Wildcard (Warcross #2)(43)
“Tomorrow,” he says in a low voice. “Midnight.”
16
By the time I get back to the hotel, a masquerade parade has broken out in the neighboring district, and cosplayers have spilled over from Harajuku’s Takeshita Street onto the sidewalks of Omotesando. People dressed in their most elaborate getups—both real and virtual—are walking around while crowds gather along the shop entrances to gawk and admire. The streets themselves are lit up in virtual neon colors, fading gradually from one team’s hues to the next, and each time they shift, a burst of cheers comes from the fans. A closer look tells me that most of the cosplayers are dressed in some variation of the teams’ outfits from this year’s championships.
I catch glimpses of their vibrant costumes from my window as I hurry around, changing out of my dress and throwing on my black jeans and sweater. Black gloves go on my hands, fresh socks and sneakers on my feet. My pair of slim knives is tucked inside my boots, while my backpack is filled with my usual supplies—my grappling hook, handcuffs, and stun gun. Finally, I download a randomly generated face to set over my features and pull a new mask over the lower half of my face.
I may be running with a fancier crew now, but the familiar ritual and the weight of my old tools feel right, convincing me that I actually know what the hell I’m doing, even as Hideo’s words from the banquet earlier whirl around in my head.
He looked like I had ripped his heart right out of his chest.
Believe me, I regret nothing more.
I scowl and yank harder on my shoelaces. None of this was ever my fault, and he knows it. But my encounter with him has still left me spinning, my mind crowded with all the different emotions that he brings.
An incoming message from Zero cuts through my train of thoughts. I startle in the darkness and glance up, half expecting to see him standing there in the middle of my room.
How was your meeting with Hideo?
“I managed to get a second one with him,” I whisper back, my words transcribing in midair before being sent back to him.
When?
“Tomorrow night. It’ll be private—no public settings.”
There’s a pause, and I wonder whether he or Jax had somehow spied on my earlier conversation already, and whether he’s just testing me now to see if I’ll tell him the truth.
Make sure it counts.
Outside, a huge roar goes up as the streets shift to red and gold, the Phoenix Riders’ colors. Cars honk in enthusiasm as they drive by.
“It will,” I say.
No more replies come from him.
I wait a little longer, then sigh and bring up Tremaine’s map of the Innovation Institute. I tap on Tremaine’s profile to send him a message.
“Hey,” I murmur, watching my words appear in my view. “You still in for tonight?”
I wait for a while. There’s a bit of static on his end, but nothing more, and when he doesn’t respond, I take a look at his profile. He’s still online, and his profile is haloed in green.
Hey.
I message again.
Blackbourne. Wake up.
Maybe his connection’s bad. Or maybe he really doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, not after everything he spilled to me last night. I unplug my board from its charger, trying not to dwell on what other reasons he might have for being silent.
When he still doesn’t answer me after a few more messages, I get up and grab my board. Heading to the institute without Tremaine is probably a bad idea, especially after Taylor’s talk with me. At least I’d given something to the Blackcoats, enough to keep them satisfied that I’m doing my job for them—but if I’m going to be meeting Hideo tomorrow, any extra info I find on Sasuke will need to happen tonight.
I’m running out of time.
* * *
* * *
I DON’T LEAVE my hotel through the front door. If Jax is watching me tonight, she’ll expect me to go through main entrance. So instead, I pull out my old cable launcher from my backpack, hook the end onto the balcony railing, then climb over the ledge and leap off.
Wind whips my hair up in a stream, but from the outside, no one can see more than a rippling shadow moving along the side of the complex. I squint, shivering in the cold as the cable launcher carries me down, jerking to a halt less than a story from the ground.
I release the cable and let myself fall with a soft thud. Then I toss down my board and head in the direction of the institute.
For the first time in a while, I head down into the first subway train I can find. They’re still congested at this hour of the night. Salarymen exasperated with all the festivities slowing down their travels jostle past me without sparing so much as a glance, while groups of eager fans clog the trains, each trying to get to some party or Warcross street game happening in the city. Ramen stalls and bakeries lining the station interiors are all still packed, while high-end stores bustle with customers, everyone looking for limited-edition championship purses and belts and shoes that will all go away once the Warcross season ends. Alongside the advertisements covering the walls of the station are the virtual figures of two more top players chosen for the closing ceremony.
ABENI LEA of KENYA | TITANS
TREY KAILEO of USA | WINTER DRAGONS
I hold my breath and let myself get lost in the fray, hoping that no one recognizes me through my disguises when we’re all pressed together in the trains. I ride a few different subway lines until I feel like I can’t even find myself in the midst of all the bodies. If Jax still manages to catch up with me, it’ll hopefully take her long enough to give me some time to check out the institute on my own.