“I had the footage verified before bringing it to the rest of you. I didn’t want to start throwing around false accusations.” Malachi retrieves his phone from his pocket. “Looks like your friend’s grand escape is merely part one of a grand scheme. Living up to that codename, Fox.”
The last hint of color flees Quinn’s face. “Show me your proof.” Her voice holds steady. No surprise, considering how well she hides her emotions.
“Gladly.” Malachi flips his phone around.
His screen spits out a recording of Sullivan walking through a subway turnstile, bagel in gloved hand, timestamped this morning. Not only is his face bare of a balaclava, but he’s also grinning up at the camera like he knows he’s being watched—and not by his fellow Hunters.
“I have to give it to you.” Malachi pockets his phone. “The receipt bit—the one that led you to Reeve—was a clever touch. It had evenmefooled.”
I almost snap that the receipt is real since I put it there, but what if Hudson or Sullivan removed it and only told her about it when they set her free?
“Were you—what do you all call it again?” Malachi rolls his neck. “Ah, yes…pulling a Polly, Mrs. Caruso?”
I’m too dumbstruck to call Malachi on his use of Quinn’s loathed surname. Instead, I croak, “Did you lie about how you got out, Quinn?”
A nerve pulses along her narrow jaw as she stares at her plate.
“Quinn?” I say, louder this time.
Her lips purse.
“Quinn. Hayes.” Every sinew and muscle in my body hardens. “Did you escape, or did?—”
“I escaped.” Her tone is flat and hard like a hammer striking stone.
It pounds into my worry and flattens it.
Until the runes on Tarian’s forearms light up like the string lights above the long wooden table, and he says, “Gaea wants to meet with you, Quinn.”
My blood feels all at once hot and cold, viscous and watery. And the air…the air feels full of acrid smoke even though Gael’s funeral pyre cleared hours ago.
Electra flicks me a look I can’t return, too busy tracking every twitch in my friend’s face and body. She must sense my agitation because she sets her plate down before coaxing mine out of my unsteady fingers.
I want to beg Tarian not to force Quinn into the mine. At least not until I can get her alone and figure out what the hell is going on.
She hates her father. Hates Trenton. There’s no way she’s working with them—unless they’re blackmailing her.
The divorce I was trying to get her. What if Trenton used it as leverage?
She just confessed to lying to me once. Even if it was to protect me, it was still a lie.
“Mal, Gaea wants you to accompany Quinn.” Tarian’s eyes flash an impenetrable black. “Inside.”
Malachi’s lids spasm. “Why?”
Tarian shrugs. “Don’t know.”
His cousin rolls his lips. “If it’s to scoop up Monta’s ashes?—”
“It’s not.”
“Then youdoknow why she’s asking that I head down there with the Hunter,” he mutters accusatorily.
Tarian heaves out an impatient sigh. “Gaea said, and I quote:Have Malachi come with the girl. I very much doubt it’s to build a sandcastle with what’s left of Monta.”
Malachi harrumphs, clearly unhappy about his task. “Let’s go, Caruso.”
“Stop calling me that.” Quinn glowers at Malachi before turning on her heel and marching in the direction of the mine.
