“Yes. It is.” Julian appears to let his discontent go between one breath and the next. “Speaking of, I should probably get going. My parc fermé clearance came in a bit ago, and I need to meet up with Val before dinner to review the assessment.”
“You already have your report?”
“Of course. It came attached to the clearance notification, like always. Why, has your clearance not come through yet?”
“It did, but there was nothing attached to it.” Clarke presses her thumbs into the inner corners of her eyes, sighing. “What do you want to bet Yves has something to do with that?”
“No bet. That guy’s an asshole. I’m starting to think all team principals are.”
“Val did one thing you don’t like. Just talk to her, I’m sure there’s an explanation. Tell me what she says?”
“I will,” Julian promises. “Tell Yves he sucks?”
“I’ll think about it,” Clarke laughs.
—
“I didn’t realizeyou actually wanted the report,” Yves says during team dinner. Clarke sits on her hands so she doesn’t smack the look of innocent surprise off his face. “I thought you checked the box by accident. You’ve never been interested before.”
Clarke is supposed to play it off, say something that lets this be swept under the rug. She says, “I didn’t know it was an option before. You’re the person who oriented me to the F0 parc fermé pilot attestation, and you didn’t point out the boxes. I’m certainly interested in making sure my team has all the information they need.”
Most of Elemental is here, in the large hotel dining room they’ve taken over. Clarke is seated with Amira and Maki. Yves ate quickly and is making the rounds, and most conversations have died down as eyes follow his progress. Clarke didn’t speak loudly, but a lot of people heard what she just implied.
Yves is the picture of a blameless principal doing his best to manage an uppity pilot who’s sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. “I pass along everything that’s relevant. You should be focused on the race, not the paperwork.”
“I’d like to see the report for myself. In full,” Clarke says, keeping her voice calm. “I’ll get it from the FIC directly if I have to.”
Clarke’s never openly set herself against Yves like this before. It’s intimidating.Yvesis intimidating.
Clarke lifts her chin and dares him to keep pushing.
For a second, she thinks he’s going to do it. Going to flat-outrefuse to give her information she’s entitled to. But instead he chuckles, so patronizing that Clarke has to wedge her hands farther under her thighs. “No need for dramatics, Clarke. I’ll send it your way once dinner is over. It’s not exactly light bedtime reading, but who am I to tell you what to do?”
That’s the question, isn’t it?
Yves exchanges niceties with the people one table over. Clarke eats a bite of dinner (Bland. Nutritionally sound. Gastrointestinally friendly. Selected by someone who isn’t her).
“Um,” Maki says once Yves is far enough away, managing to squeeze an awful lot into the one-syllable interjection.
“What the hell was that?” Amira adds, more coherent but no less pressing.
Clarke aims for nonchalant. “Just a misunderstanding.”
Maki huddles in close, conspiratorial. “We’re on your side, Clarke. If you’re making a move—”
“I’m not,” Clarke says, fondness fizzling through her at his declaration of allegiance. “I’m gathering information.”
“But if shedoesmake a move,” Amira adds, “she knows she can count on us. Anything she needs. And we’re not the only ones that feel that way.”
Clarke’s fizzling turns into the type of chemical reaction schoolkids make science fair projects about. “Really?”
Amira raises a pierced eyebrow. “Are you doubting me?”
Literally never, and Amira pretty much holds Clarke’s life in her hands on a weekly basis. Clarke realizes with a start that Amira and Maki are, in her head, above reproach. She’s questioned practically everyone at Elemental in the past weeks, but not the two of them.
“Exactly,” Amira says dryly, reading the look on Clarke’s face. “You can trust us. Trust us with this, too.”
“I’ll try,” Clarke offers, choked up.
