When his dark-brown eyes shift to Kallister, his demeanor changes. Stiffening. “Who the hell are you?”
Kallister is unfazed by the rude reception. “Kallister Ash. I run this base.”
“Congratulations, prickhole. How long do you plan on keeping me in here?”
“Well, I was about to let you go, but you just called me a prickhole, so…indefinitely, I suppose.”
I hide a smile. “Can we have a moment alone?”
Kallister takes a step away. “That’s fine. Just shout for Neema when you’re ready to leave.”
“Can I go into the cell with him? I don’t want to talk to him through bars. I promise he’s not going to hurt me.”
“I might,” Xavier calls out.
“Shut up,” I call back.
Kallister thinks it over, then shrugs. “All right. But I won’t be held responsible if he strangles you to death.”
“Honestly, I can be a real quat. If he kills me, just assume I said something to deserve it.”
Xavier’s snicker echoes through the cellblock.
Because Kallister is a member of the Authority, I suppose his prints allow him access anywhere on the base, and sure enough, the bars slide open when he scans the keypad.
I step into the cell, and the door closes and locks behind me. Once Kallister is gone, Xavier hops to his feet and runs both hands through his cropped brown hair. Before I can speak, he nods toward the corner of the ceiling to indicate the camera. I nod back. I assumed we’d be recorded, which is going to make it difficult to have a real conversation.
“I really wish you had telepathy,” I remark.
“Would definitely come in handy right now,” he agrees.
“Are you all right?”
He offers a careless shrug. “I’m always all right—” He stops, caught off guard when I suddenly yank him in for a hug.
But it’s only so I can bring my lips to his ear to murmur, “He can’t get you out.”
Xavier knows who I mean. He gives me a quick squeeze, then pulls back, resigned. Nodding as if to say,I figured.
My brain is already scrambling to figure out how we can talk openly. There must be a jammer somewhere on this base, something that can block cameras and other recording devices. Until I get my hands on one, I can’t take any risks.
“Nobody’s hurt you?” I ask, studying him.
He’s still in the black pants and long-sleeved shirt he wore in the Blacklands, and his jaw is coated with beard growth. He itches it absently as he wanders toward the single bed and sinks onto the edge of the hard mattress.
“I’m fine. They just tossed me in here and left. Hell, they even brought me dinner. I’m pretty sure it was real beef,” he marvels. “Goddamn delicious.”
“I know, right?” I grin at him. “Honestly, once they let you out of jail, I think you’re really going to like it here.”
“Highly doubt it. These people are assholes.” He glances at the ceiling and raises his voice. “Yeah, you heard me,” he says to the camera.
I sit beside him and nudge him with my elbow. “Stop. Let’s not piss anyone else off.”
“What difference does it make? They’re never letting me out of here. At least not alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
His voice turns gruff. “Come on, Wren. Let’s not be stupid now. I knew what would happen if I helped you escape. I never expected your Uprising to show me mercy.”
