Forged(54)

“All I know is if you ignore what you feel in your gut, you’ll regret it forever.”

Exactly my thinking. I angle my head so I can see him. It’s too dark to make out much beyond the outline of his face, upturned and focused on the ceiling.

“I’m glad this mess brought us together.”

“Together?” He side eyes me. “I thought you were all about Bree. You don’t want to cuddle, do you?”

“Night, Sammy.”

“What, I can’t joke and lighten the mood? It was getting too serious in here.”

I smile in the dark. He can’t see it, but he senses my mood just as Blaine would and adds, “Keep flopping and I’ll tear your gills out.”

It’s the best threat I’ve heard in ages.





TWENTY-SEVEN


VIK IS IN FULL SUPPORT of our plans. In fact, he even has a few suggestions that strengthen the odds in our favor, and he agrees to pass the information along to the necessary people back east.

I spend the better part of the day getting Bree up to speed while Harvey and Clipper slave away in the basement. The boy is gathering damning Order information that can be leaked just before the coordinated strike—hopefully it will encourage additional civilians to join the Rebels. Harvey labors over his code, writing the virus needed to infect Taem’s alarm system. When it’s finished, it will just be a matter of getting into Union Central, uploading it to the system, and referencing an archived version of the overture that Harvey promises will exist. Frank may have outlawed certain arts for the general public, but he saved the best of the best. An indulgence allowed only for himself and a few select Order members—like Harvey, when he still worked in Union Central’s labs.

The following evening, he waves a thumb drive at me and says we’re ready.

September has a car waiting in an alley on the southern edge of town, one window purposely broken, the paint stripped down to make it appear as if it’s been rusting there for years. She claims she had to trade an arm and a leg for the vehicle, but she still has four limbs, and like a very slow child, I’m the last one to understand the figure of speech.

“Extra gas is in the back,” she says, tossing the keys to Sammy. “Don’t even ask me what a pain it was to secure.”

“So the fuel was easy to get?”

“Dammit, Sammy.” But she smiles.

“You have the files?” Harvey asks Clipper.

“For the tenth time, yes. Do you want to see?”

“No, no. Every time you open the bag I worry the drive will fall out and then I have to ask again.”

“We’ll keep our eyes peeled from the Taem safe house,” Sammy says to me and Harvey. “Soon as we catch wind that you guys have arrived, we’ll make our move.”

“Sewers. Can’t wait.” This from Clipper.

They were the least conspicuous option though, the only road that will lead to me no matter where I end up being held.

“Enough chatter,” September says, waving the trio to action.

I offer Clipper my palm, but he opts for a parting hug over a handshake. He’s taller than Bree these days, the top of his head even with my nose.

“Stay on your toes out there, genius,” I tell him.

He moves on to Harvey, and I spot Bree standing in the bedroom hallway. With a gun on her hip. And a jacket zipped high beneath her chin. And a full pack weighing down her shoulders.

My chest clenches. I wanted her to be a part of this, I did, but now that she’s loaded up and ready to go, I’m suddenly terrified that this will be the last time I ever see her.

I surge forward and pull her into a hug, try to memorize the feel of her in my arms.

“Bree!” Sammy calls from the living room.

“I’ll see you real soon,” I tell her, and press a kiss to her forehead. “Trust your instincts and everything will be fine.”

“My instincts are saying to stop right now. To not let you out of my sight. To make sure the Order doesn’t take you again.”

“But they’ll be taking me to you. You’ll be waiting.”

Her lips purse, her brow fills with lines. “I love you,” she manages.

“Same.”

One more kiss, quick, and she steps around me. When I turn, Sammy is standing at the mouth of the hallway.

“Take care of her,” I say.

“You know she doesn’t need it,” he answers.

“And you know exactly what I really mean.”

“That I do.”


When I turned twelve, Xavier promised to make me an adult-sized bow. It was a month before his Heist and he said it was his gift to me. I was the best shot he’d ever trained and he wanted me to remember him after he was gone, be reminded that I couldn’t even fire an arrow straight before receiving his guidance.

It took him a few days to find a fitting piece of maple, and another to strip it of bark, cut string notches, and shape the grip with wrapped leather. But it was the last step—stringing the bow—that seemed to take far longer than the hour Xavier worked on it. When you’re anxious for something, waiting becomes its own form of torture.

It’s been two days since the team left for Taem, and it’s felt like two years.

Bea printed her most recent issue of the Harbinger yesterday, in which she insisted on reporting that I’m back east and planning something, despite my objections. It led to another search on the Order’s part, and they were unbiased in their efforts. Despite Garrett’s position, the house was stormed. Harvey, Emma, and I sat huddled in the basement, afraid an exhale might give us away. The place was tossed, but the Order was too busy tipping furniture and pulling bookcases away from the walls to examine the wall-to-wall carpet beneath their feet. They never found the trapdoor.