But as he stared at Gage like this, blind, reshaped by the brutality of the world, clothed in pure white, it made something feral in him roar to life.
He dragged his gaze away before he let something slip.
“Sit down and let me explain,” Gage said softly.
Scar shook his head. “If you’re about to lie, I’d rather be standing. It’s one less step for me to get out the door.”
“Fine, then stand.”
White Ravens
Scar
Gage told him everything that’d happened in the short time they’d been apart.
The barn. The farm owners. Roz coming. Running into the Greens at his parents’ house.
He explained who Jo, Valor, and Zorion were, what the real Ravens program used to be versus what it became.
Scar felt sick. Because the barn…damnit!
He should’ve stayed and helped him.
The guilt cracked something in his chest, but he shoved it down deep.
Gage’s voice dropped. “You’re not captive here, Scar. But if you leave… Where will you go? Who can you trust? You really wanna be on the run for the rest of your life? Creating fake IDs every few years. Always looking over your shoulder.”
He stared out of the window. Dawn crept faintly over the city, painting copper and crimson across the sky.
“I know I’m not smart enough to survive like that.”
Scar could, but did he want to?
Gage leaned back. “This is my place. Yours is across the hall. There are no locks or barricades on the doors, no six-by-ten rooms with padded walls.”
Scar moved slowly to a large chaise, dropped down, and buried his head in his hands.
He didn’t know what to believe, he knew Gage wasn’t a liar or a deceiver, but he was naive.
A sharp knock at the door snapped him upright.
“It’s me,” Roz called.
“Give us a few more minutes,” Gage answered. “I’m fine.”
“Why the hell is Roz here?” Scar growled.
“Because I wanted him to be here,” Gage said simply. “And Jo agreed. She’ll agree to whatever we need to feel safe. I want you to at least talk to her, Scar. Just once. Then you can decide if you want to stay.”
Gage got up and went to the kitchen—moving around it as if he’d lived there his whole life—took two waters out of the refrigerator and tossed the bottle right into his hands.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “One talk. That’s it.”
Gage smirked. “Okay.”
He lifted the receiver of a phone mounted on the wall—a small square of matte-black glass—with only three raised buttons along the edge and pressed the top one.
“Scar is ready to see his quarters,” he said, then hung up.
