheard.
Jules shakes his head, expression grim. “Don’t forget this is the woman who manipulated us both into being her pawns from the moment we left Earth.”
“I remember.” My voice is taut, and Jules’s expression flickers with a faint, apologetic smile. “But do we have a choice?”
He glances at our cellmates and then back. “If we break out, we’ll be fugitives. All hope of convincing anyone we’re telling the truth will be gone.”
“Jules, we literally handed them two aliens and they still don’t believe us. No one’s going to—no one in the IA, anyway.” My stomach is in knots, hating the words I’m saying, hating everything about this. Part of me wants to give up—to just sit here in this cell, with Jules, while the world burns. I draw a shaking breath. “We thought we were done—but we’re not. We have to keep fighting.”
Jules gazes at me, his face like a mirror reflecting my own exhaustion back at me. “What can we possibly do?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. Maybe we could get to Prague, maybe even disguise ourselves some way and get in to see your father.” I bite my lip to keep from adding,One more time.Because he actually does have a chance of seeing his family before … before whatever the Undying are planning actually happens.
I’ll never see Evie again.
Jules is gazing at me distantly, like hewantsto listen to me, and isn’t letting himself. I focus on him, trying to put the mental image of my baby sister far, far at the back of my mind. “Jules, think. We’re in Spain, right? How far is that from Prague?”
“I think we’re in Catalonia, actually—most of the guards here are speaking Catalan. They’re very different languages, although they share a lot of the same roots, just as Spanish and French—”
Ordinarily he’s irresistible when he goes off on one of his linguistic or historical tangents. This time, I speak swiftly to head him off. “Howfar, Jules?”
Jules’s brow furrows, his eyes going distant as he performs his mental calculations. “I’m not sure. Maybe fifteen hundred kilometers, as the crow flies. We could be there in a couple days if we had a car. Do you know how to hotwire one?”
I raise an eyebrow, amused by his assumption that I’m well-versed in everything criminal. “If I could, do you know how todriveone?”
He blinks. “Don’t you? The skimmer bike on Gaia—”
“Not the same thing.” As much as I hate to disabuse him of the notion that I can do everything, I don’t much like the idea of careening across Europe in a stolen car with no idea what I’m doing. Before we can take this increasingly implausible idea any further, Jules’s head lifts abruptly, and he touches my arm. Following his gaze, I meet Atlanta’s eyes, which are fixed on us so intently I feel a shiver run down my spine. They’re on the opposite side of the cell, and Jules and I have been speaking far too quietly for them to hear—and yet I’d swear that the look in her eye was recognition and understanding.
Dex pushes away from the wall, swinging his arms and pacing slowly. His steps have a measured deliberation that chills my blood—he moves like a predator. “You two are pretty close-like, huh?”
