There’s a bigger problem I can’t wrap my head around. Razor must know, on some level, that Anden isn’t a dictator like his father was. After all, Razor’s high enough of a rank to hear any rumors of Anden’s rebellious nature. He’d told Day and me that Congress disliked Anden . . . but he never told us why they were clashing.
Why would he want to murder a young Elector who would help the Patriots establish a new Republic?
In the midst of my churning thoughts, though, one stays clear.
I know for certain where my loyalties lie now. I won’t help Razor assassinate the Elector. But I have to warn Day, so he doesn’t follow through with the Patriots’ plans.
I need a signal.
Then I realize that there might be one way to do it, as long as he’s watching footage of me along with the rest of the Patriots. He won’t know why I’m doing it, but it’s better than nothing. I lower my head slightly, then lift my hand with Day’s paper clip ring on it and press two fingers against the side of my brow. Our agreed signal when we’d first arrived on the streets of Vegas.
Stop.
LATER THAT NIGHT, I HEAD OUT TO THE MAIN conference room and join the others to hear about the next phase of the mission. Razor’s back again. Four Patriots continue to work in a smaller cluster at one corner of the room, mostly Hackers from what I can tell, analyzing how speakers are mounted on some building or other. I’m starting to recognize a few of them—one of the Hackers is bald and built like a tank, if a bit short; another has a giant nose set between half-moon eyes on a very thin face; a third one is a girl missing an eye. Almost everyone has a scar of some sort. My attention wanders to Razor, who’s addressing the crowd at the front of the room, his figure outlined in light with all the world map screens behind him. I crane my neck to see if I can catch Tess milling around with the others, to take her aside and try to apologize. When I finally catch sight of her, though, she’s standing with a few other Medics in training, holding out some sort of green herb in her palm and patiently explaining how to use it. Or so I think. I decide to save my apology for later. It doesn’t seem like she needs me right now. The thought makes me sad and oddly uncomfortable.
“Day!” Tess finally notices me. I give her a quick wave in return.
She makes her way over to me, then pulls out two pills and a small roll of clean bandages from her pocket. She pushes them into my hands. “Stay safe tonight, okay?” she says breathlessly, fixing me with a firm stare. There’s no sign of the earlier tension between us. “I know how you get when your adrenaline’s pumping. Don’t do anything too crazy.” Tess nods at the blue pills in my hand. “They’ll warm you up if it’s too cold out there.”
Acts old enough to be my caretaker, I swear. Tess’s concern leaves a warm feeling in my stomach. “Thanks, cousin,” I reply, tucking her gifts away in my own pockets. “Hey, I—”
She stops my apology with a hand on my arm. Her eyes are as wide as ever, so comforting that I find myself wishing she could come with me. “Whatever. Just . . . promise me you’ll be careful.”
So quick to forgive, in spite of everything. Had she said those things to me earlier in the heat of the moment? Is she still angry? I lean over and give her a brief hug. “I promise. And you be safe too.” She squeezes my waist in response, then heads off to rejoin the other young Medics before I can attempt my apology again.
After she’s gone, I turn my attention back on Razor. He points to a grainy video that shows some street near the Lamar train tracks Kaede and I had passed earlier. A pair of soldiers hurry across the screen, their collars flipped up against the falling sleet, each of them munching on steaming empanadas. My mouth waters at the sight. The Patriots’ canned food is a luxury, but, man, what I wouldn’t give for a hot meat pastry. “First of all, I’d like to reassure everyone that our plans are on the right track,” he says. “Our Agent has successfully met with the Elector and told him about our decoy assassination plan.” He circles an area of the screen with his finger. “Originally the Elector had planned to visit San Angelo on his morale-boosting tour, then head here to Lamar. Now word is that he’ll be coming to Pierra instead. A few of our soldiers will be accompanying the Elector instead of his original troop.” Razor’s eyes sweep over me, then he gestures to the screen and falls silent.
A video replaces the grainy Lamar train track scene; we’re seeing footage of a bedroom. The first thing I notice is a slender figure seated on the edge of a bed, her knees tucked up to her chin. June? But the room is a nice one—certainly doesn’t look like a prison cell to me—and the bed looks soft and thickly layered with blankets I would’ve killed to have back in Lake.
Someone grabs my arm. “Hey. There you are, hotshot.” Pascao’s standing beside me, that permanently cheery grin plastered all over his face and those pale gray eyes pulsing with excitement.
“Hey,” I reply, giving him a quick nod in greeting before turning my attention back to the screen. Razor has started giving the group a general overview of the next phase of the plans, but Pascao tugs on my sleeve again.
“You, me, and a few other Runners are heading out in a couple of hours.” His eyes flicker to the video before settling back on me. “Listen up. Razor wanted me to give my crew a more specific rundown than the one he’s delivering to the group. I just briefed Baxter and Jordan.”
I’m barely paying attention to Pascao anymore because now I can tell that the small figure on the bed is June. It must be her, what with the way she pushes her hair behind her shoulders and analyzes the room with a sweeping gaze. She’s dressed in pretty cozy-looking nightclothes, but she’s shivering as if the room’s cold. Is this elegant bedchamber really her prison cell? Tess’s words come back to me.