Breaking Sky(28)

But he wasn’t there.

Kale ushered the Streaker teams to sit around a grand oak table along with a white-haired civilian, who had pencils stuck through the worn holes of her lab coat like safety pins. Tristan sat beside her, speaking into the woman’s ear, and Chase was surprised to recognize her as one of the survivors Tristan had escorted through the hole in the hangar door.

When he caught Chase watching him, he stared back, and she could sense the lingering pain she’d evoked in the hallway. He was messed up about what had happened at JAFA—and why shouldn’t he be? If Chase lost the Star, she had no doubt that the whole sky would fall. But she couldn’t help wondering why he was so interested in pretending like it didn’t bother him.

Sylph elbowed Chase so hard, so sharp, that she let out a gasp. “Eyes on your own paper,” the blonde muttered.

Kale stepped closer and put a hand on Chase’s shoulder. The other officers were finishing their individual conversations, passing stacks of forms around. Kale stayed close to her back, and what felt like favoritism turned into a distinct warning when he started to speak.

“You’re here to be debriefed about the events of last night.” Kale pressed a button on the console at the center of the table, and a screen emerged, buzzing with static. “General Tourn, we are all present.”

Her father’s face was there. Clipped gray hair and a uniform with such sharp lines that it already felt like it was cutting her. The room hummed with people responding to her father—the way rooms always went electric because of his name.

Kale squeezed her shoulder. “He can’t see us,” he whispered.

The image of her father grunted, followed by a voice that sounded like an avalanche of gravel. “On October 28, 2048, the Royal Canadian Junior Air Force Academy was bombed from within. Casualties are estimated at eighty-seven. Two spies associated with Ri Xiong Di are in custody.”

The rest of the room probably thought he was reading a prepared statement because he sounded so unemotional. Chase knew better. He always sounded collected. Arranged. He lived and breathed orders and assignments. “Honed detachment,” she called it. It’d been one of his genetic gifts to Chase, although it was failing her now. Failing big-time.

She began to shake, and Kale’s other hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Tourn continued. “It is our understanding that Ri Xiong Di is aware of the events of five days ago when a U.S. cadet pilot interacted with a Canadian pilot, breaking the Declaration of No Assistance.” Chase glanced to Tristan, but his gaze was locked on the grain of the wood table. “Neither Canada nor the U.S. has received an official message from the New Eastern Bloc, and we have decided not to release the news of the bombing to the public. JAFA’s destruction will be attributed to a fire. You will all sign confidentiality documents.”

Kale handed out a sheet of paper to everyone seated, and Chase looked down at the blur of words. Her father was there. Sitting at the center of the table like a Roman bust. Did he have any thoughts about her? Anything at all?

“Now. What I’m about to tell you is top secret and will not leave this room.” He cleared his throat again, and she might have been the only person to understand that he meant it as a sort of sigh. “An American-Canadian Alliance is beginning to emerge. We hope the public news of this arrangement will coincide with the government boards’ favorable decision on the Streaker models. As a united front, and with advanced airpower, we will stand a chance at breaking the Second Cold War standoff.

“In the meantime, the Canadian cadets designated as Streaker Team Phoenix will continue training at the United Star Academy in anticipation of the trials in January. Is Dr. Adrien present?”

The elderly woman sat forward, speaking with an accent that, like Romeo, belied her French Canadian heritage. “I am, General Tourn.”

“Will you be able to continue your work from the Star?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You are all dismissed as soon as you have signed the documentation.”

The cadets bent over the sheets of paper, signing without reading. Chase squeezed her capped pen, distracted. More military secrets like the third Streaker—except this time Chase was on the side of those who knew. It was a slight shock to realize that knowing wasn’t any better or easy. Secrets were still secrets. She listened to the scratch of signatures—and before she was ready, everyone was standing. Leaving. She hurried to catch up, but she wasn’t fast enough.

“Cadet Harcourt, remain,” Tourn said. “Everyone else is dismissed.”

Her heart took off in too many directions. People sifted out of the room. Sylph cast a look back at her that was tinted with curiosity. Tristan paused at the door until Romeo tugged him along by the shoulder. Pippin hadn’t moved. Chase had avoided looking at him throughout the whole meeting. Her RIO was in a unique position to understand how painful it was for her to see her father, and that made Chase completely unable to make eye contact with him.

There were very few things in the world she was worse at dealing with than pity.

Kale took Pippin’s paper and pointed toward the exit. Pippin went, and she caught a glimpse of his panic. The door shut loudly, and for a second, Chase thought Kale had left too. But the brigadier general stood by the door, chin raised in a sort of defiant pride. He held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to speak.