Both women throw me similar looks with varying amounts of ire. Theia stalks closer and Taylor’s proud chin sticks out. “I asked you a question, soldier.”
“Use her as bait for Target Two,” Taylor says. “Keep her here until we need her.”
“You would have me endanger the entire camp with the presence of the heiress because of your inability to complete a mission successfully?” A harshness settles on Theia’s face. “You have an extra room in your quarters, don’t you, Eos?”
Taylor’s eyes flick up, registering an unexpected anguish before her focus returns. She sets her jaw. “Yes.”
Theia bristles. “Yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The stately woman’s face softens and she turns on her heel. From a metal bin on her desk, she scoops cubes of ice and places them in a handkerchief she withdraws from a breast pocket. She places a finger underneath Taylor’s chin to lift her gaze, and gently holds the makeshift ice pack against Taylor’s swollen cheek.
“For tonight, she will stay with you.” Theia inspects Taylor’s face with a focused gaze. “You took quite a beating. How many assailants were there?”
“Too many in the ballroom to engage,” Taylor says. “We escaped through the ballroom skylights. I dispatched those on the roof who were armed, and neutralized those who were not.”
“I need a full report tomorrow on the information gathered.” Taylor nods at Theia’s words, then takes the ice pack from her and holds it against her cheek. “Despite the egregious error made tonight, I am glad to see you home safe.”
“Thank you.” Taylor sounds more like a kicked puppy than someone thankful to be alive.
Theia takes me in, as if seeing me for the first time. “Why is she wearing your jacket?”
“She was cold, ma’am.”
Like that is the most preposterous event that’s happened tonight. Certainly not flying through a glass ceiling or being abducted and held for ransom.
“How gallant of you.” Slowly, Theia turns to me. “Luciana, do you know where you are?”
“Pennsylvania?”
“Yes. And you know who we are?” I nod. Anticipating a formal introduction, I stay silent. Her mouth widens in a tight-lipped smile. “As the daughter of a region leader, I presume you are well-informed on Southeast Region Leader Silas McGovern? Ah, well, former leader, I should say.” All I manage to do is gulp and nod again. “McGovern has been eliminated at the hand of this talented young woman. As you no doubt already deduced, the mission tonight was to eliminate both you and your father.” An involuntary shiver runs down my spine as she spreads her arms. “Luciana, you are inside the beating heart of the rebellion. This is the Order of Prometheus.”
I’m expecting cannons to shoot off or streamers to fall from the ceiling with her dramatic exclamation. They don’t. The three of us are silent as she drops her arms back down to her slim hips. My eyes drift to Taylor, who stands stoically at her side.
“I suspect this is the first time someone uninitiated into our organization has ever stepped foot inside my office. I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure how to proceed.”
“I mean—crazy idea—you could let me go?”
Theia appears amused again. It’s unnerving. “Until I make a decision, the safest place for you to stay is with Eos.”
“How is that safe?” I balk. “You just said Taylor was supposed to kill me tonight.”
Theia’s manicured eyebrows arch up significantly and she levels a piercing look at Taylor, who does not lift her gaze from the carpet. “Safe from the retaliation of the countless people within these woods who would love to say they killed Luciano Piccolo’s pride and joy.”
“And what’s the guarantee she won’t kill me?”
“Because I have not given her the order to do so.” The air feels like it drops ten degrees, despite Theia’s thin smile. “Eos, have her escorted to your quarters. Miss Piccolo, you’re dismissed.”
My feet ache in pointed pain, as these heels have unsurprisingly not proved adequate for getting kidnapped. At the door, Taylor nods to her accomplice. “Hel, take her back to my cabin, please,” she says. “Wait for me there.”
“You got it.” Before Taylor can close the door, he steps in between us and lowers his already basement-level voice. “Everything okay?”
Taylor gives him a firm nod. Though he appears unconvinced, she closes the door on us. We trudge out into the air, thick with the scent of pine and bitingly cold as it gnashes against my borrowed—and evidently scandalous—jacket.
Hel vaults the three steps of a nearby cabin, landing on a modest, rickety porch. He leans down and manipulates an inlaid scroll lock until it makes a satisfying pop. We enter together, engulfed in darkness as the door groans closed. Hel lumberstoward the center of the room and ignites a glass lamp in the ceiling. The whoosh of flame reveals the room in a wash of yellow.
It’s rather Spartan—a single, tattered couch against the window, an armchair, and a simple desk and chair in the corner. Stationed on the other side of the room is a pathetic kitchenette crowned with wall-mounted cabinets coated in peeling cerulean paint, a microwave, an oven that looks like it was manufactured before the Rift, and two unpainted wooden stools in front of a narrow Formica breakfast counter. Three doors make up the remaining wall, all closed.
