Forged(62)

“The Rally’s going to open with executions—a bunch of unlucky bastards getting the axe publicly—and then he’s unveiling the Forgeries. He’s not calling them that, of course. It’s painted like he’s going to introduce everyone to a new task force, additional law enforcement to protect and serve each community, even the domeless ones.”

“I was supposed to be a part of those executions,” I tell her.

“I know. All of Taem does. You’re the biggest selling point. Frank’s been dismissing the news the Harbinger printed—the truth behind water resources, the deaths in Stonewall, the battle at Burg. He claims all that blood is on your hands, that the Rebels and AmWest are terrorists and you’re pulling the strings.”

My mind drifts back to what Isaac once stated on the Gulf: Revolutionaries and terrorists are one and the same. We are the minority, threatening the norm. But it’s right, what we are doing. Isn’t it?

Bree glances over her shoulder. “What happened to your neck?”

I didn’t pause long enough in the bathroom to examine myself in the mirror, but I imagine I have rope burns from my near hanging. Maybe bruises, too.

Bree scowls as I tell her the story, then follows it with her own. The drive east with Sammy and Clipper was uneventful. Rebel sources confirmed I was being held at an interrogation center on the outskirts of the city. As planned, Harvey leaked the time I was to be moved to Union Central, plus the route the car would be taking. The Rebels coordinated their attack, detonating roadblocks at predetermined intersections to turn around the armored car and lead it to a dead end of their choosing. Street teams held the incoming Order forces at bay as Bree and Sammy moved in for me.

“Where’s Sammy now?”

“At the safe house,” Bree says. “Unless something went wrong.”

She pauses as we reach another junction, then swings her legs over the edge of the walkway and scrambles down the ladder. Back into the waste. She points at an offshoot about the size of the tunnel we used to first access the sewers.

I sigh, and follow.


The safe house is no more than a block from where we emerge aboveground.

Sammy and Clipper are waiting for us, along with Elijah. The place belongs to his cousin, who we’re introduced to upon arrival. Elijah has been staying here for the last few nights. Ryder is in town, too, at a different location. Preparing, Elijah explains.

If I never hear the words preparing and planning and waiting again, it will be too soon.

We are shown to the basement where we’ll stay for the night, and it’s not pretty. A few cots are set up between dusty crates and storage boxes. A lone window just inches shy of the ceiling might offer some light come morning, but right now the cluttered room is dingy and gray. There is moisture in the air. I feel like I’m back in the sewers.

“You think this is a show or something?” Bree snaps.

Clipper averts his eyes from her bandaged cheek, suddenly very interested in his boot tips.

“What happened?” Sammy asks.

“A knife,” she answers.

“A knife?”

“Did you go deaf since I last saw you?”


Sammy’s eyes flick my way, and I give him a tiny headshake. Bree has absolutely no desire to talk about what happened in that factory. I know it as surely as if she said it to me. Maybe someday she’ll be able to go into detail, but for now—just as I’ve buried the tragedy of Blaine in my core—she only wants to move forward.

As Bree picks the locks of my cuffed wrists with a bent bit of metal, Sammy rattles off details Elijah shared with him before we made it to the house.

Frank is moving forward with his plans as though nothing has changed. Sunder Day is tomorrow and he is still pretending that I’m in his custody. “The illusion of order precipitates order itself,” he’s been saying to his closest advisors. At least that’s what Harvey’s relayed.

“Has anyone heard from Emma?” I ask.

“Yes, my clairvoyant connection to her has been quite strong lately,” Sammy says. Then, more seriously: “We haven’t been in touch with September yet, but Elijah said something about trying tonight. So maybe soon?”

Meaning Harvey leaked my transport information to the team, but never mentioned how Emma joined us in Bone Harbor. I feel the left lock click and the metal cuff swings open. I roll my freed wrist, but the knot of discomfort in my stomach only intensifies. Bree grabs my other arm, and as she goes to work on the lock, I share my fears about Emma’s motives.

Sammy shakes his head. “She wouldn’t cross us like that. I know her.”

“You knew her Forgery,” Bree points out, “and that thing was ruthless.”

“But why?” Sammy continues. “What can she truly gain from this?”

“Could she—?” Bree cuts off and swears. “Maybe she’s still a Forgery.”

“She’s not,” I insist. “I checked her eyes. And you killed her one model.”

“Maybe you saw what you wanted because of who she is, what she means to you. Maybe—”

“Dammit, Bree, I’m not that blind. This is her.”

Sammy rubs his knuckles with a thumb. “Then what the hell is she after?”

“I have no idea. She must know something we don’t.”