Fact 3: This morning, every remaining tracker in the city except Melkin was sent out on a mission.
I’ve never heard of so many trackers being given missions at once. I can only assume they’ve been tasked to cover all four corners of the Wasteland in the search for Jared, even while Rachel and I look for the package. I don’t like the fact that Melkin wasn’t included in the mass send-off this morning. Either he’s going to be part of our mission, or the Commander has a double-cross up his sleeve.
Let him try it. He isn’t the only one who knows how to think three steps ahead.
I leave the house and a rail-thin boy with hungry eyes detaches from the surrounding shadows and approaches me. I’m guessing this is Anthony Ruiz, messenger boy.
“Logan McEntire?” He waits well out of sword range for my reply.
“Yes.”
Someone bangs a door further down the street, and the boy tenses like he’s ready to run. “Roderigo Angeles is looking for you. His wife needs you to return to Madam Illiard’s shop in North Hub immediately.”
Rachel. She snuck out again. And she’s been caught. The image of my mother’s body wavers and reforms into Rachel lying broken and bloody at the Commander’s feet.
The boy says something else, but I can’t hear anything beyond the pulse roaring in my ears. I toss him a coin for his trouble and hurry toward the main street, fear driving my steps.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LOGAN
She hasn’t snuck out. Instead, she’s huddled on the floor, pressed against the back wall of Madam Illiard’s stock room.
I can’t process this Rachel. I’ve never seen her like this.
Sylph is sitting near Rachel, watching her and crying. I ignore Mrs. Angeles and Madam Illiard in favor of heading straight for the girls. Sylph looks up and stands so I can take her place.
I crouch on the floor beside Rachel. She looks into my eyes, and there’s nothing but glassy shock in hers. My heart sinks. “Rachel? What’s wrong?”
She begins rocking as if she needs that simple rhythm to keep herself anchored.
“Can you tell me?” I ask, my mind racing. Maybe something happened to Jared, and my contacts hadn’t heard of it. Maybe she’s realized the magnitude of what it means to leave Baalboden forever, though I doubt that would cause this state of shock. Maybe a man hurt her. I don’t know how, since she’s been in the Angeleses’ care the entire time, but I have to acknowledge the possibility.
If that’s the case, I’m going to hunt down the perpetrator and kill him. In the most inhumane method I can possibly devise. And then I’ll invent something I can use to reanimate him and kill him all over again.
Her lips tremble, and she clamps both hands across her mouth.
“Rachel?” I ask, but she isn’t listening.
Mrs. Angeles approaches me. “The Commander showed up while Rachel and Sylph were in the fitting room. He took Rachel.”
Panic erases all rational thought from my head. “Where did he take her?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm for Rachel’s sake, though I hear the edge beneath it.
“We don’t know.”
“How long was she gone?”
“Over an hour. When she returned, she was like this.”
Fierce anger surges through me. I can’t speak or I might release it on those who don’t deserve it. Instead, I turn back to Rachel. I’m in over my head here. I can’t fix this. Can’t understand where to begin making it right if I don’t have all the information. And she can’t bear to tell me. She might tell Oliver, but he’s already in the Wasteland.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper so no one else can hear me. “You can talk about it with Oliver soon. He can help.”
She rocks faster, banging her head against the wall behind her. I lunge for her, wrap my arms around her, and pull her against me. Pressing my mouth against her ear, I whisper promises I don’t know how to keep. She quiets into an unnatural stillness that scares me more than the rocking did.
“He left this for her when he dropped her off,” Mrs. Angeles says, and hands me a parcel wrapped with blue ribbon.
I accept the parcel and help Rachel to her feet.
“She hasn’t spoken since she returned,” Sylph says.
I meet her tear-filled eyes and make another promise I don’t know if I can keep. “I’ll get her to speak to me. She just needs to go home now.”
Tightening my arm around Rachel, I guide her from the shop and into weak afternoon sunlight shining through a haze of mist that makes visibility sketchy after twenty yards or so.
I almost hope someone tries attacking us. The rage within me begs for a target.
The fact that the real target is the most well-protected man in the city makes no difference to me. He’s mine now. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but before my life is over, I’ll end his.
“I’m taking you home,” I say to her, though I don’t expect a response. “Will it be too difficult to walk?”
She doesn’t respond to that, either, so I watch her gait carefully. If she’s been violated, she’ll have trouble walking.
If she’s been violated … I can’t bear to think of it.
She walks with wooden steps, her eyes on the ground. Despite the evidence that physically she can handle the journey, I can’t bear to put her through it. Instead, I decide to use what little coin I still have on me to purchase a wagon ride home.
I’ve never heard of so many trackers being given missions at once. I can only assume they’ve been tasked to cover all four corners of the Wasteland in the search for Jared, even while Rachel and I look for the package. I don’t like the fact that Melkin wasn’t included in the mass send-off this morning. Either he’s going to be part of our mission, or the Commander has a double-cross up his sleeve.
Let him try it. He isn’t the only one who knows how to think three steps ahead.
I leave the house and a rail-thin boy with hungry eyes detaches from the surrounding shadows and approaches me. I’m guessing this is Anthony Ruiz, messenger boy.
“Logan McEntire?” He waits well out of sword range for my reply.
“Yes.”
Someone bangs a door further down the street, and the boy tenses like he’s ready to run. “Roderigo Angeles is looking for you. His wife needs you to return to Madam Illiard’s shop in North Hub immediately.”
Rachel. She snuck out again. And she’s been caught. The image of my mother’s body wavers and reforms into Rachel lying broken and bloody at the Commander’s feet.
The boy says something else, but I can’t hear anything beyond the pulse roaring in my ears. I toss him a coin for his trouble and hurry toward the main street, fear driving my steps.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LOGAN
She hasn’t snuck out. Instead, she’s huddled on the floor, pressed against the back wall of Madam Illiard’s stock room.
I can’t process this Rachel. I’ve never seen her like this.
Sylph is sitting near Rachel, watching her and crying. I ignore Mrs. Angeles and Madam Illiard in favor of heading straight for the girls. Sylph looks up and stands so I can take her place.
I crouch on the floor beside Rachel. She looks into my eyes, and there’s nothing but glassy shock in hers. My heart sinks. “Rachel? What’s wrong?”
She begins rocking as if she needs that simple rhythm to keep herself anchored.
“Can you tell me?” I ask, my mind racing. Maybe something happened to Jared, and my contacts hadn’t heard of it. Maybe she’s realized the magnitude of what it means to leave Baalboden forever, though I doubt that would cause this state of shock. Maybe a man hurt her. I don’t know how, since she’s been in the Angeleses’ care the entire time, but I have to acknowledge the possibility.
If that’s the case, I’m going to hunt down the perpetrator and kill him. In the most inhumane method I can possibly devise. And then I’ll invent something I can use to reanimate him and kill him all over again.
Her lips tremble, and she clamps both hands across her mouth.
“Rachel?” I ask, but she isn’t listening.
Mrs. Angeles approaches me. “The Commander showed up while Rachel and Sylph were in the fitting room. He took Rachel.”
Panic erases all rational thought from my head. “Where did he take her?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm for Rachel’s sake, though I hear the edge beneath it.
“We don’t know.”
“How long was she gone?”
“Over an hour. When she returned, she was like this.”
Fierce anger surges through me. I can’t speak or I might release it on those who don’t deserve it. Instead, I turn back to Rachel. I’m in over my head here. I can’t fix this. Can’t understand where to begin making it right if I don’t have all the information. And she can’t bear to tell me. She might tell Oliver, but he’s already in the Wasteland.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper so no one else can hear me. “You can talk about it with Oliver soon. He can help.”
She rocks faster, banging her head against the wall behind her. I lunge for her, wrap my arms around her, and pull her against me. Pressing my mouth against her ear, I whisper promises I don’t know how to keep. She quiets into an unnatural stillness that scares me more than the rocking did.
“He left this for her when he dropped her off,” Mrs. Angeles says, and hands me a parcel wrapped with blue ribbon.
I accept the parcel and help Rachel to her feet.
“She hasn’t spoken since she returned,” Sylph says.
I meet her tear-filled eyes and make another promise I don’t know if I can keep. “I’ll get her to speak to me. She just needs to go home now.”
Tightening my arm around Rachel, I guide her from the shop and into weak afternoon sunlight shining through a haze of mist that makes visibility sketchy after twenty yards or so.
I almost hope someone tries attacking us. The rage within me begs for a target.
The fact that the real target is the most well-protected man in the city makes no difference to me. He’s mine now. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but before my life is over, I’ll end his.
“I’m taking you home,” I say to her, though I don’t expect a response. “Will it be too difficult to walk?”
She doesn’t respond to that, either, so I watch her gait carefully. If she’s been violated, she’ll have trouble walking.
If she’s been violated … I can’t bear to think of it.
She walks with wooden steps, her eyes on the ground. Despite the evidence that physically she can handle the journey, I can’t bear to put her through it. Instead, I decide to use what little coin I still have on me to purchase a wagon ride home.
