She glanced back at him. His eyes were wide open, alert. Her stomach sank. She turned away.
“It’s the middle of the night, Galena. You can’t go now. Not again.” Concern threaded through his warm voice. “You just got back from Mekia a few hours ago. You need to rest.”
She stared at her feet. “It’s nearly dawn. It won’t be so early by the time I get there.”
“I don’t think your speaking to him is helping.” The bed sagged as Pyralis sat up and moved closer to her. He slid both arms around her, and even though his touch was gentle, it felt almost like a restraint. She pulled free and stood. “It’s dangerous,” he added in a sharper tone.
Chastened, Galena turned and cupped his cheek in her hand. “There’s still more for us to learn from him. I think . . . I think if I keep trying, he’ll tell us what we need to know.”
“The interrogators—”
Galena moved away, throwing on black pants and a storm-gray tunic, soft as a cloud. It was no use trying to explain. They’d had the same fight almost every day since Elom had been taken into custody. It’d been almost a month since his capture, less than a week since the attack on Spiro. Now that Milek and Aris had the invisible wingjets, they’d begin recruiting soldiers for their unit, but they needed intel on which to act. Elom hadn’t given up Balias’s real location. Or any information on the bomb.
Atalanta was running out of time.
But Galena didn’t want to admit that her nearly daily visits to the prison were of a more personal nature. That it helped her, seeing him like that, imprisoned the way he imprisoned her. She supposed it was small of her, but she felt powerful there, with him at her mercy.
“Be careful,” Pyralis’s voice sounded behind her, and Galena thought perhaps he knew, somehow, how much of her soul was still trapped in that windowless room.
Atalanta’s highest-security prison was situated at the northern edge of the city, on Panthea’s mountainside. The building climbed the foothills in a series of interconnected, cantilevered cubes, all windowless. The seemingly precarious structure was impenetrable, the different levels of cells creating a complicated maze within. There were no points of entrance or egress beyond a single gate with one highly fortified door.
The guards scanned Galena and her driver’s identification passcards before waving the terran through the gate. As soon as she emerged from the terran, it followed the circular drive back down the steep hill. The driver would wait in a large lot a few miles away and return when the prison commed him. No terrans or trucks were authorized to stop for more than a minute in front of the prison, and the airspace above was restricted. In many ways, Galena felt safer here than she did anywhere else in Atalanta.
Two guards escorted her through the labyrinthine hallways, which turned sharply at right angles before pitching up short, steep flights of stairs. They hadn’t gone very far when a sudden, piercing whine filled the air, pressing painfully against her eardrums.
“What is that?” she screamed over the noise, covering her ears.
Both guards shared a knowing look, unholstered their solaguns, and grabbed her arms. “We need to get you to a safe room,” one shouted.
They led her back the way they came, to a chrome door at the top of one of the short staircases. One of the guards pressed a pad against the wall, and the narrow door slid open.
The other guard ushered her into the tiny, dimly lit room.
“We’ll be back as soon as we get the all clear,” he yelled over the screaming siren. “You’ll be safe here!”
And, in seconds, Galena was alone in a room smaller than Elom’s cell, while Gods knew what occurred outside the door.
Her heart pounded, and the tiny, empty room swam before her eyes. For the second time in her life, she was locked away.
Chapter 8
When Dysis was twelve years old and Jax was fifteen, their father died in a wingjet crash. Two months later, their mother fell ill. Their home became a hushed, frightening place, where blank-faced menders came and went, their expressions turning more and more grave each day.
Dysis watched as her mother transformed from a sphere of boundless energy to a gray, human-shaped shadow. Her mother could barely breathe, let alone care for herself. She needed to be dressed and washed, spoon-fed a thin protein gruel. Until machines ate and breathed for her.
Until she died.
Jax said he remembered the years before the illness, and Dysis clung to his stories, but they were never enough to erase those months when her mother had become a ghost. Dysis promised herself she’d never be like that, never let herself get so weak and helpless. She’d be like her father, go down in a blaze, one bright blip and then gone.
Except here she was, not dead, lying in a bed with menders poking and prodding at her, just like they’d done to her mother.
“Get that out of my face,” Dysis snapped, pushing the tiny light away.
The mender stepped back, his mouth open to protest.
“Don’t even bother,” she growled. This one was new; a young guy with wide brown eyes and freckles that made him look like a little kid. In the week that she’d been trapped in this bed, she’d scared off plenty of menders and assistants. This one would be easier than most.
The mender put his hands up and tentatively shuffled closer, as if she were an animal about to attack him. “But I need to check your vitals.”
Dysis struggled to sit up, ignoring the deep and throbbing pain in her side. “See? Breathing. Heart’s beating. I’m vital. Now go away.”
The mender was staring at her in confusion. “But they said I had to—”
Behind him, the door slid open. Dysis collapsed back onto the bed, huffing, when she saw the newcomer. Of course.
Calix glanced at the other mender, then back to her. With a frown, he tilted his head toward the door. “Thank you, Wex. I’ll take it from here.”
The young mender shuffled out.
Dysis braced herself for a lecture, and Calix didn’t disappoint. “Really? You know these men helped save your life. You can’t—”
“I can’t. You’re right,” she interrupted, venom in her voice. “I can’t do anything.”
With a sigh, Calix held her head down and shone the light in her eyes, quickly, before she could break away. Then he released her, ignoring her protests. “You’re not a caged animal, Dysis. You’re getting better.”
She struggled to sit up again. “Then let me out there. Let me fight.”
“You had major surgery a week ago. You’re not well enough for that. Not yet.” He pushed her back down, more gently this time, and grabbed her wrist, his warm fingers finding her pulse.
For a few seconds they were both quiet, locked together by the beat of her heart.
He eyed her, some of his impatience fading. “You get that this is temporary, right?”
Dysis shifted, yanking her wrist from his hand. She stared past him to the vid strip that ran the entire length of the room, projecting an endless parade of bright landscapes. It was supposed to enliven the stark white med room, but she hated it. She’d rather have a news vid playing. Those bland, peaceful images were a lie.
“How much longer, then?” she asked. “Ever since the surgery, you’ve been cagey about the timeline.”
The bed shifted as Calix sat beside her. She didn’t look at him as he guided her onto her side so he could inspect her sutures. The pressure of his hands sent shards of pain through her. She’d stopped taking her pain meds yesterday; she didn’t like the way they fogged her up, slowed her reflexes. Not that she needed her damn reflexes for sitting in this stupid bed.
“Your body still has a lot of healing to do,” he said. “Your kidney was severely damaged—it’s a miracle we didn’t have to remove it. With the amount of blood you lost, the pooling—”
“If you tell me one more time that I’m lucky to be alive, I
will break your hand.” Her own fingers clutched the edge of the bed. “Do not assume I’m too weak for that.”
“Don’t worry.” He helped her lie back down. “I know how strong you are.”
She didn’t like the familiarity in his eyes. Her anger didn’t unnerve him as it did the others.
“You should have let me die,” she said. One bright blip. That’s what she wanted. Because what if Calix was wrong? What if she didn’t get better, but festered in this bed until she died, like her mother had?
Calix didn’t blink. She’d said the same thing often enough when she’d first regained consciousness.
Her time in the sick bay had been one indignity after another, an agony of them: the changing of her surgical dressings, her clothes. She’d needed help doing everything, even using the washroom. She could still barely walk on her own, her legs weak as a newborn foal’s. Every moment, every second reminded her of her mother.
And Calix had been there for it all. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable, when she couldn’t muster the angry facade. He’d seen her break.
“In a month or two, when you’re running around kicking ass as usual, you’re going to be happy I didn’t,” Calix said.
“Two months?” She bit back a scream of frustration. “You’re not seriously telling me I could be like this for another two months?”
Calix shook his head, a hint of sympathy flashing in his green eyes. “Not like this. A couple months before you’re cleared for combat, but you’ll be able to get back to most of your usual routine in another week or so.”
“My usual routine is combat,” she grumbled.
“The fastest way to get there is to be a good patient,” he said. “And stop scaring off the menders.”
Dysis wished she could scare him off.
Calix pushed back the sleeves of his mender coat, revealing wiry forearms. “Wex said you haven’t walked yet today. Up and at ‘em.”
Without any hint that he heard her protests, he slid his hands under her arms and helped her sit up slowly and shift her legs off the edge of the bed.
“Why don’t we head out to the training grounds today?” he asked. “You could use some fresh air.”
“No,” Dysis snapped. “The hallway’s fine.”
Her feet prickled as she stood up.
Calix tightened his hands on her torso to steady her. He was only a couple inches taller, and they were so close her lips nearly brushed his chin.
“You need to get out there, Dysis,” he said. “I know you don’t want the others to see, but—”
“But you don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pushed against him, creating distance between them, but her legs betrayed her, and she swayed.
He wouldn’t let go.
“Hey, Dysis,” Aris stepped into the room. “How are you feeling today?” She nodded at Calix.
Dysis shuffled a few steps closer to Aris. As much as she wanted to walk freely, her watery legs made her grudgingly grateful for Calix’s support.
“Just going for a walk,” Dysis said. “Would you like to join me?”
Her friend’s dark blue eyes lit up. “I’d love to! It’s a beautiful day, do you want to—”
“No.” Dysis ignored the look Aris shared with Calix. They could take their annoying, well-meaning interference and leave her the hell alone.
Without saying anything more, Aris took her other arm and Calix let go. Their walk was painfully slow and a little jerky, as Dysis tried to balance on brittle legs. Almost immediately, she regretted offering to walk with Aris. No one, not even her best friend, should have to see her this way.
“Heard you’ve been working on something new,” Dysis said. She didn’t add how gutted she felt not to be included, not to know what was going on.
Aris shrugged. “Just planning stages for now. I wish things were moving faster—” She broke off and shot a pitying glance at Dysis. “Don’t we all, right? But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe by the time we’re sorted out, you’ll be ready to come back as my gunner.”
Dysis scoffed. “I don’t think it’ll take you two months to get organized.”
Aris paused, surprise widening her eyes. “It could be worse. And for what it’s worth, we’re miserable without you. The whole team has been asking me when you’re coming back. I hope, when you feel ready, you’ll hang out in the rec room sometime. Or let Otto or Pallas visit you. I think they need some reassurance, you know . . .” She paused. “Well, reassurance that you’re still you.”
Dysis turned around and headed slowly back to her room. “But I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Aris’s voice echoed down the empty hallway.
“You don’t know, Aris. You don’t have any idea.” Dysis was done talking. Done walking down this blank white hallway like some invalid.
Aris grabbed her arm and yanked until they were facing each other. Her eyes narrowed, she hissed, “Don’t I? I spent my childhood learning to walk again. I know how it feels, like your body is this all-important shell, and if it doesn’t work, you don’t work. But it’s not true. And you will get better.”
Dysis didn’t know what to do with the fire in Aris’s eyes, the determination lining her mouth. She didn’t want to feel Aris’s conviction. She preferred to wallow. But she could see the weakness in that.
All she’d ever wanted was to be strong.
“Fine, fine. I’ll try to make it to the rec room soon.” She sighed. “You and Calix will be the death of me.”
Aris smiled. “I’ve got to go.” She started to pat Dysis’s shoulder, but the glare Dysis shot her stopped that. “Specialist Mann wants me to fly with him. He’s desperate to get med clearance as well, and wants to show me he’s fit. I think he’s doing better, so . . .”
Something niggled at the edge of Dysis’s mind. Something about Mann . . . she shook her head, trying to shake loose the thought. It was just at the tip of her brain—
Aris trailed off. “What is it?” she asked. “You have the weirdest look on your face.”
Dysis paused. “I don’t know . . . something you just said—”
The thud of running boots interrupted her. Aris whirled as a soldier Dysis didn’t recognize skidded to a halt a few feet away.
“Lieutenant Haan, Commander Nyx has called a meeting with the entire Spiro team, and she needs you there right away,” the soldier panted.
Aris shot a worried glance at Dysis. “What’s happened?”
The soldier straightened. “Haven’t you seen? It’s all over the news vids. The Safaran operative, the one you captured, has escaped.”
Dysis’s stomach dropped to her feet, every other thought blown from her mind except one: Elom has escaped.
Chapter 9
As Aris took her place at the back of the briefing room between Milek and Commander Nyx, she could barely restrain herself from pounding a fist into the wall. The rest of the Spiro survivors, even Dysis, settled into the tidy rows of chairs before her.
The monitor affixed to the far wall blinked on.
A reporter in a cheerful pink flowered dress was speaking. “We have it on good authority that the escaped prisoner is the Safaran operative, Elom, who Ward Nekos and Ward Vadim put behind bars a little over a month ago.” She stood a few hundred feet away from the prison. Behind her, one side of the building boasted a ragged, smoking hole.
“The most secure prison in our entire blighting dominion,” Aris muttered under her breath. “How could they let this happen?” And why are they announcing it to the world?
Milek touched her arm briefly, a gesture that did nothing to calm her.
The reporter continued. “Authorities are striving to reassure the residents of Panthea that the attack was isolated and should not be seen as a direct threat to the city, but there’s been no official statement from Ward Nekos as of yet.”
“The Ward has requested your presence in Panthea,” Commander Nyx murmured to Aris, her eyes never leaving the vid.
“Why? The damage has already been done,” Aris hissed.
Elom was out there again, walking free. Balias’s murderous, powerful right hand. His last mission had been to capture and kill Aris.
What if he comes after me again?
Nyx shot Aris a look. “It’s not your job—or mine—to ask questions. You and Major Vadim should leave now.”
Aris glanced at the monitor, where the reporter was gesturing toward the damaged prison. “What are you going to tell the team?”
“That this is war,” Commander Nyx said, her voice low and tight. “We suffer victories and defeats. We stay on guard. We wait for orders. We do our jobs.”
Aris and her team had done their job. They’d captured Elom and discovered the flaming scorpion.
Milek pulled her away, but not before Aris shot another glare toward the monitor and the image of the supposedly impenetrable prison.
***
“Will Ward Nekos move up our timeline? Is that why he wants to meet with us?” Aris asked, as she and Milek sped away from Mekia. She was already schooling herself to remain professional instead of cursing anyone out.
“Probably. Or he’ll want us to change objectives and go after Elom.” Milek’s voice was even, but his hands gripped the gunner controls too hard. He was frustrated, too.
So far they’d only had time to create a list of possible recruits for their invisible wingjet program. Milek had been busy interviewing the survivors of the Spiro attack to see if he could flush out the spy. Even after the recovery efforts, Commander Nyx’s team had been unable to tell whether it was a suicide bomb. The thought that one of Aris’s fellow soldiers could be working for Safara added to the churning in her stomach.
When she and Milek landed in Panthea, a terran was waiting for them, with a burly driver and a frazzled-looking man with red hair.
“I’m Ward Nekos’s assistant, Kellan,” the man said as they slid into the terran. “Thank you for coming. The ward is expecting you.”
Torn Sky (Rebel Wing Trilogy, Book 3) (Rebel Wing Series) Page 4