Page 26 of Silver Elite

“Yes.”

“My name is Jayde.”

“I know who you are.”

She lifts her brow.

“I’ve seen you on broadcasts with the General.”

She nods.

Her pale hair is tied at her nape in a severe knot, emphasizing her cheekbones. She’s much prettier in person. But her symmetrical features and heart-shaped mouth aren’t enough to distract me from what she is.

A traitor.

A sympathizer.

She oppresses and kills other Mods. People like her make me sick.

I swallow my disgust and try to settle my nerves. Level my emotions. But my confidence is slipping because…what if I’m not good enough?

Jim taught me how to shield. How to construct a steel vault around my mind and keep it tightly locked and thick enough that nothing can penetrate it. Except that wasn’t all we practiced. He also showed me how to leave that vault door open a crack and empty the mind it protects. Clear that mind until it’s nothing but blackness. Silence. And then…

Think whatever you want them to hear.

I’m already starting to prepare my mind as Jayde pulls out the chair in front of me. Jim told me there was a study conducted on Modified brains once that determined there was no difference in the number of thoughts a Mod held in their brain compared with a Prime. That same study revealed we think about ten thousand thoughts a day. Some people think more, some less. It averages to six or seven thoughts per minute.

Of course, that’s without factoring in the anxiety. An innocent person would be nervous in my current situation. My mind should be racing.

Jayde sits and stares at me. She doesn’t say another word.

This is the interrogation I’ve heard about from people in the Uprising. She won’t ask a single question.

When she forms a path, it’s not subtle. She’s not trying to hide it. She isn’t gently pushing her way into my mind as if dipping a timid toe into frigid water. There’s a reason for that. Because if you don’t ease into it, it sends an electric shock up the back of a Mod’s neck. It’s nearly impossible not to react, not to jerk, flinch, move, when an electric current courses through you.

Unless you’ve trained for that, too.

Unless you experienced that shock from the age of five, repeatedly, mercilessly, while you sat in the Blacklands training with Julian Ash to decoy your mind.

I don’t even blink as I feel her thrust her way in.

She continues to stare at me.

“Are you going to say anything?” I ask in aggravation.

Why isn’t she talking?

What is wrong with her?

She stares.

“Okay,” I say.

Self-consciousness washes over me. I try to avoid her eyes by staring down at my hands, but Xavier Ford barks at me from the door.

“Look at her.”

I gulp and raise my gaze to Valence.

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