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“What if—”
“If something comes up that I can’t handle? I’ll get your dear, sweet mother involved, and you know how I feel about that. Consider it my punishment for this entire conversation.”
“Fine,” Lila said, tugging the lapels of her blackcoat. “I’ll go through my inbox and—”
“No. Forward it to me. All of it. Consider this a practice drill for whenever you finally break your neck on that bike of yours.”
“It’s called a Firefly.”
“It’s called a deathtrap when you ride it.”
Lila cocked her head.
“Too much?”
“The ice is thin, commander. Very thin.”
Lila tapped on her palm for a few moments and sent everything in her militia inbox to Sutton, then set it to forward everything to her commander for the next two weeks.
Sutton escorted her to the elevator. She talked merrily of the weather in Mexico and England. She mentioned cruises to the Caribbean. She even talked of former senators who might be aching to get away. It was only when Lila found herself in front of the entrance to the security office that Sutton finally shook her hand, turned, and hustled back into the building.
Lila stared at the structure, watching the blackcoats move inside, watching them march on the gravel paths during their rounds.
She stared until one of the patrols passed by for the second time.
Lila turned away, shoving her hands in her pockets. They nearly didn’t fit, for she’d carried her palm in one and Tristan’s spare in the other. She’d found the device in her satchel the night before and carried it with her to work, intending to scroll through the code again while digging through her inbox. The silly game that had bothered Toxic so much had begun to bother Lila as well. The aliens still hovered in the center of the flickering screen. The score had frozen at three thousand.
Three thousand? What was the point of the game? What was she missing?
And why was this stupid, broken game on so many palms at Natalie’s hideout?
Frustrated, she shoved the spare back into her pocket and walked down Villanueva Lane, but instead of returning to the great house, she kept going. She had absolutely no interest in seeing her mother’s smug face.
Perhaps she was procrastinating, rather than dealing with her blackmailer’s message. Max was right. She’d have to pay so that she would have extra time to search.
Militia patrols marched past, as did the highborn in their red coats and business suits, the family’s coat of arms stitched upon the breast. Workborn bustled among them, hurrying to and fro in all manner of dress befitting their station and position.
She sat upon a bench in the center of the compound, staring up at Wolf Tower. Like her militia building, the walls had been made of glass, but this glass was impenetrable. She couldn’t see in, but the people inside could see out.
It was just somewhere else she didn’t belong.
Her palm vibrated, and she reached into her pocket to check it.
Tristan’s name popped up on the screen.
Realizing she wouldn’t get any peace, she scrolled through his messages, all some mix of I’m sorry and Call me. Half annoyed, she opened up the latest. Teresa was found dead this morning. Bullstow is investigating, and my people can’t get close.
Just like that, her leads had all evaporated.
Slumping on the bench, she pinched the bridge of her nose. How was she supposed to go on vacation in the middle of this? Where would she even go? Who would she go with?
She laughed bitterly. Somehow the oracle still believed she would find the girls.
She curled over the bench and dug out the spare palm.
Perhaps she had one lead left.
This time when she brought up the game, the aliens had moved from the center of the screen, trailing in a tail to the left. No matter how she twisted her palm, the aliens always trailed off in the same direction. She’d lost points, too. Her score had dropped to twenty-four hundred.
