Page 199 of Silver Elite

“Joking. That won’t accomplish anything.”

“It won’t?”

“A dead General doesn’t dismantle the system. If you want to enact change, you need to do more than just take out the leader. You need to deprogram the minds. Root out the ideology.”

I wonder if she recognizes the irony. If she realizes she’s repeating the same things General Redden says during his broadcasts. Ideas are weeds. Don’t let them spread. Although I suppose Adrienne’s take has a slight variation. She doesn’t want to simply pull the weeds. She wants to plant something new in their place. I suppose I can admire that.

“We’re here,” Cross says.

“I have to go. I’ll report afterward.”

The General’s house is not what I expect. You hearmansionandestateand envision turrets and gables and beautiful gardens. But not this house. The sleek mansion looms like a monolithic fortress, all sharp angles and sterile lines. The exterior is a sea of glass and concrete. It doesn’t feel at all warm, just cold and hostile.

I give Cross a wary look. “This is where you grew up?”

He nods.

It’s a far cry from my ranch house, and I feel a pang of sympathy for him. I knew the General was an austere man, but this is a mausoleum.

We walk inside, where I continue to be struck by the oppressive atmosphere. The ceilings are higher than you’d think from the outside, but that’s the only redeeming feature about this place.

Cross leads me into a living room. It’s a massive space, but thefurnishings are sparse and minimalist. No plush couches or cozy armchairs. No soft rugs or knit throws. Instead, everything feels impersonal. Even the art on the walls is cold and detached. Muted colors and shapes that offer zero insight into the personality or tastes of the house’s inhabitants.

I expect staff to come out and greet us. This is the General of the Continent, after all. He should be living a life of luxury, waited on hand and foot, yet the house is as silent as the mausoleum it resembles.

“Is nobody else here? Housekeeper? Butler?”

Cross shakes his head. “The General doesn’t allow anyone to freely roam the house. Staff is allowed in only when his guards are here to supervise.”

“Sounds like a prison.”

“It is,” he says simply. “If you don’t mind waiting here…” His forehead creases with reluctance, as if this is the last thing he wants to be doing right now. “I need to go up to see her.”

“Sure.”

Leaving me alone is a huge sign of trust.

Or so I think.

Once he disappears up a staircase with a metal-and-glass railing, it doesn’t take long to realize there’s nothing to be gleaned from this place. No true intel to be gained. The kitchen looks as if no one’s ever cooked a meal in there. It’s utterly pristine, the counters bare. I wander through the first floor, and while I’m sure cameras are capturing my every move, I don’t care all that much. The curiosity has taken hold.

The more I wander, the bigger the glimpse into Cross’s life. And it’s really sad. It’s really cold. Every door I come across is closed and requires a fingerprint scan to enter. Every handle I push buzzes to indicate there’s no access. I find myself at another staircase on the other end of the house. After a moment of hesitation, I take the first step.

I hate everything about this place. It’s like every inch of it has been carefully curated to convey a sense of detachment and isolation. To be honest, I think Roe dodged a bullet by not growing up here.

Upstairs are two wings, and I walk in the direction of the staircase Cross took. Some of the doors in this wing are open. I peek in and see a bedroom, then another one, and another one. Nothing is out of place. Neatly made beds. Modern furnishings. I wonder which room was Cross’s. Travis’s. Roe’s when he came to visit. There are no personal items to be found anywhere. No photographs or mementos to offer a window into the General’s life or his family’s. I’m walking through a hollow shell of concrete and glass.

When I hear a low murmur somewhere ahead of me, I follow the sound. The worst that will happen is he’ll yell at me. Order me to get out. But I’m too curious to avoid a scolding. Besides, he should know me better by now. Of course I’m not going to stay put and wait for him. Not after he drops a crypticI have to see my motherand then leaves me to fend for myself in his house.

I follow his voice to a tall archway with a set of slate-gray doors. Peering through them, I find the one room in this mansion that has any sort of character.

It’s luxurious, the walls painted a pale blue rather than the whites and grays of the rest of the house. In one corner is a cozy sitting area with plush armchairs and a white chaise longue. In the center, a huge four-poster bed, its towering frame draped in billowing white silk. The bedspread is a vibrant shade of royal blue, and both nightstands display porcelain vases overflowing with red flowers.

I venture deeper and realize the room is L-shaped. Around the corner is another sitting area, with double doors opening to a stone terrace, and a wall of windows overlooking the manicured gardens, still green despite the winter chill. I read that the plants in this area used to die when winter came, that the trees lost their leaves, the soil turned to frost. But it’s been decades since the Continent experienced those kinds of temperatures.

A woman stands at the windows, her back to me. She’s clad in a white shirt and a flowing blue skirt that reaches her ankles. Long dark hair cascades down her back.

Cross is beside her, his voice laced with frustration. “You have to eat. You can’t do this again.”

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