Page 128 of Silver Elite

Be right here anyway, I realize. Or end up in hiding. Maybe start my own Faithful camp somewhere in the mountains.

“Atten-tion!”

Everyone snaps to attention at Hadley’s command, and the sound of footsteps on pavement has me glancing over my shoulder.

My heart freezes in my chest.

Jayde Valence.

She’s striding toward us with purpose in her step. Her white-blond hair is tied in its usual low knot, her features pinched as always. The bloodmark on her cheek feels like a personal attack on me.

I’m on guard immediately. If she’s here for me, I need to be ready to decoy my mind at a second’s notice.

She moves with an aura of authority. There’s something larger than life about her. Something terrifying. She’s been marked by nature, but she’s a formidable figure even without the red circle on her face.

I wonder how many abilities she has. Three? Four? Uncle Jim told me only the most powerful Mods bear a mark, and that he’d never known a marked Mod to possess any less than three abilities. I have four myself. That I know of, anyway. Perhaps there’s a fifth or sixth or seventh lying dormant inside me, waiting to be unleashed at the most inconvenient of times. But another one would’ve manifested by now. I think. I hope.

Jayde comes to stand between Ford and Hadley, facing the recruits. A hush falls over the group as her piercing gaze bores into us with unwavering intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

She’s totally here for me.

She has to be.

I stand ramrod-straight, stoic on the outside, a hysterical mess on the inside. I inhale to regulate my unsteady heartbeat while I wait for her to say my name.

“You,” she snaps.

The breath I’m exhaling stutters in my throat.

She’s speaking to one of my fellows.

I don’t know him. He’s a member of Red Cell, a baby-faced guy named Peter with whom I’ve exchanged a total of zero words in five weeks.

“What’s his name?” She addresses Hadley rather than Peter.

“Peter Berghman. Recruit 31—”

Jayde cuts him off with a wave of her hand. Returning her attention to Peter, she beckons him forward.

The kid steps out from the crowd, his eyes wide with apprehension. He’s barely out of his teens, with a mop of unruly hair and a nervous twitch to his movements.

“Berghman. You’re going to get six soldiers killed,” she says bluntly.

A frown puckers my brow. I hear a few confused murmurs go through the group.

“W-hat?” he stammers.

“Eight months from now, you’re going to make a grave error. Your actions will lead to the deaths of six Silver Block soldiers.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “I would never—”

“It’s not a matter of intention. It’s a matter of fact.”

Peter’s face pales, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he struggles to comprehend her words.

“But…” Finally, he finds his voice. “I don’t understand. I would never do anything to harm my fellows.”

“I’ve seen the outcome.” Her tone invites no argument. “Your actions are irreversible.”

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