Page 18 of Silver Elite

I stretched out an arm, trying to reach for the branch, but I was several feet too short. I lowered my arm and pouted, turning back to Jim. “What areyoucalled?”

He thought it over. “You can call me Uncle.”

“But you’re not.”

“In here I am.”

“But—”

“Enough, girl.”

“My name isn’t Girl.” I stubbornly stuck out my chin. “My name is—”

“No,” he interrupted. “It isn’t.” He knelt in front of me, grasping my chin when I tried to look away. “That name you think is yours, you need to forget it, do you understand? The little girl you used to be is dead. You are somebody new now.”

“But I don’t wanna be,” I whined, before getting distracted by a new arrival to the bird tree. “Look!” I pointed at one of the lower branches. “What is she called?”

Jim had squinted at the small, light-brown bird. “I believe that’s a wren.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

He lifted a brow. “You can claim it.”

I frowned, not understanding.

“You don’t like it when I call you girl, right?”

“It’s not my name,” I said mulishly.

“You’re right. Because your name is Wren.”

The frown deepened. “It is?”

“It is if you want.”

My nose wrinkled for a moment as I thought it over. “Are you still Uncle?”

“I am. I’m Uncle and you’re Wren.”

Fifteen years later, he’s still Uncle to me. He’s still my guardian and my protector, and I can’t do a damn thing to save him.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slide out from under the covers and get dressed. It’s time to go.

—

The citizens are thirsty for blood. I can feel it in the air—the current of excitement. And I hate them all for it.

I snuck out of the safe house at dawn. The network is probably already trying to track me down, but I know how to stay hidden. I grew up in the dark, after all. I’m a shadow. As I made my way to the west sector of Sanctum Point, where the Command base is located, I eluded every single street patrol and surveillance drone. Last thing I need today is to raise some soldier’s suspicions and get my thumb scanned, right when my ID has a big red flag on it again.

I’m going to rescue Jim.

I don’t know how I’m going to do it. But I do know I’m not going to let him die. I refuse to.

South Plaza is essentially a glorified courtyard. Reddish dirt floor surrounded by high walls made of stone. To enter, you pass through a pair of menacing iron gates guarded by soldiers from Tin Block, which, along with Copper, has the easiest training program and usually produces soldiers assigned to lower-level ward patrols or sentry duties. The ones guarding South Plaza today look younger than I am, but their only job is to search the citizens streaming through the gates for the morning spectacle.

Frustration tightens my body as I enter the plaza completely unarmed. I feel naked.

When I see the platform, a lump of dread fills my throat. My vision wavers for a moment. The wooden execution stage is about four feet off the ground, and a crowd is already gathered in front of it. I weave my way through the growing sea of people, throwing an elbow or two to position myself in the front row. There’s another set of electric gates behind the platform; beyond the black bars is nothing but darkness, but I know the doors open into the tunnel that leads to the bowels of the base.

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