Page 78 of Victorious

The same hum she’d felt before the blast went off on that last op, and the building came crashing down on top of her. A hum that followed her to the gym and onto the track, building charge until, out of nowhere, she found herself thinking about June.

That night, Rios had put the EO’s number in her phone. Not the EON-issued one, but the burner she kept in the gym locker here—the one she rented by the month—along with a change of clothes, a roll of cash.

Rainy day tools, she told herself.

She’d checked EON’s database the next day, but June wasn’t on their radar yet.

Rios could have put her there. Should have. The EO was a walking, talking voodoo doll, able to not only shapeshift, but deflect pain onto those she mimicked. It was EON’s job—Rios’s job—to stop her before anyone got hurt.

So why hadn’t she done it?

June’s voice rang in her head.

Because then, it said, you wouldn’t have a friend. And someday, you might need one.

Rios shoved the voice away. She didn’t need a friend, she needed a lead on the world’s most wanted EO, and unless June could give her that, she was useless.

The soldier quickened her pace until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the dull throb in her lungs and legs. And when she showered, and dressed, and checked her EON-issued phone, she was relieved to find a new message. A new mission.

She slung her bag onto her shoulder and set out, eager to get back to work.

IVNOW. THEN.

1.75 YEARS AGO

EON

GABRIEL ran his fingertip along the tablet screen, trying to decide where to start.

There were twenty-one EOs presently in EON, up from the nineteen there’d been when he was hired (alas, none of them were Victor Vale). Still, twenty-one subjects. Twenty-one data points. He’d met them all by now. Unfortunately, only a handful were proving remotely receptive to treatment. The rest were not.

Well, not yet.

He scanned his choices. Perhaps he’d start with Xavier Pascal. The boy he’d tried to help his first day there. Xavier, who wandered his cell, humming songs to himself, or playing tic-tac-toe with his finger on the wall, who clearly wanted company, and yet shut down every time Gabriel arrived to offer it, as if he were the enemy.

Xavier, who retreated to his bunk and drew up his knees, eyes fixed on the middle distance, jaw locked against his own desire to speak.

He was about to give the order when movement rippled on one of the wall screens. He glanced up, at the screens behind the desk. A field team had returned. Two soldiers, a blindfolded body thrashing between them.

Then again, thought Gabriel, why not start with someone fresh?

He rose and strode out of the office, Helena as always in his wake. Her guard—now his—fell in step behind them.

By the time Gabriel arrived, the soldiers had wrangled the new arrival into a cell. One was gone. The other sagged back against the wall, a hand against his ribs.

Gabriel flicked his fingers at Helena, and she stepped forward. “Report.”

The field agent straightened, wincing as he did.

“We acquired the target,” he said. “But lost two of our own.”

“What happened?” demanded Gabriel. The man shot him a guarded glance. A reminder that he’d prioritized converting the on-site staff, and so hadn’t gotten to most of the field agents. Yet. He looked to Helena, who bobbed her head.

“Dr. Gray is now the acting director,” she said. “So you report to him.”

She might as well have slapped the agent. But he recovered. Nodded stiffly.

“We tracked the EO to a house fifteen miles north of Merit…”