Page 34 of Silver Elite

I meet my eyes in the mirror.You will find a way out of here.

I have to. If the Uprising can’t be bothered to help me, then I’ll simply have to help myself. Sooner or later, a plan will reveal itself to me. Until then, sit tight. Play along. Protect my identity.

My name is Wren Darlington and I am not a Mod.

I’ve been hiding who I am my entire life. Today will be no different.

The soldier appraises my attire when I emerge from the locker room. She nods and says, “I’ll be escorting you to the training center.”

I’ve given up on trying to memorize the layout of this base. It’s a maze within a maze. To get to the training center, we exit through a set of metal doors and climb into a Command truck. I study the woman’s profile, then the ID number on her sleeve. Command uniforms display numbers, not names. The lone dark-gray star tells me she’s a soldier from Tin Block.

She drives us through an open courtyard toward a large structure. Ugly, gray, rectangular, endless. “The barracks are in the west end of the facility.” She points to the left. “Any belongings you brought with you to yesterday’s registration were screened and will be waiting for you in your bunk.”

“Yesterday your superior officers detained me, locked me up, and informed me I was joining your ranks against my will,” I say flatly. “When, and please enlighten me here, did I have time to pack any belongings?”

She doesn’t even blink. “If there are items you’d like shipped from your ward, you can put in a request with your CO.”

I grit my teeth.

Inside the training center, she marches me down a wide corridorwith white walls. We stop at an ominous set of steel doors, where I watch as she presses her thumb to the keypad. After the doors unlock with a jarring buzz, she pushes one open and then glances at me, expectant. I guess I’m supposed to go in.

“Good luck,” she says simply, and the doors buzz closed behindme.

I find myself in a cavernous room with cinder-block walls and exposed pipes running along the high ceiling. Rows of workstations line the shiny floor, facing a massive holoscreen that takes up nearly an entire wall. There are two chairs to a table, and not many unoccupied seats left. A sea of navy blue assaults my vision.

The low murmur of voices stutters for a moment as heads swivel at my entrance. I must not make much of an impression, because I’m swiftly dismissed from most gazes. They return to their conversations, only a few curious stares remaining.

I scan the faces of the other recruits. About fifty of them, expressions ranging from nervous anticipation to steely determination. They’re a diverse group when it comes to skin and hair color, but to me they’re all the same.

Every single one of them is my enemy.

Speaking of enemies, my favorite interrogator Xavier Ford stands at the head of the room. He hasn’t noticed me yet; he’s busy speaking to another uniformed man whose back is to me. They’re with a woman I assume is a civilian, because she wears a white dress and black high-heeled shoes. One of her ears is heavily pierced, which seems incongruous with her elegant outfit.

She’s the one who spots me first. She touches Ford’s arm, and his cold gaze travels in my direction.

“Take a seat,” he barks. “We’re about to get started.”

There are four available workstations, which means four potential seatmates. Two of them eye me with a level of distrust that implies I’m not welcome. The third is a guy with golden hair and a mischievous glint in his eye. He looks like trouble, and when our gazes meet and he winks at me, it’s all the confirmation I need to stay away.

I choose the fourth option: a seat in the second row next to a young woman with light-brown hair arranged in a long braid andtied off with a blue bow. Her face is plain at first glance. On second glance, I notice her freckles and perfectly shaped lips. She’s surprisingly pretty.

She gives me a guarded look. “Good morning.”

I nod in response and stare straight ahead. The woman in the white dress walks past, her heels clicking loudly on her way to the door. Officer Ford steps forward and crosses his arms, regarding all of us with derision. From the corner of my eye, I see the other soldier handing out small black tablets to those in the first row.

When Ford addresses us, he sounds bored.

“I’m Second Lieutenant Xavier Ford, and I’ll be your head instructor for this session. You can call me sir or LT. No preference.”

I wonder if he stole the speech from Captain Cross.Assholeis taken, so I’ll have to call this onePrick.

He sweeps his gaze over the room. “Some of you applied for this program. Others were recruited.” His eyes flick toward me.

I believeforcedis the word he’s looking for.

“Regardless of how you wound up here, I can guarantee that half of you won’t be here eight weeks from now.”

Hope blooms inside me. I want to throw my hand up and offer to make it easy for him, walk out right now. But then I picture Captain Cross’s face and can predict what the answer will be.

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