Page 23 of Silver Elite

“So, if it wasn’t him…that leaves you.” Struck tips her head toward me.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Really,” she says. It’s not a question.

“First of all, I’m not Aberrant,” I tell them. “And second, even if I was, it’s not possible to control so many minds like that.”

“It is possible because we saw it happen.” Ford adopts a disinterested voice, but there’s a hard edge to it. He flicks up a brow. “Did you not see it happen, sweetling?”

My jaw tightens at both the term of endearment and his derisive tone. “Don’t call me that. And I don’t knowwhatI saw. All I know is that you killed my uncle.”

Struck is startled for a second, as if she didn’t expect me to bring up Jim before they did. But the best way to handle an interrogation is to pretend you have nothing to hide.

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” I say flatly. “You killed my uncle.”

Ford folds his arms against his chest and leans back slightly. “Your uncle was a deserter of the Command.”

“Bullshit. I know that’s what you charged him with, but…” I shake my head and repeat myself. “Bullshit.”

“Got it, sweetling. So you’re claiming you had no idea who your uncle was. How are you related exactly?”

“We’re not,” I answer, this time deciding to ignore the mocking endearment. “Not by blood, anyway. He adopted me.”

Struck brings the tablet to life, pressing her thumb to its scanner to gain entry. My gaze shifts toward the doorway where Mr. Silent continues to watch us. His hands rest loosely on his belt loops, face revealing no expression as he meets my gaze. He holds the eye contact for so long that my pulse speeds up, and I’m the one to break it off. Which is unlike me. I never back down.

I try to focus on the screen that Struck is now swiping her finger across. When a photograph appears, she enlarges it.

It’s Jim, and my heart clenches at the sight of him. I deliberately let the grief show on my face.

She pushes the tablet toward me. “This is Colonel Julian Ash.”

“You can call him whatever you want, but that’s not his name.”

“It’s his name. This is Julian Ash, a colonel from Silver Block who deserted fifteen years ago. He fled not long after losing his entire unit in a bombing at Sun Post.”

“No,” I counter, tapping the picture, “this is Jim Darlington. And I don’t believe a word you’re telling me, not for a second. Jim is not a deserter.”

“Yes, he is. Not only that, but he’s also Aberrant.”

I start to laugh. “Of all the lies you just said about him, that’s my favorite.”

“Let’s not play games,” Xavier Ford says, rolling his eyes. “You were at the execution. According to reports, his arms were practically glowing.”

“Your reports are wrong. I didn’t see anything of the sort.” I cross my arms and dare him to challenge me.

“We ran a background check on you, too,” Struck continues.

She swipes the screen until she’s showing me a picture of myself. It was taken last year for my ID. The Company requires citizens to update our photos annually.

“Wren Darlington,” she recites from the page. “You didn’t exist until you were eight years old.”

“That’s when Jim found me.”

“Found you,” Ford echoes doubtfully.

I shrug. “I can’t remember anything before that.”

Their skepticism grows. The gorgeous face at the door still discloses nothing.

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