Page 76 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

I meet her gaze. "I did. A long time ago."

"Um-huh," she simply replies and walks away.

For the better part of the week, Isla and I spend hours locked in the dim glow of the hideout's underground workspace, buried beneath layers of stone. It was once a natural cavern, but over time, we fortified it—wiring electricity from a stolen generator, hauling in salvaged desks, scattering mismatched chairs. The air is stale, thick with the scent of old dust and burnt-out monitors. It doesn't feel like a place where history shifts, but that's exactly what's happening.

Isla sits across from me, backlit by the glow of a monitor, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she works on decrypting the file she smuggled out. She doesn't speak much, only breaking the silence with a quiet hum or a sharp exhale when the code refuses to give way. The sound of keys clacking echoes in the space, rhythmic, methodical.

I try not to watch her too closely. But there's something about the way she moves, the way she leans in just slightly when she's deep in thought, the flicker of a smirk when she cracks another layer of encryption. It sets me on edge.

I don't want to acknowledge it, but I do.

Elara barely comes around. I don't blame her. She's busy keeping the rebellion from splintering, from collapsing under the weight of fear and doubt. But a part of me wonders if Isla is the reason she's keeping her distance.

I don't like that thought.

I shift my focus back to the data in front of me, scanning rows of decoded text. The more I read, the tighter my stomach knots.

Later, I find Elara near the main cavern, speaking in low tones with Cassian and Zara. She's tired—I can see it in the way she holds herself, the slight tension in her shoulders. But when she sees me, her posture shifts, as if bracing.

I hate that.

She excuses herself from the conversation, stepping closer. "What is it?"

I hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then I push the doubt away.

"We cracked part of the file," I say. "It's worse than we thought. They aren't just manipulating bonds. They're engineering them. Breeding compliance. They have a way of keeping us docile too. You remember how the uprisings are usually followed by a period of calm from everyone after the Council responds? It's because whenever they notice dissent starting up again, they release a chemical, either in the water or the air, we still don't know. This chemical makes everyone calm and more suggestive. Then they swoop in and crack down on the leaders. This way none of these uprisings ever devolves into a civil war. It's diabolically genius."

She looks away for a moment, processing. When she meets my gaze again, there's fire in her eyes. "I want to see the data myself."

I hesitate. I don't want her anywhere near Isla. Not because I think Isla is a threat, but because...

Because I don't like what Isla stirs in me.

I shove that thought down.

Later that night, I'm alone in the dim workspace, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The cavern is quieter now, the hum of conversation reduced to an occasional murmur in the distance. Most of the rebellion is resting, preparing for whatever comes next.

I should be doing the same.

Instead, my mind is tangled in knots. The decrypted files, the implications, the way Elara barely looked at me after I told her everything. I can feel her slipping away, and I don't know how to stop it.

CHAPTER 21

ELARA

The cave walls feel closer than usual, the air thicker, pressing down with the weight of too many voices, too many agendas clashing. The rebellion's war council gathers in the main cavern, a long, makeshift table cluttered with maps, notes, and crude sketches of the Council's compound. A cluster of lanterns casts shifting shadows, the dim light barely cutting through the tension.

"You're trusting her too much," Cassian says, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. "She could be feeding them information right now."

Across from him, Isla leans back in her chair, arms crossed, a slow smirk curving her lips. If Cassian was hoping for contrition, he's picked the wrong opponent.

"You're right," Isla says smoothly. "I could be feeding them information. I could also be sitting here, in this damp hellhole, risking my life to help you people bring the Council down. Which one do you think is more likely?"

Cassian's fingers twitch on the edge of the table. I can almost see him biting back a sharper retort.

"Enough," I say, though I doubt either of them is listening. "We have a summit in less than a week. The Council will be gathering its most powerful leaders in one place. We don't have the luxury of infighting."

Adrian exhales sharply, his arms folded across his chest. He hasn't spoken much since the meeting started, but I can feel the energy coming off him, restrained, seething.

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