Prue unclips the gold necklace with the dainty swan from my throat and tucks it into her pocket.
She heads out the door, and I lean my head back.
“What did she want?” Knox asks, stirring from his slumber.
“More leverage,” I say. “My father is not balking.”
“We don’t negotiate with the Resistance,” he says. “It is taught in our training. Your father cannot help you. We are going to die in this ugly place.”
“You’re supposed to be the optimist.”
“Well, fuck that,” he says. “It doesn’t pay my bills. We need an escape plan.”
“Any ideas?” I ask.
Knox leans his head back, groaning in dismay.
“No.”
chapter
eighteen
Ender
It has been three days.
We’ve been traversing the forest for what feels like an eternity. I can tell the soldiers are getting exhausted, and my frustration has been rising for the past few days.
My comms link pings, and I tap the device in my ear.
“I have more men on route,” Ansel says. “Sullivan’s chopper landed this morning, and he’s leading Beta squad. I shared your coordinates, and he’ll be there shortly.”
“Any word on the prisoner exchange?” I ask.
“The High General refuses to accept their terms,” he says. “Ground force will have to locate them before they make good on their threat.”
“The girl could be hurt or dead,” I say tightly. “Is that a risk he wants to take?”
“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,” Ansel says grimly.
The call ends, and I frown. I’m surprised Reed Sullivan is coming to help find the girl. Orson Warrick must care about his daughter, at least a little, to send the best of the best. The lieutenant is a Neural Manipulator who can control one’s nervous system. I’ve seen him take away one’s sight and ability to move. He’s a dangerous weapon on the field.
I wait in the clearing while my men continue to scour the area. Twenty minutes later, wheels screech to a stop, and a door slams shut. I frown at the man who steps out. His blond hair grazes his brows, and his hazel eyes are tight with worry.
“You’re not Sullivan,” I say, annoyed. “Where is the lieutenant?”
“My father is busy,” he says. “I’m Grayson. We haven’t met before.”
He stretches out his hand in greeting, which I ignore. So, much for the High General bringing out the big guns. He sent an idiot to help. He really must not care if the girl lives or dies.
“Are you a Neural Manipulator?” I ask.
Sometimes children had their parents’ powers. But that was rather rare.
“No,” he says, jogging to keep pace. “I’m strong. Like if I punch a tree, it will fall.”
“Great,” I mutter. “So, you’re useless.”
