Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(53)

“Great Maker, how is she still alive?”

I rolled onto my back to look up at them. Five adults in corp uniforms.

I wasn’t afraid.

I wasn’t relieved.

I was nothing.

· · · · ·

I am not … feeling nothing as I proceed to the next stage of my mission. Putting serious thought into the matter for the first time, I realize the members of Squad 312 have compromised my emotional integrity. Slowly, some of what I was as a child is returning. I have not yet decided whether this is a welcome development.

Three levels down, I find the infirmary, where Kal lies restrained on a bio-cot, attended by two Unbroken medics. I raise my purloined disruptor to the shaft’s grille and take careful aim. Waiting. Patient. Finally, I hear what I am waiting for—a shipwide announcement spilling over the public address system, warning all hands to prepare for Fold entry. Loud enough to conceal a disruptor blast.

BAMF!

My shot strikes the first medic in the back of her head. The second draws his sidearm with astonishing speed, but my shot strikes him in his throat, laying him out on the deck beside his comrade.

That was too close.

I climb up from the vents as the announcement ends.

“Who is there?” Kal demands, trying to turn his head.

I do not waste words, setting to work on his restraints.

“Zila … ,” he whispers.

“I understand you were shot. Are your injuries serious?”

“No,” he replies simply. “Where is Aurora?”

I decide that mentioning his sister’s use of the agonizer will not aid Kal in rational thinking. “She is in the holding cells with Finian and Scarlett.”

“We must go to her,” he insists, sitting up as soon as his arms are free.

“I concur. We can make our way via the ducts.”

“I will not fit in there,” Kal protests.

I am acutely aware that if Finian were here, he would make some off-color joke at this juncture. I clear my throat, frowning in concentration. “I …”

Kal simply stares at me, obviously impatient.

I am rapidly discovering the value of comedy relief.

“Never mind,” I finally say.

Kal is able to disable the guards stationed outside the infirmary by striking with the benefit of surprise. I form the view, but do not voice it, that he expends more effort than strictly necessary to subdue them. I suspect he, like me, is struggling for optimal levels of composure.

Another shipwide announcement rings over the PA as Kal strips off the first guard’s armor. Our Tank seems distinctly uncomfortable as he slips into the guise of an Unbroken warrior, but now is not the time to explore his feelings on the topic.

Kal removes the mag-restraints from his bio-cot, slips them around my wrists.

“Walk ahead of me,” he says. “Eyes down. Say nothing.”

I nod, and after a quick check outside to ensure it is clear, we march into the hallway. Kal seems to know his way around a Syldrathi warship, and he directs me quickly into a turbolift, leading to the detention block below.

“Thank you, Zila,” he murmurs beside me. “You did well.”

A slight warmth stirs in my chest at his praise.

I am not … feeling nothing.

“Are you all right?” I hear him ask.

My voice is steady. My expression blank. But …

“I am … glad.” I frown. “To be out of the dark.”

I meet his eyes, which is not something I can really recall having done before. I wonder if he can see her. That little girl. Crawling around in those vents on that silent station. The pieces of her she left in the darkness. The fear. The hurt. The anger.

Did she only leave them behind? Or did she leave herself behind with them?

Did she do it because it was easier?

Or because she had to?

And, after twelve years, what will she do now that she is finally, truly beginning to crawl out?

I am not … feeling nothing.

I am not feeling nothing.





13

TYLER

Look after your sister.

They were the last words Dad said to me. After he kissed Scar on the forehead, told her he’d be back in time for our birthday. After he knelt down and wrapped me up in the last hug he’d ever give me. He stood, and he ruffled my hair in that way I hated, and he spoke to me that way I loved. Not like I was a kid. Like I was a man. Like he was saying something Important and I was worthy of it.

Look after your sister, he told me.

I did. Always.

And she looked after me too.

Scar and I were inseparable as kids. Dad said we invented our own language before we could talk. And even though I wasn’t sold on my twin joining Aurora Legion—tried to talk her out of it, in fact—I was secretly glad Scar was standing beside me when I signed on the line at New Gettysburg Station. I’d have felt like a piece of me had been torn out if I’d left her behind. And I’d be able to look after her better if she was close. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.

Like jumping into a pit with a full-grown drakkan?

Part of me can’t believe I pulled that one off, to be honest. The Tyler Jones who graduated top of Aurora Academy wouldn’t have even considered it. He was a guy who played by the book. Regulation. Caution. Careful consideration before every move. But the longer I’m out here, on the edge, the more at home I feel. And with the enemies we’re playing against?