Page 31 of Retrograde

“Are you sure about that?” he croons maliciously, the sharp steel inching towards my exposed pussy.

“I didn’t! Please!”

He traces my entrance, and I freeze on the inside, nearly fainting with dread.

“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t just gut you through the cunt and be done with you.”

“No, please, please, please ...” I’m crying so hard I can’t breathe, panic shutting my body down.

Very abruptly, he withdraws the knife and lets go of my wrists. He jerks me upright by my hair, whipping me around to face him.

“Please isn’t a reason, is it? Tell me your secret, Hotshot,” he snarls, his dark glare searing. “The data plate. Speak.”

Oh no. No, no, no ...

“Fucking speak before I find a better use for your mouth.”

What do I tell him? How do I even put that into words?

“Talk!” he roars, his masked face inches from mine. “What. Does. It. Mean?”

I detect a different note creeping into his voice. Confusion, despair, almost like he’s pleading with me to tell him it’s not true, that it’s all just some elaborate hoax. Hearing it, fear dissipates. Bone-melting fatigue replaces it.

“What do you think?” I ask him with resigned regret. “They carved up the world and split it between themselves.”

His grip on my hair relents, his whole body slacking.

“No way,” he gasps, shaking his head, and even though he’s easily six foot four and wearing that mask of death, he’s suddenly almost like a young boy, willing something not to be true.

“I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell you the full truth either,” I admit in a small voice. “I told you we were sending photos to Synechord. That wasn’t completely accurate. We were sending them to an opposition group within Synechord.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Old friends of Corrado’s. Vouched for. Trustworthy. Opposed to the technocracy from the start. They told us that Synechord reports anyone trying to make contact.”

“Reports how? To whom?”

“To the Continuum. They’ve been in cahoots with the Consuls this whole time.”

“No. There’s been no contact since Rift Day.”

“Sure. That’s what they say.” I chance a small smirk, encouraged when he doesn’t lunge at me. “It makes sense if you think about it. Whenever I’m in any one of the three capitals, half the public sentencings are people who tried to contact Synechord. Continuum tech isn’t nearly as good at detecting anything else. It doesn’t add up.”

I let him process this before I go on. “We’ve been trying to find proof along the border of the Rift for over a year, in between our official tasks. We finally succeeded the day you captured us.”

“Were you poisoned?”

His interruption is jarring. It distracts me from finding a way to mention Phoenix’s involvement without revealing more than I should.

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head. “The data plate likely got torn and propelled away from the missile within milliseconds. It’s been five years, and I didn’t touch it.”

He nods with a choked, guttural sound. “Riley.” His tone of voice tugs at something tender inside me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His words are accusing, but his demeanour is not. It’s almost ... hurt.

“Have you given me any reason to trust you with this kind of intel?”

My question hangs heavy in the air between us, his silence the only reply that’s needed.

“Fuck,” he swears breathlessly, a jagged edge in his voice.