Chapter Fifteen
LOG FIFTEEN – MUTUAL BENEFIT: SHE BELIEVES WE ARE ALLIES. THAT WILL SERVE US … FOR NOW.
We endup leaving later than planned, and by the time the long flight is over, it’s already morning. I barely got any sleep on the tiny plane. Every bout of turbulence jolting me awake as I’d start to drift off. Now all I want is a hot shower, a real bed, and about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Malachi contacted Irina in advance to let her know we were coming. He told her that after recent events like the ranch burning down, he feels rumors will start circulating, and he wants to show a united front with her to avoid the Syndicate looking weak or fractured. He also mentioned that he should have realized before now what a good opportunity this would be for him to network with key district leaders and prove he’s ready for more responsibility within the organization.
He said she seemed pleased with his initiative and was her normal charming self on the phone. She even arranged for a driver to pick us up and booked us a suite at the same hotel where everyone is staying, the same luxurious venue where tonight’s grand party will take place.
Someone named Alonso picked us up in a sleek red SUV. Malachi clearly knows him, but based on their stiff body language, he definitely doesn’t trust the man. After a formal, polite hello, the car ride has been nothing but uncomfortable silence. I’m actually fine with the quiet because I’m too exhausted to plot or strategize right now. I’ll definitely need a solid nap if I’m going to be sharp and alert for tonight’s event.
It’s a forty-minute drive from the private landing strip to the hotel, so I settle back and take in the haunting scenery passing by my window.
It’s hard to believe this place was once called the Sunshine State. Florida broke away from the mainland United States decades ago and became the largest island in the Southern District, its original name nearly forgotten along with any memory of actual sunshine.
The landscape outside is absolutely dreadful. The once famous–sandy beaches are buried beneath thick, crusted sheets of ice, their jagged edges biting into a steel-gray sea that looks more like liquid metal than water. Frost clings to the broken shells of what used to be palm trees, their skeletal fronds now bowed and brittle, constantly snapping under the weight of snow that never should have fallen in this tropical paradise.
I honestly have no idea how any of these trees are still standing at all. I guess everything adapts and finds a way to survive when that’s the only option left.
I crack my window slightly to let in some fresh air, and my nose immediately fills with the sharp scent of salt and rust—bitter and metallic, carrying whispers of the devastating hurricanes that once roared through these coastal areas. Most of the storms stopped when the perpetual cold settled in. Now the sky hangs oppressively low, heavy with an endless winter haze that mutes the entire world into depressing shades of white and blue gray.
The ocean beyond our coastal road is sluggish and dark, with chunks of ice drifting across its surface like fractured glass catching what little light manages to penetrate the clouds.
I close my eyes and try to remember an old postcard I found once in an antique shop, showing this very coastline decades ago—tall, gleaming buildings rising along pristine sandy beaches, thousands of people enjoying the sun, the water so brilliantly teal it looked like liquid jewels.
I would kill to see something like that in person. It’s horrible to think about what this place has become, all because we didn’t take care of the Earth when we still had the chance to make a real difference.
“You still can make a difference.”
The Viridian girl from the photograph flashes suddenly in the reflection of my car window, her voice vibrating through my mind like an electric current. The unexpected contact makes me jump so hard I nearly hit my head on the roof.
“You okay?” Malachi’s eyebrows furrow with concern as he studies my startled expression.
“Yeah, sorry,” I mumble, shaking my head and forcing myself to look back out the window. I definitely don’t want to explain what happened with Alonso listening intently from the front seat.
We start driving more inland, away from the frozen coastline and through a less desolate part of what was once a thriving city. I spot a handful of people walking into shops and restaurants as we pass by, everyone bundled up in heavy coats and scarves to fight off the cool temperatures.
“Here we are.” Alonso’s smooth voice pulls me from my thoughts as we arrive in front of one of the tallest buildings I’ve ever seen up close.
The Western District doesn’t have skyscrapers like this—we’ve always stuck to smaller settlements, and whenever wetraveled, we deliberately avoided major cities, mostly due to the dangerous spread of gutter zones where law and order had completely broken down.
This building is absolutely massive, constructed from pale-beige stone with enormous gold reflective windows that stretch impossibly high toward the cloudy sky. The entire structure is dusted with frost and delicate white snowflakes, making it look like some kind of frozen palace from a fairy tale.
We walk through the opulent lobby, and I find myself meandering around, taking it all in while Malachi speaks with the elegantly dressed concierge. The interior is even more stunning than the exterior—marble floors polished to a mirror shine, crystal chandeliers casting warm light across soaring ceilings, and artwork that probably costs more than most people make in a lifetime.
It’s hard to believe fancy places like this still exist in our broken world. Every year, the wealthy become richer while the poor sink deeper into desperation. Meanwhile, the gutter zones keep expanding like a disease, consuming more territory, and the district leaders stay in palaces like this.
I glance around cautiously as well-dressed guests move through the lobby. They might be Syndicate, working with the Volkovs, a fellow Avid hiding their abilities, or ordinary people caught up in this dangerous world of political intrigue.
I let out a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed by thoughts I’ve never really entertained before. Being free from Marco’s control, no longer forced to exist as his shadow, allows me to consider questions about justice and responsibility that I normally wouldn’t have the mental space for. Before, all I could focus on was whatever murder case I was being forced to solve and how to survive another day under his thumb.
Now, for the first time in years, my mind is freeto grapple with the moral complexity of the world around me, and it’s not pretty.
“Feelsgood to rest my head for a minute,” Malachi says, falling onto the massive bed beside me once we finally make it into our suite.
The room is absolutely beautiful—all crisp white linens and elegant furnishings that match the rest of the hotel’s sophisticated aesthetic. The luxurious bedding is exactly what my exhausted body has been craving after that cramped flight and sleepless night.
“Do you have a plan, or are we winging it?” I ask, shifting to rest my head in the warm crook of his shoulder as he brings his arm up around me, tugging me close against his side.
