Rebel (Legend, #4)(83)
June shakes her head. “Nothing yet. But we should get something tonight.”
I nod, trying not to let my fear show through. I push away from the table, then go to stand in front of the window looking out over the city. Over the speakers in the center, I can hear Director Min talking with their officers, getting updates on what’s happening.
The sooner this is all over, the sooner things can return to normal. But as I look out at the city, at the chaos that has filled the Undercity’s streets, I wonder if that normalcy is even possible.
A revolution within a revolution.
June isn’t the only one working without telling everyone every detail. Change never happens unless you force it.
EDEN
The only way I can tell that night has fallen is by the blackness of the skylights in the building. Outside, beyond Ross City’s biodome, the open tundra must look like nothing more than a pitch-dark sea. Even from inside, I can hear the roar of the wind across the empty plains.
Pressa and I are alone with Hann now, in a room that looks like it’s operating as his office. Outside the doors stand his guards. Inside, it’s just him, seated wearily against a chair, and for the first time, he looks like a vulnerable man.
Pressa stands over him and holds out a single vial. “These may make you cough a little at first,” she warns as she presses one into the palm of his hand. “But they’ll start to kick in soon after you swallow it. You’re supposed to take one a day.”
Hann gives her a wary look, but doesn’t move to stop her. His guards outside aren’t looking out at the rest of the building, but inside at us. Their guns are hoisted. If they sniff even the slightest hint of us trying to poison or sabotage Hann, they’ll fill us with bullets faster than we’ll ever be able to explain ourselves. So Pressa moves slowly, emphasizing each of her words.
I find myself marveling yet again at how calm she can stay.
“How long has your family lived in the Undercity?” Dominic Hann asks her as she pours the contents of the vial into a cup and mixes it with hot water.
Pressa doesn’t say anything for a second. Her concentration stays on the mixture she’s preparing. “As long as I can remember,” she replies. “My grandparents came to Ross City when they were fleeing chaos in their own country. They ended up in the Undercity. My dad says the apothecary first belonged to them.”
“I see,” he says.
He’s testing her, I realize, with the way he watches her as she stirs the concoction. He’s looking for something unusual in her gaze, the secret of why we must really be here.
But he doesn’t stop her as she works. I realize that, maybe, he’s genuinely hopeful this will work.
As she works, I speak up. I clear my throat and lean forward from the desk I’m seated on. “Like you said,” I tell Hann, “the military’s not going to stay back forever. We don’t have much time. What do you need done on your system?”
Hann tilts his chin at me. “You’ll be in charge of installing a hack on the system that redirects all Leveling to be under my control,” he replies.
A chill courses through my veins, as cold as winter wind outside. Our assumptions had been right, after all. He’s going to make himself the sole dictator of what’s legal and illegal. I blink, feigning shock instead at the scope of the hack. “A program that can do that?” I ask. “It’ll take far too long.”
Hann observes me with his penetrating stare. “Not if you’re working on it,” he replies. “I’m told it’s a simple matter of installing a new chip on the system. You’ll take a look at it tomorrow night.”
Tomorrow night. It’s too late. If I’m going to keep with our plan, I need to dismantle things and install our own chip sooner than that. I frown at Hann. “Show me the system tonight. If it needs to be done manually, I’m going to need all the time I can get.”
Hann studies the liquid in his mug. Nearby, Pressa holds her breath. “You’re going to do it when I tell you,” he replies. The command in his voice is cool and detached, so used to being obeyed that he doesn’t even bother questioning whether or not I will.
“But—” I start to protest again.
In the blink of an eye, he whips a hand out at Pressa and seizes her wrist right as she starts to pull away.
She gasps. I freeze.
Hann looks at her with an unblinking gaze—and then finally releases her. There’s an unspoken threat in his words as he turns his eyes back to me. He’s suspicious of why I want access so soon to his system, why I’m not questioning his ambition. He’s telling me that he could easily snap Pressa’s wrists, that he could slit my throat and leave our bodies in the streets like he’s done with so many others.
It’s easy to forget that Hann is known for being a cold-blooded killer. The sudden flip between this and his vulnerable, exhausted self leaves me reeling.
“After you,” he says to her, as he holds out the mug that she’s handed him.
To my amazement, Pressa doesn’t falter. Instead, she nods and holds the mug up. She takes a long sip. I have to stop myself from reacting as she does and giving us all away, but my muscles feel weak with tension at her move. Does this mean the effects will hit her too? Did she guess this might happen?
“You might feel a little weak tonight,” she says to Hann when she’s swallowed some of the drink. Her voice has a slight tremor in it, but she manages to keep her words slow and measured. “Some clear liquid may come up in your coughs, but it’s a good sign that the medication is working. If the liquid looks dark, we’ll need to give you some antibiotics.”