"Encrypted," he says. "Needs a terminal. Needs a retinal scan. My eyes are swollen shut."
"We'll wait. We'll heal."
"It could take months. Years." He looks at the open door, at the vast, empty landscape. "Can you live like this? On the run? Sleeping in boxcars? Hunting for food?"
I look at him. I remember the girl I was a month ago. The girl in the silk dresses who worried about society galas. She seems like a stranger. A dream I woke up from. I look at the rifle in the corner. I look at the man who burned the world for me.
"I don't want the silk anymore, Alaric," I say. "It was suffocating."
I reach into the backpack and pull out a knife. Not a weapon. An apple. I cut a slice. I hold it to his lips. "Eat."
He takes it. He chews slowly. "We need a plan," he says, the Director trying to reassert control.
"No," I say. "We need a destination. The plan is simple: survive."
He swallows. "You're enjoying this," he accuses, a flicker of amusement in his silver eyes. "The chaos. You like it."
I smile. It feels sharp. "Structure is boring. Chaos... chaos has possibilities."
The train jolts.Clank.It starts to move again. Westward. Toward the ocean. Toward the edge of the map.
Alaric leans back against the wall of the boxcar. He watches me. "Come here," he says.
I crawl to him. I sit between his legs, resting my back against his chest, careful of his ribs. He wraps his arms around me. It hurts him, I know, but he needs the contact. He needs to hold the Asset. "Tell me," he whispers into my ear. "Tell me about the shot. How did it feel?"
I look at the passing landscape. The red rocks blurring into speed. "It felt..." I search for the word. "Resolve. Like hitting the final chord of a symphony. The silence afterwards... it was perfect."
Alaric hums. A vibration against my spine. "My little psychopath," he murmurs affectionately. "I have ruined you completely."
"No," I correct him, intertwining my fingers with his damaged ones. "You just tuned me to a different frequency."
We sit in silence as the train gathers speed. We are broken. We are bleeding. We are hunted. But as the wind whips my hair around our faces, I realize something. This isn't the end of the story. It’s just the end of the first movement.
The Intermezzo is over. The Finale is about to begin. And the world isn't ready for the music we are going to make.
CHAPTER 27
THE BORDERLAND
POV: Elodie Fray
Location:The Graypoint Motel (Room 4) - Pacific Northwest Coast
Track:Something In The Way– Nirvana (BBC Polyphonic Cover)
Sensory:The relentless drumming of rain on a tin roof, the smell of damp carpet and stale cigarettes, the taste of cheap instant coffee.
Mood:Gritty Survival & Frustrated Desire.
The rain here does not cleanse. It erodes.
It has been twenty-four days since we stepped off the freight train in a rail yard just outside of Seattle. Twenty-four days of grey skies, wet wool, and looking over my shoulder every time a car door slams.
We are living in the Graypoint Motel, a collection of rotting cedar cabins clinging to the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It is the kind of place where people come to disappear, orto die quietly. The manager, a man with no teeth and a shotgun behind the counter, didn't ask for ID. He just took the wad of cash I peeled off the roll Nyx gave me and handed me a key with a rusted tag.
Room 4.It is our kingdom now. A kingdom of peeling wallpaper, a mattress that sags in the middle, and a heater that rattles like a dying lung.
I unlock the door and step inside, shaking the water from my hood. The room is dark, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon gloom. It smells of rubbing alcohol and the metallic tang of gun oil.
