Page 22 of Silver Elite

Inciters, simply put, aren’t allowed to exist. We terrify the Primes too much.

Citizens are already drifting away from the platform, making my escape easier. I take one last look at Jim, the man I love more than anyone in this world. Dead. Gone. Then I turn and start to move. Not a full run. Fast enough that I can see the outer gates approaching quickly, but slow enough that I’m not drawing attention to myself.

Except I’m wrong. I haven’t gone unnoticed.

I’m ten feet from the exit when someone grabs my shoulder and yanks me backward.

I stumble, trying to regain my balance. I catch a glimpse of a uniform. A blur of motion as a hand raises a Command-issued handgun and a voice hisses past my ear.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Chapter 5

There are no windows in this room. I hate windowless rooms. I’m not claustrophobic, not really. The walls aren’t closing in on me. I can breathe perfectly fine. It’s just this stifling feeling of being trapped like cattle in a pen. No escape routes, no weapons. I can’t stand it. It itches my skin and makes me feel like I’ve got those yellow ants from the Blacklands crawling all over me.

They didn’t blindfold me when they brought me to this interrogation room, so my brain keeps running through the sequence of turns and corridors we took to get here.Right, left, right, right, left, blue door.Just have to reverse course when I find the opportunity to escape.Blue door, right, left, left, right, left.I repeat the directions like a mantra in my head while I wait for the Command to remember I exist.

It doesn’t take long. The door opens less than a minute later, and two of them walk in. A young man and woman in their early twenties. They both have dark hair, hers tied in a low ponytail, his cropped short. Her eyes are hazel. Shrewd and narrowed. His are dark brown, almost as black as the coffee Jim drinks—drank—every morning.

Without a word, they occupy the chairs across the table from me.The woman sets down a slate-gray tablet, but its screen remains black. Two pairs of eyes fix on my face. I stare back, not giving a single emotion away.

The door doesn’t close. A third person enters.

This time, it takes some effort not to react.

It’s the gorgeous jerk from the inn.

I’m not sure what I’m feeling as he shuts the door and then moves to stand in front of it. His gaze lands on mine. Like me, he doesn’t react. But I know he recognizes me. He must. It was only two nights ago when I was squished underneath his body. A body that’s now clad in navy blue. I should’ve known he was a soldier. He’d moved like one.

And he’s just as attractive as I remember, taking up all the air in the room with his broad frame and stunning face. It irritates me.

“I’m Soldier Tyler Struck,” the young woman finally says, her voice cool but polite. “This is Officer Xavier Ford.”

She gestures to the man next to her. He’s good looking, too, in a more rugged, less typical way than the guy behind them. The guy who doesn’t introduce himself. Who continues to stand in silence, his demeanor impossible to decipher. Bored? Annoyed? I can’t quite tell.

I know it’s futile considering they’re Command, but I put out the mental feelers anyway.

Telepathy and mind reading always start the same way: You open a path. The former only works with Mods, as our brains come equipped with that second frequency Jim taught me about. The positive energy waves. With the latter, whether you’re trying to infiltrate a Mod or a Prime, you’re tapping into the first frequency, where the target mind will actively resist your attempts by releasing negative energy. The brain’s built-in warning system.

If the target mind is well shielded, you don’t even get the chance to try to disarm the alarm. But if there’s any weakness in that shield, even the tiniest crack, it’s just a matter of finding your way in.

These three? Their shields are so thick, it’s like slamming into a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour. The thin ropes I throw out bounce right back at me and rattle like chains in my own head.

I’m intrigued. These people aren’t regular soldiers. They’re not likeJordan from Copper Block. They’ve clearly had extensive training in shielding.

Silver Block. That would be my guess.

“How were you able to incite eight minds?” Struck asks without preamble.

I gape at her. “What on earth makes you think I’m the one who did that?”

“You’re saying you aren’t?”

“Of course I’m not.” I put a little stammer into the words. I’m a good actress. It’s one of the reasons why Jim always trusted me to handle the soldiers in Hamlett.

“Well, we know it wasn’t the prisoner. He was cleared.”

I’m afraid to know how they “cleared” him, and once again, I worry about what Jayde Valence might have seen inside Jim’s mind.

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