Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(75)

Chapter 18


Flannigan’s Man

The next morning, I apply more concealer under my eyes at the locker room mirror.

“Do you think I could use some of that?” Hammon asks.

I pass the makeup stick to her. She brushes it on beneath her eyes, covering her own dark circles. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine. I think I just ate something awful last night.”

“Maybe you should call a medical drone.”

“I feel okay now,” she replies. “I’m afraid to ask you how it went last night.”

“Do you want to help me prepare my ship? I’ll requisition for maintenance, and then we can talk about it.”

She brightens. “Put in the requisition, and I’ll meet you in the hangar after I get my tools.”

I head to the hangar, and I’m almost to my airship when I see Agent Crow lurking near it. I turn to leave, but he catches me. “Roselle Sword, I need a word with you.”

“Good morning, Agent.”

“Good morning. You look tired. Did you have a trying evening? Losing sleep over something, perhaps?”

“I’ve had a few nightmares lately, but none while I’ve been asleep.”

“The hazards of being you, I presume. I’ve actually heard that you recently lost your friend. The MPs tell me Hawthorne Trugrave put up quite a struggle.”

“I’m sure he’s over it now,” I reply.

“Quite. You wouldn’t know how it is, but the Transition from secondborn to firstborn is illuminating. It’s like being reborn.”

“You would know that better than I.” Because you murdered your own sister.

“Yes. I also know that he has all but forgotten you by now. You probably never even enter his mind.” I try not to wince. Agent Crow smiles. “I had a chance to interview the MPs who took you from me that day a year ago. They said Tula did your detention intake.”

“And?”

“And she remembers you.”

“That’s not surprising. A lot of people remember meeting me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work both ways.”

“I believe that. You’re something of a celebrity, aren’t you?” he says with faux sympathy.

“I’m just secondborn.”

“The thing I find surprising,” he goes on, “is that Tula seems to recall another young woman who was processed into detention before you came in.”

I know he’s talking about Flannigan. “They made a lot of cells for a reason. Bad girls are everywhere.”

“I have an interview with Holcomb Sword in about”—he glances at his moniker’s timekeeper—“thirty minutes. I can’t wait to find out what he remembers about that night.”

“Good luck with that,” I reply, with all the confidence I can muster.

Agent Crow turns to leave just as Hammon arrives with her toolbox in hand. A look of pure joy crosses his features, and he begins to circle back to us with a wicked silver-toothed grin. Hammon becomes alarmed.

“You’re right, Roselle. Bad girls are everywhere.” He scans Hammon from head to toe. “You’re pregnant, secondborn.” All of the color drains from Hammon’s face. It’s like an aphrodisiac to Agent Crow, and he moves closer, touching her cheek with the back of his fingers. “The thing is, we, in Census, don’t lock up bad girls. We kill them.” He casts a glance at me. “I’ll be back for you both shortly.”

He strolls away, leaving the hangar. The moment he’s gone, Hammon falls into panicked gasping. Her hand reaches out, bracing her against the side of my airship. I touch the back of her neck. “Take deep breaths, Hammon. Slow and easy. You’re all right.” I feel my own panic rising.

“He’s going to kill me, Roselle,” Hammon wheezes.

He is. He’s going to kill her for getting pregnant. He’s going to murder her in the most desperately painful way, and there isn’t a thing I can say or do to stop him. Unless—

“Hammon, we have to act now. Can you pull yourself together?”

“He’s going to kill me, Roselle.”

“I won’t let him. We’re getting you out of here. It’s going to be fine. Ask Edge to meet you in our locker room. Don’t say anything else, just get him there.”

“Right now?” she asks.

“Yes, right now.”

With trembling hands, Hammon sends the message to Edgerton as we walk—fast but without being obvious—back to my locker. Opening it, I grab for the black glove that I wear to cover my moniker. “Put this on.” I look around to see if anyone is watching us, but no one is in our aisle. I unhook a latch and slide the heel of my boot aside. Inside are two lead squares. I take them both out and hand one to Hammon. “Put this inside the glove, over your moniker.”

I stand up and put both hands on her shoulders. “Go to your locker and take out anything you think you’ll need to survive. Put it in a small bag. Bring it back here in two minutes.”

Hammon nods and leaves. People walk by, but no one is paying attention. I take out my fusionblade and thrust the hot edge against the welds in the floor of the locker. The soldered fragments bend. I pry open the bottom. Inside is the bag full of stolen Census monikers. I pull out the bag and set it aside. With shaking hands, I weld the bottom back in place with my fusionblade.