His hand is warm beneath mine.
But the doubt creeps in, slow and stubborn. I still don’t know if Cade is the rat, if he’s been working both sides. Marco knew him as Brian, and I can’t forget what I saw in that vision. Cade killing Carmen.
I don’t doubt he’s killed before. Probably many times. Maybe even to save others. But doesn’t that still say something about him?
A soft knock breaks the moment.
Mischka doesn’t stir from her spot on the bed, which means it’s probably Malachi.
“We’ll talk more soon,” Cade says. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before rising and walking to the door.
When he opens it, Malachi is standing on the other side.
“I didn’t realize you two were still talking,” he says, and there’s a careful neutrality to his tone that makes me look twice. He knew Cade was here. He let it happen.
Were they friends once? Allies? Did I come between something I don’t understand yet? Or maybe Cade doesn’t have friends. Maybe survival doesn’t leave room for that.
“We’re done,” Cade says, stepping past him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Malachi watches him go, then looks back at me. “Do you want to be alone?”
I let a crooked smile pull at the corner of my mouth and shake my head.
“Of course not.”
He runs a hand through his reddish-brown hair and exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing. His chocolate-brown eyes soften, like he was holding his breath, waiting for a different answer.
Chapter Four
LOG FOUR – SUBJECT UNSETTLED: SHE STARED AT THE WALL FOR HOURS. I THINK SHE’S LISTENING TO SOMETHING I CAN’T HEAR.
“Danteand I were going through a couple of boxes he had stashed in the back of the jeep,” Malachi says as he steps inside, a thick, weathered book in his hand. His boots are dusty, laces loosened. He nudges the door shut with his heel, crosses the room, and kicks off his shoes before lowering himself onto the edge of the bed.
“There’s more,” he adds, flipping the book open and glancing at a page before setting it aside on the nightstand. “A lot more. But my team loaded the rest onto the plane and left a few hours ago. We couldn’t all fit here, and… honestly, I didn’t want them digging through this stuff yet.”
He rolls his shoulders back, tension radiating from him. “From what I went through tonight, it’s worse than I imagined.”
I shift, my attention locked on him now.
“My father’s been running experiments,” he says, and I don’t like where this is going. “Not only on Avids. Animals. Civilians. Anyone he could get his hands on. But it’s not just him.”
He leans forward, grabbing the book again and flipping to a page he’s marked.
“This dates back to the year 2263.”
My brain kicks into gear, doing the math automatically. If it’s 2357…
“That’s almost a hundred years old,” I murmur. “How is that even still here? How did it survive everything?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know, but someone’s been protecting it. Preserving it. This goes deeper than bloodlines or political power.”
“I only skimmed a few pages,” Malachi says, holding the book out to me, the worn leather cover creaking slightly in his grip. “But I thought you should have it.”
I take it from him carefully. The cover is soft with age, edges frayed, the binding barely holding together. Whatever’s inside feels old. Important. Dangerous.
When I open it, the scent of dust and something abrasive, like a chemical, rises to meet me.
The pages are handwritten.
