Page 17 of Silver Elite

My shoulders stiffen. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means he’s not. It means he’s been living in hiding for fifteen years. He was compromised years ago. How could he ever be an asset when enough Primes are still alive to remember his face? We can’t use him for any significant operations.”

“That’s not true.” My protest sounds weak to my ears. Because it is weak. Nothing Declan said is incorrect. But…

He’s my uncle, damn it.

“He’s still a Mod,” I insist. “We rescue our people.”

“The people on top have been conferring about this all day,” says Faye. “If there was a way to save him, they’d do it. But it’s too dangerous.”

“What’s the point of this network if not to take on high-risk missions to save Mods? Get that hotshot pilot of yours to bomb the shit out of something and create a distraction while we rescue Jim.”

“And take out how many civilians in the process?” counters Declan. “In any case, we don’t have the bombers to spare, and Grayson Blake is too important to our cause to jeopardize. Nobody on top is going to allow Blake to fly over the Command base in the goddamn morning and expose himself like that.”

“Then what the hell is he good for?” I mutter. I’ve been hearing about the dastardly feats of this ace pilot for almost two years now.

Faye offers a sympathetic look, but neither she nor Declan wavers in their conviction that Jim is wholly expendable.

“Julian Ash is not our objective,” Declan says. “You are. Your village and ward are now crawling with soldiers. You’re lucky Griff got you out when he did. Our only job is to install you in a safe house and keep you hidden until we’re able to procure a new identity for you.” He makes a sound of disapproval. “Would’ve been an easier task if you’d agreed to be housed in the wards instead of insisting on the Point, but—”

“I didn’t come here for a safe house. I came here to rescue my uncle.”

Declan doesn’t budge. “Julian Ash is beyond rescue. Focus on protecting yourself.”

Frustration squeezes my chest. Why aren’t these people more concerned about Jim? When did we become dispensable to our leaders?

I throw out a desperate link to Tana.

“Jim’s been scheduled for execution tomorrow and the network refuses to rescue him.”

“I know. Polly just told me.”There’s a pause.“Wren…whatever you’re thinking…”

“I don’t even know what I’m thinking.”

I don’t. I don’t have a plan. All I know is that I’m in the most dangerous place on the Continent, without a weapon, with my ID flagged and my uncle about to be shot to death.

My mind races over my options. The Command’s firing squad operates in the South Plaza, an open-access area directly on the base. Executions are always held in public, and all citizens are encouraged to attend. Most of them enjoy it. Which isn’t as sick as you’d think, because according to my old textbooks, our ancestors relished violence and gore, too. Turning death into a spectacle.

I suppose having access to the execution site aids my cause. I could sneak through the crowd unnoticed, get close enough to the platform, and…and then what? What exactly am I to do? Single-handedly face down a firing squad? And then, after magically avoiding death by eight assault rifles, I free Uncle Jim and just…waltz off the military base?

That’s not a viable plan. I need to come up with something a little less…suicidal.

And I only have about, oh, twelve hours to figure it out.

Chapter 4

Hours later, I lie on the single bed in the safe house, staring at the ceiling and wishing I could speak to Jim. I’m desperate for his guidance.Hewould know exactly what to do in this situation. He’d know how to save me if the roles were reversed, the same way he saved me fifteen years ago.

I roll onto my side and curl my knees to my chest, biting my lip to stop from crying. I think about the first week I spent with Julian Ash. How rude he was. How intimidating. How often he’d scold me for one sin or another, like if I ventured too close to the purple hemlock bush on the edge of our clearing.Girl,he’d always bark.Stay away from those plants.One of the first things he did when we made camp was march me over to various hybrid plants and explain which ones could kill me and how. In other words:Don’t get too fucking close.

By the end of that week, he was growing on me. Don’t get me wrong, he still unnerved me. His strict commands and complete lack of tenderness were daunting. But he no longer scared me. I felt safe with him.

I used to be so fascinated by all the birds that visited our clearing. There was one morning when I saw three of them in my favorite tree,sitting placidly on a gnarled branch. One, two, three, all in a row. They peered right at me. Unbothered by my presence. Curious, even.

“What are they called?” I’d asked Jim.

He studied their markings and said, “Bluebirds.”

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