by Dylan Steel
Her nose twitched. She pursed her lips, turning back to the stage. “I know exactly what I can and can’t do.” Her fingers moved over her bracelet, tracing a habitual path.
Weston looked like he wanted to say something else, but at that moment, the headmaster stepped out on stage and cleared his throat.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, devoted citizens of Eprah. It is my absolute pleasure to have you here to observe the spectacular talent we have this year at the Institution.
“As you are aware, I am Headmaster Alexander, and these wonderful students behind me are our competitors in this year’s Bokja Tournament…”
It was almost impressive how quickly Sage was able to tune out the rote speech. But once the tournament started, her attention was glued to the mats.
One after another, she watched as students attacked their adversaries mercilessly. Having fought many of the older students and trained many of the younger ones, Sage found she was able to guess the match winners nearly every time. She even started whispering predictions to Weston before the tone sounded to signal the start of each round.
He leaned in over her shoulder. “And who’s the sure thing this round?”
Sage’s eyes narrowed as she studied the faces onstage. A smile spread over her face when she recognized two of the students she’d trained. She tilted her head toward a young pair of fighters on the far right. “Those Level Eights. I’ve seen Alira and Craig fight before in class. Alira’s a natural. She’ll win.”
Weston shot her a curious look, then turned back to the stage. “I guess we’ll see if anything’s changed in your absence.”
The tone sounded, and Sage leaned forward, eager to see if she was right again.
Predictably, Craig lunged, attacking first. Or trying, at least. Alira stepped under his arm and gave him a nudge, making use of his momentum. He managed to catch himself just in time before going out of bounds, but Alira was ready the instant he turned around.
Craig was angry—whether at himself for the rocky start or Alira for besting him so early, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t thinking clearly. That much was obvious when he lunged forward, using the same attack again, perhaps hoping the unusual strategy of too much predictability would surprise his opponent.
It didn’t.
Instead of ducking this time, Alira redirected his arm, holding tight and twisting as she fell on one knee to the ground. Craig flipped over her body, and she had him pinned and tapping less than two seconds later.
Pride surged in Sage’s chest. She’d taught Alira that move, and she’d clearly been practicing.
If only it would make a difference for her once she was out of the Institution. Sage’s expression darkened. Winning a fight was easier than surviving in Eprah’s System of Worth.
“It seems I would’ve done well to place some bets this year,” Weston said in a low voice in Sage’s ear, almost making her jump in her seat. She hadn’t realized how close he was. “Perhaps next year I’ll ask for your help.”
Sage stiffened. “Next year, my insights will be outdated.” For some reason, she felt an odd sense of guilt agreeing to help him when she had every intention of leaving well before then.
“You’d be surprised how little people change over the years,” he mused, draping an arm over the back of her chair.
“That hasn’t been my experience,” she said, trying to keep her tone even.
Weston’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.
She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it seemed a new tension had settled across their balcony with those words. The light banter and predictions of winners stopped abruptly, leaving the two of them to finish watching the tournament in an awkward shared silence.
When the headmaster declared a Level Sixteen boy the winner of this year’s Bokja Tournament, Sage let out a breath of relief. It was over. They’d be heading back to the estate soon. After the bombing, Sage knew Weston wouldn’t want to stay in Eprah overnight no matter how much business he felt he needed to attend to. Tournament attendance was mandatory for all citizens, even benefactors, but that didn’t mean he wanted to make any more predictable movements. There was a degree of safety in doing the unknown and unexpected, he’d said.
Apparently, that translated to sticking around in the Grand Hall for as long as possible.
Sage cast another glance in his direction, but he remained unmoving, observing the stage as workers began tearing down what remained of the tournament. She sighed and poked her head over the balcony, watching as people drained from the room beneath them. Her benefactor wasn’t in a hurry to leave. And for some reason, she didn’t think he wanted to be disturbed, so she kept her mouth shut.
Once the last person had disappeared under their balcony, Sage leaned back, shooting another glance at Weston. After another few minutes of silence, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Still planning on leaving today, or…?” she blurted out.
His gaze slid to her casually. “What’s wrong? Are these accommodations not up to the high standards of your room or the hospitality suite?”
Her brows pinched together. “You can’t be serious.”
“Of course not.” A secret lay behind his lips as they ticked up in a smile. “I’m just trying to stick to a strict schedule.”
“Schedule for what?” she asked.
He stood, ignoring the question. “Time to go.”
Her eyes narrowed in frustration as she followed him beyond the balcony curtains. Another unexplained hint of his life, his secrets. He was constantly doing that, and it was infuriating.
As soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Weston grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
“Wait here. I need to have a word with someone before we leave.”
“How do you know they’re even still here?” Sage started to ask—then finished the end of her question under her breath as he walked away.
Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, allowing her leg to rest while she waited for her benefactor to return.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“Nic,” she breathed in a startled tone as she twisted around. “I didn’t see you th—”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Sorry.” She wrinkled her nose apologetically. “Wes—Mr. Bennick didn’t want to leave right away.”
“You call him Weston?”
“It’s what he prefers,” Sage replied evenly. It was none of his business, and he was one of the last people she felt the need to justify her actions to.
“You care what he prefers?” he asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice.
She looked at him in disbelief. “I care about staying alive,” she retorted.
“I just…” Irritation flashed as a fiery gold behind Nic’s eyes. “I want you to stay alive too. I really do. I mean it.”
“Glad we agree,” she said dully.
His expression twisted in pain. “One day when you’re free from him, I’ll find you. I promise.”
“Nic, I don’t think—”
He grabbed her hand, gathering it in both of his as he leaned closer. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“I still care,” he whispered in her ear, holding tight. “Never doubt that.”
Giving one last squeeze, he walked away before she could say anything else.
She could barely breathe as she drew her hand back, pressing it to her stomach to stop it from shaking.
Her fingers curled around the edges of the bracelet hidden in her hand. Nic had done it. He’d gotten ahold of a counterfeit bracelet.
Regaining her senses, Sage shoved her hand in her pocket, hiding the bracelet inside the thick folds of fabric. It was fortunate she’d worn a heavy coat to the tournament. Nothing else would’ve hidden the contraband so well.
The bracelet weighed down the side of her coat more than she would’ve thought possible. Her pulse drummed in her ears, and she had to remind herself that no one had any way of knowing what
she was carrying.
Biting the inside of her lip, Sage glanced around furtively, making sure no one had seen the exchange. She tried to calm herself, but a sudden, desperate idea sent her heart racing again.
If the Coordinators hadn’t finished packing everything up backstage, there was a possibility she could lift one of the tech eggs. Even if there was the slimmest chance it was within her tether’s range, she should take it. She might not get another opportunity this good for a long time—maybe another year.
Casting one last glance around to be sure no one was watching, she took a step forward, her breathing quickening. Then, her stomach plummeted. Weston had just turned the corner and come back into view. He was returning, and he’d told her to stay put. So much for the immediate exit strategy.
She choked back her disappointment. It was probably for the best. Trying to escape the city gates and her benefactor at the same time was just the sort of plan with unprepared and disaster written all over it. With the way her luck had been going lately, she’d probably wind up running into an officer or Dutch and his gents before she got halfway to the gates—and that was if Weston didn’t track her down first.
He wasn’t exactly vindictive, but then, he’d never really come close to losing her before—not even when she’d tried to run from his estate. She’d been caught before she’d gotten too far, and no one outside his estate even knew she’d tried to run. If she bolted in public and where he couldn’t track her, he might show her just how angry he could get if he caught her. She needed to be careful. Smart.
Weston beckoned her forward. They were finally leaving.
“You had your word?” She placed her hand over the arm he’d extended to her, glad she’d put the bracelet in the pocket on the opposite side so he wouldn’t feel it.
“I did.”
“And now?”
“Now we go home.”
Sage clenched her teeth. Not her home.
Despite his insistence that it was, it would never be her home.
21. ELECTRICITY
“It would be best if you made yourself scarce today.” Weston set his fork down on his plate and picked up a glass filled with orange liquid.
“Why’s that?” Sage asked around the toast in her mouth, swallowing painfully.
He scrubbed the bottom of his chin with the back of two fingers. “I’m having guests. Benefactors—and Mr. Gaztok, so technically a member of the Quorum. He’s the only one young enough to be willing to travel to the estate. We’re going to discuss the state of the Quorum and Eprah in light of Nicholas Pruitt’s current condition and the recent increased boldness of the Lawless attacks.” His eyes darkened at that last statement.
“But the bombing wasn’t a Lawless attack.” She looked at him in confusion. “They know that.”
“Some of them do—not all. I’ve invited several benefactors to join me here today, and I’m hoping their reactions will help me uncover which of them might have aligned themselves with Mr. Gaztok and Mr. Grayson.”
She nodded in understanding. “I’ll do what I can to avoid them.”
“See that you do. I have no desire for Edward to get a closer look at you than he’s already had.” Weston’s expression clouded. “I believe he’s set his sights on you. And if I were no longer standing in the way…”
“But you are.” Sage set her hand on his arm, drawing a look of surprise from her benefactor as his eyes dropped to her touch. She forced herself to leave her hand there a moment longer before resuming her breakfast. This was how she’d earn his trust—how she’d escape. Her motivation was stronger than ever, and she couldn’t afford any more slip-ups. It was time to act. “I’ll be fine,” she added.
A curious expression flitted over his face for a moment before he returned to his typical, more serious self. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“Stay out of sight.”
***
Clutching her databook to her chest, Sage held her breath as she inched down the hallway slowly, silently. The estate’s guests had made their way outside with Weston, presumably taking a leisurely walk around the grounds before getting down to more serious business. Hopefully the snow that had just begun to fall wouldn’t deter them from taking their time.
It was time for her to test exactly how good a tech she was. She just hoped she hadn’t been out of practice for too long.
One way or another, she was going to break into Weston’s office and get into the drawer that held the tech egg she’d stolen from Boulder.
And it was going to happen today.
Soon, Weston would decide her leg had healed enough to shorten her tether once more, and she’d be forced to stay at his side. If she had any chance of succeeding, she had to take the risk before it became impossible.
She’d thought of little else in the days after the tournament. Every moment she’d been alone she’d been working on modifying the databook to be able to hack into her benefactor’s palm print locks. She’d even managed to create a program that would copy his prints without him realizing what she’d really done. Of course, when she’d handed him her databook the other day, he thought he’d just been humoring her by playing a simple game she’d programmed, but nothing could be further from the truth.
In fact, today was probably better than most. Ever the strategist, Weston Bennick was in the middle of a meeting with several benefactors. She doubted he’d shared the full scope of his true intentions with her over breakfast, but nothing he did was ever anything short of deliberate and calculating. Frankly, she was grateful she wasn’t the one being secretly tested under the guise of a friendly extended hand.
And now they were walking the grounds, paying no attention to his absent pair. It was almost too convenient.
As far as actually running, the safest bet would be to wait for nightfall. Once she had a way to remove the bracelet, she could swap it out right away—keeping her safe until she had the opportunity to slip out unnoticed. She’d ditch the real bracelet, grab some supplies and a horse, and head straight in the direction she expected to find the Rogues. Of course, Weston would probably be able to track the horse, so she couldn’t ride it all the way, but it’d help her get a good start. And if she kept the tech egg, she might have something to bargain with once she found the Rogues.
The plan wasn’t completely without its flaws, but it should be sufficient to get her to freedom—away from all the danger that her benefactor brought on her.
Besides, the risk was worth it. If she succeeded, she wouldn’t have to answer to anyone but herself ever again.
The office door wasn’t a problem. It was already unlocked. That fact might have set off a warning in her mind, but Weston never seemed to care much about the exterior access of his rooms, so it didn’t bother her in the slightest. Her benefactor had always seemed far more concerned with the security of his individual treasures inside the office.
Quietly shutting the door behind her, Sage wasted no time making her way over to the desk. Setting the databook down, she allowed her fingers to fly over the screen, pulling up the special script she’d written. Her heart pounded in her chest. She bit her lip as a digital model of Weston’s palm print hovered over her screen. Angling the databook beneath the desk, she lined up the virtual palm over the scanner. She pressed her hand beneath the image for only a moment, her touch activating the reader. As soon as it sprang to life, she removed her hand quickly so the scanner would read Mr. Bennick’s prints instead of hers.
She couldn’t breathe in the infinite length of the seconds that passed. Then, a soft click sounded, and oxygen rushed back into her lungs.
Sage threw open the drawer, all too eager to reclaim the freedom that was rightfully hers.
The bag was still near the top of the drawer. Yanking it free, she shoved her hands inside, widening the opening, then turned it upside-down, dumping its contents out on the desk.
Her hands sifted through a mess of possessions she’d nearly forgotten about: Clothes that were nowhe
re near as expensive as the ones she’d been wearing at the estate. Remnants of medical supplies that weren’t as important as the ones that had been used. Meal bars she hadn’t had to force down in months, probably even more brick-like now than they’d been before…
Pawing through fabric and foil, Sage felt a panic rising in her chest. Where was the tech egg? It had been in the bag—even Weston had said as much. It had to be there.
But she couldn’t find it.
She was still looking hard, so consumed with desperation to find her promised way out that she didn’t hear the office door open.
“Well, now, this isn’t what I’d expected to find in here.” Weston’s cool voice slid across the room, freezing her where she stood.
Sage turned to him with fear in her eyes. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
His face fell as he looked from her to the desk. “I very much doubt that,” he said quietly.
The blood drained from her head, making her dizzy as she fought to stay standing. He knew exactly what she’d done, and she had no idea how to talk her way out of his bad graces this time.
“What do we have here?” Grayson stepped out from behind Weston, his lips curling into an unattractive smile as he flashed a predatory look at Sage. “Given how frightened your pet looks, I’d say she’s doing something she’s not supposed to.” His hand moved to his bracelet. “Does your pair need a lesson taught to her, Mr. Bennick? I wonder what the others will think of her insubordination…”
Weston’s hand shot out, grabbing Edward’s wrist before he could strip Sage’s Chances.
“You would deny me the right to discipline my own pair, Mr. Grayson? My business with her is not yours or anyone else’s,” he said in a low voice, one laced with a warning.
He released Grayson’s hand but did not lower his glare. Neither of them moved.
Sage’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two men. Veiled hatred oozed from both of them as they stared at one another unyieldingly. She barely dared to breathe, afraid to draw either of their attention or wrath.