At last, an ultralight flicked on inside the flat, and his sister’s voice carried from within. He let out a whimper in relief.
The door opened with a whoosh. “For stars’ sake, it’s oh-one-hundred hours. What could you possibly—” Lysa froze, her hands on her head as she tried to tame her light blond hair, and her eyes widened.
Christian yanked Lysa into a hug. His chest tightened as he held his little sister in his embrace. If he’d been too late . . .
He swallowed the lump in his throat when Lysa let out a squeak before wrapping her arms around his neck. “The battle at Zion . . .” she started to say, her voice shaking. “I wasn’t sure—”
“I’m all right.” A prick at the back of his mind told him they were being watched. He let go and ushered her inside. “Get inside, quick. Wake up Dad and pack a bag as fast as you can.”
Lysa’s brows furrowed over her teary, green eyes when he pushed her through the doorway a little too hard. “Wait, I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain everything, but first I need to get you out of here. Now, go get Dad.”
She blinked several times before nodding and fleeing to the rear of the flat. Everything was just how he’d left it: the two-person, ratty, old sofa in the sliver of space they’d designated as the living area; the stained rug between the sofa and the tiniest electroglass screen that they often hit to wake it up; the minuscule kitchen . . .
He shook his head. He didn’t have time to waste glancing around at things.
Christian forced their dinner table out of the way and used his blade to pry open a panel of their revarium steel floor. Inside was an old rifle and a loaded magazine. He’d placed them here years ago, after the Falaichte had threatened to kill him and his family if he ever left the organization.
“Christian,” his dad said from behind, “what are you . . .” When Christian stood, popping the magazine into the weapon, his dad’s eyes widened. The man’s face reddened as he stormed toward his son. “What in Illari’s name were you thinking, leaving that in here? If they’d ever found it—”
“Well, they didn’t,” Christian answered. “And I saved it for a moment like this. Now, go pack your stuff.”
“Not until you explain what’s going on. Your sister is terrified. And frankly, I—”
Christian growled. “Dad, I need you to trust me. We need to leave.” He glared at the man whose ass he’d saved more than once, channeling every ounce of anger into his stare. Allthese years of bloodying himself in the ring and on the planet’s surface, and the man still treated him like a fucking child.
His dad must’ve felt the weight of Christian’s stare, for he nodded and hurried back to his room.
Christian stood with his back to the hallway, his rifle pointing at the front door. It didn’t take much effort to hijack a lock pad when you knew what you were doing—and members of the Falaichte definitely did. Any moment, they could break in. But there was no other way in or out of this flat. The window was impenetrable glass. If Christian fried the lock pad in an effort to prevent entry, they’d be trapped.
Ahna’s alto voice shouted through the SARTF earpiece. “You better answer me this time, Holm.”
Christian tapped the device in his ear. “I’m here.”
“So are we. Open the fucking door.”
He sighed in relief. The greater the Systems’ presence, the less tempted the Falaichte would be to show their face.
Christian slung the rifle’s strap over his shoulder then punched the unlock button next to the door frame. Ahna stormed inside, followed by Imara, Hawk, Claude, and Yosef. As soon as Imara saw Christian, her dark eyes narrowed, and she punched him in the chest. He grunted with the impact.
“You fucktwad,” Imara began, her voice quivering. “You had us all thinking you were dead when you didn’t answer your fucking comm.”
“Christian?” Lysa said from the mouth of the hallway. “Who are all of these people?” Her eyes were wide in fear.
Quickly, he nudged his sister forward. “People I work with.” He stepped around her and shouted for his dad. “Let’s go.”
Christian’s father hurried down the hall and eyed the weaponized soldiers in his living room. He spun to face Christian, an accusatory glare on his face. “You tell me what’s going on. What did you do?”
Christian balled his hands in tight fists, but thankfully Ahna stepped in.
“Sir, there’s no reason for alarm,” Ahna said, holding out an arm to encourage him through the front door. “This is simply a precautionary measure while your son assists us with an investigation in the city.”
“That’s not the way he made it seem,” his father rambled as he followed Ahna, Yosef, and Claude outside. “He comes barreling in here, shouting about leaving. Grabs a rifle out of my blasted floor . . .”
Christian shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The weight of his friends’ stares burned into him like an electroprod. This was exactly why he didn’t want to come back to this starsforsaken city. He’d entered the Trials to leave all this baggage behind. No one was ever supposed to know the things he did or what he was running from.
A gentle hand rubbed his upper arm. “It’s gonna be okay,” Lysa said. “You know how Dad gets.”
