Page 150 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“That wasn’t her!” Rory hauled me forward. “That was us.”

Relief flooded through me so suddenly, I nearly collapsed. “Seb’s here?”

Rory’s grip tightened on my hand. “Um. No. Not Seb.”

I stopped dead, processing his words. “What do you mean? Where’s Seb?”

“London.”

“You said us!”

Rory’s eyes darted away from mine. “Yeah. Me… and… and your secret mate.”

The floor was ripped from beneath me as every drop of blood in my veins turned to ice. “Felix is here?” The words came out as a snarl. “You brought Felix here?!”

“I didn’t bring him anywhere!” Rory snapped back, his jaw set in that stubborn line I knew too well. “I followed him. This entire bloody plan is on him. You’ve got him to thank.”

Terror clawed up my throat, savage, vicious. Felix was here. In this place.

An inhuman growl tore from my throat.

“Where is he?”

34

Felix

My fingers flew across the laptop keyboard, camera feeds cascading across the screen. Kit and Rory moved through the corridors like shadows—Kit clutching his neck, Rory leading the way.

They were alive. Both of them.

The relief hit so hard I had to grip the desk to stay upright.

Time to go. I yanked the USB cable from the laptop, preparing to shut down the system, when the door burst open behind me.

A girl stumbled in, my age or younger, wild orange hair catching the light from my screen. She froze, eyes widening with shock.

“Who are you?” I said stupidly.

“Who are you?” she shot back, chin lifting in defiance.

Recognition clicked. The hair, the eyes, that stubborn tilt of jaw. “You’re Isla, right? Kit and Rory’s cousin? Are you here working with Moira?”

My hand crept towards my pocket, fingers searching for the taser. Sorry, Isla.

“Kit promised to help me!” she blurted out. “And so did Rory, in Scotland.”

My hand stopped moving.

Movement on the floor caught my eye. The young soldier stirred, a low moan escaping his lip.

Shit.

I lunged forward, jamming the taser against his ribs. The soldier’s body jerked violently, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as electricity coursed through him. His limbs spasmed against the concrete floor.

How long was too long? My finger hovered over the trigger, panic clawing at my chest. The soldier’s eyes rolled back, showing white, and I stepped back on shaking legs. He went limp, breathing shallow but steady.

Nausea roiled in my gut.