He nodded, following her instructions, and she turned to Z. “Plan?”
“Yep,” he confirmed. “Open the panel on the bottom left, underneath the buttons.” Fey pursed her lips, but Z didn’t say a word more- huddled over his phone- so she moved next to Jan, crouching underneath his hand.
She found the panel soon enough, but she realized it was locked. “It won’t open.”
“You have a knife. Use it, Downcley,” Jan muttered, and Fey grudgingly pulled one out, tempted to thrust the blade into his calf instead, but she pushed her violent thoughts out of her brain, prying open the panel. “What’s the plan, Z?” Fey heard Jan ask. “If we managed to get this elevator to take us to ground level, how the hell are we supposed to get to the truck?”
“By praying that no one is out. The entire place is on lockdown, and the only way of getting out, is the device we’re in right now. If Fey can open that panel, then I can connect the wires to my phone and possibly overwrite whatever commands are going out right now to keep this entire place on lockdown. Theoretically.”
“Of course,” Jan muttered, and Fey shoved him in the leg. At least Z had a plan. He scowled down at her, but she paid no heed, giving her knife one last vicious tug and springing the panel free.
“It’s all yours, Z,” she announced, stepping away from the wires that sprung up from the opening.
Z nodded, looking a little too enthusiastic for someone who might die any second, immediately hooking up the phone in some way that Fey didn’t understand.
“How do you hack the entire system using an elevator and a reconstructed phone?” Jan asked, still pressing the button.
“If you can hack, you can hack with anything,” Z said, his tongue peeking out from behind his lips in concentration.
“Not sure that’s how it works,” Fey muttered, leaning against one of the corners of the elevator, fiddling with knife.
“Well, I guess we’re lucky that I don’t follow the rules of how things work,” Z pushed himself up, nodding at Jan. “You can let go of the button.” Fey swore she heard a hopefully muttered under his breath, but she ignored that as she watched Jan’s tan finger lift off of the button, all of their breaths stilling for a moment as they waited. “Now press the one beside G,” Z instructed.
With bated breath, Jan moved to press the button and surely enough, the elevator groaned, moving up. “Thank god,” Fey breathed, sagging slightly against the railing.
“Now’s not the time to relax, Downcley. Get your weapons ready; we might need to fight to get out of here,” Jan said.
Fey almost scowled at him, until she had to admit he was right after all, she had just been making that same argument with Z. Grudgingly, she got into her fighting stance, readying herself as the elevator doors slowly opened.
“No one,” Jan said, sticking out a foot to prevent the door from closing, not daring to move the ID card. And with bated breath, Fey realized that he was right; no one was waiting for them. Fey stepped out, feeling the wind on her skin and the warmth from the humid day.
The elevator led to a cement platform, and if Fey squinted, she could see the main house that they were in not too long ago in the distance towards the north. “We need to get of here, fast.”
“No kidding,” said January, apparently trusting the elevator enough to remove the card from the sensor, though he still stood in the doorway. “Come on, Z.”
“Not just yet,” the mechanic muttered, Fey barely hearing him over the wind. “I know a way to make sure the elevator doesn’t go down again.”
Fey’s eyes widened as she realized what he was going to do. “Z, you could get caught in there!”
Either he didn’t hear her, or didn’t want to, because he remained crouched close to the wires, studying them. “Jan; give me a knife.”
Jan shot her a look, but Fey didn’t make a move to stop him. If Z knew what he was doing- well, Fey wouldn’t stop him. Reading her face, Jan turned to Z and silently passed him a knife. There was a brief silence where Z was presumably slitting the wires, then he appeared in the doorway, all smiles and pride. “We’re good, now come on, let’s-”
Before he could say anything more, the doors started to close, moving Jan’s body weight forward until it was his entire body wedged in the space that prevented the elevator doors from closing. “Fey,” the blond grunted, pushing against the doors. “Help.”
Fey didn’t hesitate, quickly striding over to one of the doors, shoving as hard as she could, until she had enough space to cross her body in the doorway, mirroring Jan’s technique of using himself to jam the doors. “Z. Climb over us, quick.”
The mechanic did as he was told, and Fey locked eyes with Jan. They would have to do this at the same time, otherwise they might be a chance of the doors closing in on one of them. “On 3?” she asked.
He nodded, and on the count of three, they both threw their weight towards where Z was standing, sending them tumbling as the doors shuddered shut. “We should go,” Jan said darkly, quickly picking himself up; “Screw stealth—just run.”
Fey stood up, nodding. “The building’s just over there, so the truck should be on the other side. Do we remember where it’s hidden?”
Z smirked. “How can we forget? We’re sure no one is hiding with a snipe?”
“If they are, we don’t stand a chance anyway,” Jan announced. “Just run.”
And they did, Fey’s legs protesting with each pump. She was pretty sure she was bleeding through her bandages, but she didn’t have any more with her, as her empty backpack across her back reminded her. And she wasn’t going to stop for herself and then make Z stop for her as well. They made their way, dirt specking Fey’s clothes, and—Celine would have her head—the fancy top that Celine herself made Fey wear.
“Why did we stop?” a breathless Z asked her, as they waited by the side of the destroyed house.
“Jan’s checking something out,” she whispered back.
“Never thought I’d see the day—you and January were almost working together today.”
“Key word being almost,” she muttered. It was true enough. January Kurata-Tormont and Fey Downcley formed some semblance of working together these last few hours, though Fey honestly didn’t know what to think anymore. Part of her almost trusted Jan, but as she wearily watched as the man made sure the coast was clear, she realized she hadn’t yet. Or maybe, she couldn’t. She didn’t forget what Jax had told her earlier.
There was a spy among them.
And that spy could be Jan.
“We’re clear,” he announced, his voice gritty. “Let’s go before someone finds us.”
Hand on her gun; she treaded forward, running towards where they hid the truck when she thought they were out of direct eyesight of the stronghold. Jan opened the driver’s seat, swinging himself in, but instead of taking her usual spot beside him, Fey sat in the backseat beside Z, an act that made Jan raise his eyebrows at her through the rear mirrors, though he didn’t say a word.
Refusing to meet his gaze, Fey turned to Z. “Are we going to deploy the bombs yet?”
“On it.” Z removed a remote from his bag, gingerly holding it. He pressed his eyes shut, waiting a moment before pressing the button. Fey turned in her seat, waiting and watching for the stronghold behind them to blow up.
Nothing happened.
“Z?” she asked, though he was already on it, examining the remote. “Why didn’t it-”
“I don’t know,” he said harshly, cutting her off. He pulled another one out of his pack. “This one was connected to the bombs in your pack,” he informed her, pressing the button.
There was a faint sound in the distance, and Fey saw a part of the house collapse. “What happened?” Jan asked.
“I put one of each in different ends of the house. One bomb from Fey’s pack and one from mine in the house, just to confirm that it would work, because we wouldn’t see what happened in the actual stronghold, seeing that it’s underground and all. Fey’s bombs
work. But mine didn’t.”
“Why didn’t they work?” January asked, his voice getting a little louder.
“I wired everything correctly. There was no chance of a mistake being made with the connections, or the bombs themselves,” Z defended himself, his voice rising in volume as well, a rare sight from Z. The mechanic was always so easy-going, but these bombs—they were his creation. “Only one room was wired with Fey’s bombs. The most important places were with mine,” he whispered.
Fey felt her eyes clench shut. That meant that the control room, that the stronghold—it wouldn’t go down. They failed.
Fey started to panic. “Then let’s at least set fire to the place. Maybe then-”
Jan cut Fey off, who was getting shriller by the second. “We can’t Downcley. They’re looking for us, and we have to go now.”
“But-”
“The entire mission will be compromised if you go back. Just, buckle up. We’re going to the palace, and then we’re sorting all this out.
There was silence in the car after that, unresolved tension and frustration in the air.
There was a spy. The bombs were compromised. Information was being leaked.
They were ruined.
Thirty-Two
THE MEETING ROOM, THE ROYAL PALACE, NNR | JUNE 20, 326 T.E. | 17:00
“THE explosives were tampered with,” Z announced, pushing himself up from his crouched position by the sack of Cerberuses that didn’t go off. “Somebody did something to them.”
They were all scattered around in the meeting room, the murals and sights for once not distracting Fey. It wasn’t distracting anyone tonight by the looks of it. January was leaning against the wall by the cabinets, Celine was propping her elbows on the table, Fey herself was cross-legged on her swivel chair, Z was standing solemnly by the equipment, and Jax and Areya were both seated like the palace groomed people they were. Everyone looked deathly serious.
They had just come back from their field mission, which didn’t fail completely, but didn’t go as planned for sure. They had set up Cerberuses so that the stronghold would blow, and no one would know of their identity. They had banked so much on this mission; their actual names, actual looks, actual allegiance and now too many rebels knew of their identity. Everything was going wrong, and now, they lost the little advantage they had.
“It was the spy,” Fey cried out, not able to contain herself. She was looking at Jax now, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a frown. “You can’t hide it anymore, Jax-”
“I’m not hiding anything, Downcley,” Jax calmly stated. “I was simply withholding information until I believed it was the right time for everyone to know.”
“Know what?” Jan asked, arms crossed and jaw set sullenly.
“We have a spy among us,” Fey stated, teeth gritted together. She knew Jax should have been the one to tell them. He was diplomatic and knew how to handle these situations. Meanwhile, Fey had just thrown down a package that was clearly labelled fragile, in the hopes that something—something—would catch on fire and burn. The place was supposed to blow. Fey was by no means a pyro-maniac, but she needed to see that stronghold up in flames. She needed to know that she was safe, that the mission they so tirelessly devoted themselves to, wasn’t jeopardized.
She wanted red hot flames to consume everything, as if that could make her guilt disappear, make that feeling of cold, heavy dread in her stomach go away.
“We have a spy among us,” Fey repeated, sighing, “And they were probably the ones to mess with the bombs.”
“And wipe our information,” Z muttered, running a hand through his tangled curls, sending the dark hair into more disarray. “And it has to be one of us?”
“Anybody with access to the files, and then the bombs,” Jax said quietly, looking down at his lap.
“And I lock up everything. So that means that it’s somebody in this room,” Z said, eyes melancholy.
“God,” Celine breathed, adjusting the bandana in her hair that pulled the golden locks back into a bun. “That’s sick.”
You’re right Celine. That’s sick. Somebody was sabotaging them, and it was somebody in the room. Fey automatically wrote off Jax; he was the one to put this together, so it made absolutely no sense for him to be the spy. So that left the rest of them.
Fey looked dartingly around, only to realize that the rest were doing the exact same. The room full of the same people that (relatively) trusted each other only a day ago, were now suspicious of each other and their motives. One piece of information managed to destroy the delicate relationship they all had tried to form over the last few months.
“Well what do we do?” Z asked, pulling up a chair that he unceremoniously slumped into. “It’s worthless to keep on going if everything is getting leaked.”
“It’s up to you to make that decision. So, I’m handing the baton to you all right now; whether The Strategists will disband, or if you all will stay.” Jax said, fiddling with the royal ring on his finger.
“We can’t honestly let this be the end of us,” Celine muttered, looking up at the three of them. “Giving up is exactly what they want.”
“But what is it worth?” January asked, voice flat.
“You know what?” Fey started, feeling that revolt flare up at January and his stultified words, “Celine is right. This is what they want, and even though almost everything we’ve worked for is lost, we can always try again. And January, you have been nothing but discouraging with this situation.”
The accused just raised his eyebrows sardonically, his arms crossed defensively, but also challengingly. “Really, Downcley?”
“Only one of us was away when the bombs set.”
“More the opportunity for you to have been the one, Downcley,” January responded coolly, and grudgingly Fey had to admit, he was right. But there was something in his gaze that made her doubt his innocence. Her story had gaping holes, but she was just so desperate.
“Enough, guys,” Z said, eyes almost as forlorn as the cracked edges of his voice. “Now we’re just pointing fingers at whoever is conveniently the closest. One thing we can agree on though; the bombs are linked to the spy.”
“So now we find who tampered with the bombs,” Areya concluded quietly.
Jax nodded, blue eyes wary. “I’ll let you all decide what you want to do about the future of The Strategists, but if we don’t have any evidence or confessions about our bomb tamperer, then we’ll need to investigate.”
“If I may, I’d like to suggest checking January out first.” The words slipped out of Fey’s mouth like liquid, flowing smoothly and without her knowledge.
“Excuse me?” January asked, a scowl fixing itself into his face.
“It makes sense. I didn’t see Z doing anything, and Z can testify that I didn’t do anything. You were the only one at the scene who wasn’t there. If you put 2 and 2 together-” Fey said, voice honey smooth, coating everything in a sticky mess, but apparently Jan had enough of it, because he interrupted her, voice gruff and scratchy.
“You come up with 5, apparently. You think that I was the one to do it?”
Fey felt her mouth drop at the subtle accusation. “Do you think it was me, then? Beca-”
“I tampered with the explosives!” Celine loudly said, and all brewing arguments immediately halted so everyone could look at her, who was now clenching her eyes shut. “I tampered with the explosives so they wouldn’t go off. So many people have already died for this, and I couldn’t bear to let any more unnecessary deaths happen on my watch.”
And she put their entire mission on the line in doing so. But hadn’t they established that whoever tampered with the bombs was the spy? Did that mean that Celine Hollingsworth was the-
Celine seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time, because her eyes flew open, and she looked around pleadingly. “But I am not the spy. Believe me, I would have kept my mouth quiet about the whole bomb thing if I knew that it would lead to me if I was actua
lly guilty.”
There was silence, and Fey felt that crushing feeling in her chest when she realized that now they crossed a line to a place that they could never leave. Because no matter what, Fey could never trust one of them the same way she almost did before- she couldn’t accept a word that Celine said.
“I feel so useless, because you could be telling the truth. But this might also be some reverse psychology bullshit,” Z said, teeth gritted, as his fingers tapped on the wall behind him. “This is agonizing. Can we please do something? Jan; you’re a walking lie detector. Can you-”
“No. Too many variables, too many chances for it to mess up. Besides, I’m being accused, so I doubt my word is worth much,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“We can’t do anything with this suspicion, Z. We need to know who’s doing this,” Fey said quietly.
“So then let’s. We apparently have files? —let’s use them if we can. Let’s at least get started,” Jax proposed, but January spoke up immediately, as if the king hadn’t said anything.
“What do you expect us to do, Downcley? Search each and every of us to see if we have incriminating evidence on us? What are you even looking for?”
“I don’t know, Kurata-Tormont, but I do think we can start with you. Out of everyone in this room, you least deserve trust.”
He scoffed disbelievingly, though there was a sarcastic smirk on his face. That was Fey’s first warning that a storm was brewing. “Did you forget everything that happened on this mission? The fact that I saved your life today, time after time?”
“But isn’t it suspicious,” Fey barreled on, drawing herself out of her chair, “That all of a sudden, out of the blue, January Kurata-Tormont actually appears to have a soul? Isn’t it suspicious that one second you’re playing fair, and the next you shoot someone unprovoked?”
This time, January was actually snarling, and, Fey realized with shock, he was suddenly right in front of her, drawing closer as she spoke. “Unprovoked is an understatement. Provoked to the extreme, maybe.”
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