Lucy rolls her eyes. “Fair enough, I guess? I think you know I would never do anything to hurt Taylor. And, by extension, you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Cassie’s resolution and wariness is a direct result of her great training, so I cannot begrudge her this attitude. It’s how we were raised. Trust no one but the Order, and even then, keep both eyes open.
Captain Finley knocks on the door and taps on her watch. “As cute as this reunion is, the boss awaits.”
We exit into the hallway with Lucy taking point, Cassie and I behind her, Mason on our heels, and Captain Finley bringing up the rear.
“If this is a trap, she won’t have the heart to kill you,” Cassie warns. “But I will.”
Captain Finley snickers behind us. “Piccolo has gone up against an assassin, three region leaders, and countless soldiers from two different armies…but it’s gonna be a blond teenager who sticks her with the pointy end.”
“Shut up.” Interestingly, Cassie blushes and glances over her shoulder. “Same goes for you, Captain.”
Captain Finley puts up her hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Blondie Junior.”
Mason chuckles. “That’s a good nickname, I’m stealing that.”
We come upon a nondescript entrance and Lucy hesitates. Captain Finley comes around to the front of the pack and nods toward the door. “You ready?”
There is a level of familiarity between them I was not prepared for. A friendship, perhaps, as Captain Finley lacks her usual absurd amount of swagger. I suppose Lucy did save her life. It is yet to be seen whether that was a sound decision.
“Guess I’ll have to be.”
Lucy takes a deep breath, turns heel, and knocks on the door. A muffled “Enter” sounds from the other side, and I’m nearly knocked over at the sense of déjà vu. Appearing at Theia’s door with evidence of my “failure” in tow, hoping to every higher power to not be found out. Lucy enters first, followed by me, Mason, Private Frank, and Captain Finley last. The woman we are here to meet stands behind a circular table, fingers perched on the surface. The table is a mess with papers and intel feeds, blueprints and maps. It’s organized chaos.
But it’s the woman next to her who nearly brings me to tears. Delilah lets out a gasp and tents her fingers over her mouth at the sight of us. Mason wastes no time in crossing the room to give her a hug. “How you been, D?”
“Well enough. How about you? How’s Maria faring in Pennsylvania?”
Mason grins bashfully. “She’s real good, real good. She’s gonna be jealous I saw you.”
“Please tell her I said hello.” Mason nods and backs away, and both he and Delilah look at me expectantly.
There’s no way I’m getting out of this hug, so I do as I’m being silently bidden and give her a hug. The ache in my back is soothed by the familiar smell and feel of Delilah, who has not changed in these months, outside of her outfit. Her usual attire of dresses and skirts has been replaced with leather pants tuckedinto a leather boot with a tiny heel, and a slim, button-down shirt with a few buttons intentionally left open.
“My darling, darling girl,” Delilah murmurs. She pulls back and cups my face in her hands, inspecting me in a reflexively maternal gesture that brings a smile to my face. Her warm brown eyes note the bruise on my neck and her friendly grin turns knowing and she flicks her gaze over my shoulder at Lucy. However, the woman she is, she will not betray what she is thinking in front of a crowd.
I nod and she places a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m happy to see you, Delilah.” The honest, open emotion in my voice takes her by surprise, and I feel her holding back on trying to hug me again. While her restraint is appreciated, I ignore it and throw my arms around her. Her surprised breath is smothered into my hair and we do not part, unbothered by the audience. I hear a sniffle and look to my right, where Mason does not hide his tears. He’s always been the sensitive one of the three of us.
“Close the door,” the woman says, but not to anybody in particular. Roxana is dark-skinned, the color of a harvest moon, with pitch-black hair and light brown eyes that sternly observe everyone with intense calculation. I’d estimate five foot seven in height, about one hundred and twenty pounds, give or take. Firmly muscled and older, around the same age as Theia and Delilah. She wears a gray tank top with a camouflage vest over it, dangling with copper zippers and buttons, and a pair of black cargo pants slim enough to fit inside calf-high combat boots.
Something about her rings familiar to me—perhaps I glimpsed her more thoroughly than I thought during the gunfight on the highway to Lansing.
Private Frank closes the door and returns to her position on our side of the room. Delilah and I step apart and I back into Lucy’s open palm, which she rests on the small of my back. Even this, the slightest hint of protection and care, warms mefrom her touch outward. So much wasted time denying myself pleasure to focus on a mission that was more servitude than a calling.
“So, who is going to explain to me why an heiress, an assassin, the president’s councilor, and two UR soldiers are in my compound?” Roxana places her hands on her hips and glances around the room.
Delilah motions to the seats. “We need not stand around like we’re waiting for a train.”
Captain Finley sits near Roxana, who chooses to remain standing. Mason takes a seat in the corner, Cassie next to him, and Lucy and I sit across the table in seats side by side. Lucy raises her hand. “Slight objection—I cannot be an heiress when there’s nothing to inherit.”
“What do you want to be called?” Captain Finley asks. “The ghost of leaders past? I’ve been trying out ‘LP,’ I think that’s gonna stick.”
Roxana shoots a look at Captain Finley that, blessedly, shuts her up. “Continue, Delilah.”
Delilah gives Roxana a sidelong glance. Here, something does not add up. The way Delilah surreptitiously looks at Roxana, their relaxed postures, how Delilah leans almost slightly toward Roxana. They are not strangers and they certainly did not meet today for the first time.
“We are preparing to force Theia to resign. The other councilors and I are very disturbed by the actions the new president has taken. Forcing Upperclass citizens to hand over their assets, and executing those who refuse. The violent, brutal suppressions of the remaining police forces. This ridiculous ‘war’ against your—no offense, Roxana—band of smugglers and profiteers has gone on long enough.”
