Page 4 of Silver Elite

Then he begins to laugh.

“Nice try.” He brings his mouth close to my ear, and my pulse skitters. “If I let you up, do you promise to keep your hands and knees to yourself?”

“Doyou?” I spit out.

Still chuckling, he moves off me and goes to pick up my rifle. I stand, indignantly straightening my shirt as I watch him study the serial number. I take the opportunity to finally examine my surroundings, but there’s not much to see. The bedsheets are tousled, probably thanks to whatever he and his “companion” were doing earlier. I don’t know if I’m jealous of the girl or—with his charming personality—feel sorry for her.

There’s a comm on the night table, a black jacket draped over a red armchair under the window, and a pair of black boots near the door. That’s it. No other clues to shed light on who he is. I didn’t see him out in the square earlier celebrating with the others, which is odd. Why is he in Hamlett if not for Liberty Day? It’s rare for travelers to just be passing through. Everything west of Ward Z is underwater, and there aren’t any communities on the coast. Every time the Company tries to rebuild out there, another earthquake hits and destroys an entire town or village.

I glance back at him and try to read his mind, but he’s heavily shielded. Interesting. Most Primes don’t have shields, or if they do, they’re easily penetrable ones. Which means this man is either Modified, a soldier, or a civilian Prime who for some mysterious reason has mastered the skill of protecting his thoughts.

He holds my rifle in one capable hand but doesn’t train it on me. He simply stands there watching me with those dangerous blue eyes.

“Will you run the serial number through your comm already so you can confirm I’m not an assassin and I can move on with my life?”

“Or I can just kill you and move on withmylife,” the asshole says.

“Oh no, I’m so scared of you.” I plant both hands on my hips. “Do it. Shoot me. Either way, my torture ends.”

He tips his head, still eyeing me. “What’s your name?”

I’m startled when someone else answers that question.

“Wren?”

Or rather, someone is out in the hall hunting me down.

“Wren? You still here?”

I hear the soldier’s footsteps pass the door, growing fainter as he walks around the corner.

My stranger taunts me. “Better go now,Wren.Might be able to make it to the front door before your boyfriend catches you.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, and I’m not going anywhere without my rifle.”

After a beat, he flips the rifle by the barrel and hands it to me butt-first.

I shove the strap over my shoulder and march to the door. “Nice meeting you, asshole,” I mutter without looking back.

His chuckle tickles my shoulder blades.

I take advantage of the empty corridor, racing down the stairs to the main floor. No sooner do I reach the exit than I hear my name again.

“Wren, wait.”

I swallow a groan. The soldier is halfway down the staircase.

“You promised you weren’t going to run off on me,” he says on his approach. Disappointment flickers in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I release an exaggerated sigh and construct a suitable lie. “I’m just not good with goodbyes.”

His features soften.

“And anyway, I really do need to go. One of our fences came down during a storm the other night, and my uncle will kill me if I’m not up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to mend it.”

“I have to see you again. Maybe I’ll try to get leave next month?”

“You know where to find me,” I say lightly, because chances are he won’t get leave again for a long while. By then he’ll have forgotten all about me.

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