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A moment later, I’ve signed, watched $25,000 appear in my account, and am back on the couch, sitting between Amber and Riley.
“We’ll get to know each other,” Amber drawls. “We can make this fun… whatever it is.”
“The money is for my family,” Riley says. “My mom has cancer and no insurance. The program made an exception and will be dropping three percent of my money into my parents’ bank account each month.” She nods, more to herself than us. “It’s the right thing to do.”
A door on the far side of the room bangs open. I may not know a bar from a stripe, much less what they mean on a military uniform, but by this guy’s bearing, I have no doubt he’s in charge. The male is in his fifties with short-cropped steel-gray hair. With two soldiers flanking him on each side, he marches onto the dais.
“Well, ladies. It’s about time we tell you what you just signed on for.”
Chapter Three
Noble
Threat assessment: high. Red alert. Scan for risks.
The guards have been acting oddly all day. I have seen nothing like this since they moved us from the underground facility in Nevada a month ago. Something big is brewing.
Jones works nights, Barrington works days. They never work the same shift, but, just as I suspected, a deep inhale confirms they’re both here now.
Staffing is higher today. The Colonel must be expecting trouble. I need to figure out what’s going to happen next and protect myself from danger.
Excitement and fear surge through me, sharpening my senses.
Until they allow us out of our rooms, I sit on my bed, back ramrod straight, trying to anticipate what’s coming next. It’s been my experience that change is never good. Not for us—the spliced.
When they unlock our doors, I take the corner seat in the dayroom. My back is to the wall—it’s easily defensible. I motion to my trusted friends to join me.
Hours later, after brainstorming all morning, we’re not certain what’s happening, though we’ve enumerated twenty or thirty possibilities.
Nyx is a deep thinker. As soon as we come up with an idea, the naga drills down, imagines a hundred ways it could play out, and suggests five methods of counterattack.
“It could be nothing.” Brock says with a shrug. He’s one of my closest friends. The male with obvious bear DNA is solid, has my back, and would jump in front of a bullet for me. But he’s just too trusting. How many times have I warned him humans can’t always be believed? And how many times have I been right? Almost all of them.
“Look at Franklin.” I thrust my chin toward the guard near the door. “There are beads of sweat on his upper lip. He’s scared. Look at his carriage. He’s moving differently because his gun has more ammo in it than usual. More ammo, Brock. They’re planning something.”
“And when the humans are planning something, it usually isn’t good for us splicers.” This is Warren. He always has that lean, hungry, angry look. Where Brock is easygoing and optimistic, Warren is as serious as anyone here.
He takes an exaggerated sniff. When it comes to sense of smell, he’s the best of us.
“You smell that?” His nose is scrunching as he repeatedly sniffs, lifting his shaggy, wolf-like head to catch a better whiff.
“What is it?” I ask. Whatever it is, it must be subtle. I can’t even smell it yet, much less figure out what it is.
“Never smelled anything like it before.”
“Must be dangerous.” When Brock, our calm, resident bear, is worried, we all take note.
“Whatever comes next,” Warren says as a few more guards enter the dayroom. “The four of us are going to stick together.”
“Yes. We’ll have each other’s backs.”
Jenna
Without pausing for formalities, the man who took the little stage says, “I’m Colonel Slater. Welcome. After being vetted for months and traveling cross-country, I imagine you want to know what’s so secret. Now that all those non-disclosure agreements have been signed,” he glances at the five desks, each covered with four tall stacks of signed contracts, “I’m going to start with a bit of background.”
I doubt he’s over five foot ten, but his presence is commanding. More than his uniform, it’s his posture and no-nonsense expression that proclaim his years in the military. I don’t expect any sugarcoating as the brush-cut graying officer launches into his story.
“Over five years ago, my team heard rumors of a military science project gone rogue. The misguided sociopaths were well funded in their pursuit of creating supersoldiers.”
