Catching Gedeon’s frown, I supplied, “Too many guards patrol the gates and the top of the city wall. We can’t get closer than a hundred yards. They shoot before asking questions.”
“The catacombs are a valid option, but it’s a bottleneck,” Eli mused. “It would take a while to move thousands through such narrow passageways. Assuming none of them get lost or apprehended by Ilasall’s military.”
“We need to take hold of their wall,” I summarized. “To be exact, the three main gates.” Each was large enough for trucks to pass. “If we can seize them, we’ll control all major exit and entrance points. We could pinch them from all sides.”
A clank disrupted the discussion as Ezra put his cup on the coffee table. We had to act exactly how that porcelain had collided with the wood: swiftly, unpredictably, and loudly.
Scrutinizing our trio, he asked, “So what do you expect from us?”
24
GEDEON
Dimmed ceiling lights bathed the stairwell in a whitish glow as I crept down, one floor after another. The doors framing the landings stood quiet, not a soul rustling in the hallways they harbored. Dawn had yet to break.
My steps were as heavy as the individual conversations I had held with our friends last night. Our talks had strayed into the late hours despite the downpour rattling the windows. Only the thin sheets of glass serving as protection from nature’s fury hadn’t felt like enough.
Although I had not disappeared without reason, proving it to my friends had turned out to be a challenge.
Ava had glowered at me for forty-five minutes before calling me a pain in her ass and leaving.
Sadira had clapped me on the shoulder and wished me good luck in surviving everyone.
Ryder had sulked in the corner, grumbling about taking on the responsibility of baking again.
Surprisingly, Eislyn and Eli had come around quickly.
Unsurprisingly, Jayla had kept pestering me to set a date for the show I had promised to organize at Vice.
And as a cherry on top, Ezra had refused to discuss matters entirely, stating that he needed a day or two to wrap his head around everything.
Adjusting the collar of my hoodie to fall comfortably around my neck, I slipped into the first floor of our central building and strode straight toward the clinks and clangs disturbing the peace at the end of the hallway.
Steam burst out of the oven as Ryder pulled out a tray of muffins, the tiny bundles of dough a shade of deep brown, bordering on black. He must have dipped into our waning cocoa supply.
“I figured you’d ask me to bake something anyway. So I jumped ahead.” He unloaded the baked goods onto a wire rack for them to cool down. A blanket of flour coated the metal rods, similar to how a dusting of white powder covered Ryder’s tumble of curls.
Pulling him in for a quick hug, I slapped his back. “You are a good friend.”
“I know.” Using the red-and-blue-striped dish towel, he dusted the crumbs off his moss-green sweater. “You should convince Sadira to give me more days off.”
“Lost a bet?” I asked, flicking the kettle on. The steel appliance boasted a floury handprint, undoubtedly Ryder’s.
“Yeah. She has all my days off for the next two weeks,” he groused.
His bets with Sadira were an infamous competition that most of us gave a wide berth. Days off had become the most precious commodity. Too many things had to be done for our compound to function properly.
Squatting, I rummaged in the kitchen cabinets, pushing pans and scuffed glass bowls aside. A golden bag peeked out above the largest pot gathering dust in the corner, and I plucked the package out of Zion’s favored hiding spot.
At this point, I could locate the coffee beans he repeatedly stole from me in my sleep.
“Anyway, I got to go. Sadira will kill me if I’m late for my shift.” Ryder threw me the dish towel. “You’ve got flour on you.” Striding toward the exit, he snatched a pale-yellow muffin off the wire rack. “Half are chocolate, half—lemon.” He ripped a third of the baked good with his teeth. “We also have pancakes from yesterday. I’d say get your fill before Tarri and Amari come by or they’ll pack everything for their picnic,” he mumbled around a bite and then vanished.
I dabbed the cloth on my front, but the dish towel was as stubborn as Kali, rubbing the flour into my clothing, dusting my hoodie in a layer of white.
Resigning to walking around with a cloud smeared across my chest, I fussed with the grinder until it surrendered and began to crush the coffee beans.
Ten minutes later, steam rose from my silver thermos. Shaking my head, I diluted the coffee with milk and then added a few teaspoons of sugar to finish off the sickeningly sweet concoction Zion and Kali preferred over a normal cup of coffee—black, not the shade of caramel.
