Page 53 of Silver Elite

I play along, but I’m far more interested in watching my fellows. At one point, when I open my eyes a slit to study the faces around me, I catch Kaine watching me right back. He grins and whispers, “Wanna make out?” I roll my eyes as Struck orders him to shut up and focus.

There are ten minutes remaining when Struck ends the class, but she doesn’t dismiss us yet. Instead, she says something into her comm. A few minutes later, another woman enters.

Murmurs of discontent travel through the classroom.

I immediately know the cause.

She’s Modified.

Chapter 13

Before the Coup, Mods could walk freely among society without anyone knowing the difference. Any stranger in a shop could be Modified. A classmate. A sanitation worker you greeted as you walked down the street.

General Redden changed all that, making it impossible for Mods to go unnoticed. After he imprisoned and subsequently executed President Severn, he marked the Aberrant, tattooing thin black bands around their left wrists—if they pledged loyalty. Those who didn’t received a second tattoo, a red band to indicate their prisoner status.

It could be easy to mistake Redden’s actions for mercy, even tolerance, if not for the fact that very few tattoos can be spotted on the Continent. In other words, the General’s preferred Mod is a dead one. He killed so many of us in the Silverblood Purge, tens of thousands, only sparing the ones he considered useful.

The woman in front of us is not a loyalist. Her wrist is both black and red.

She’s a slave.

I maintain a normal level of interest while inwardly grasping for every detail I can. She appears to be in her thirties. She’s short, slight. Her skin is paler than milk. Brown hair thick and curly.

She must be a powerful mind reader like Jayde Valence. No other reason the General would allow a Mod on his precious military base. Beneficial Mods are typically used as manpower and sent to labor camps, but not always. It’s no secret Redden is sickened by our blood and would rather all of us be eliminated, especially those with the gift of telepathy, as he believes they can plot against him more easily.

But he’s also not a fool. His strategist’s mind appreciates that some of us can be used as weapons, although I’m sure he much prefers the weapons who are loyal to him, like Jayde. Not that it matters either way. Even the loyalists who are allowed to live in society hold fewer rights than Primes. For a quarter century, unconcealed Mods have been second-class citizens.

My fellows whisper among themselves, their voices laced with disdain.

“Didn’t realize there were ’fects on this base.”

“Hope she doesn’t come too close.”

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms as I fight to keep my emotions in check. It’s a struggle to remain composed.

“This is Amira,” Struck introduces. “At the end of each class, she will be testing your shields.”

Shit.

A shiver races down my spine. How do I handle this? I can’t make my shield too strong, or she’ll wonder why it is. If I make it too weak, I risk her hearing my real thoughts.

“I don’t want this lab rat touching me,” Bryce announces, voicing what most of my fellows are thinking. Her shoulders are set in a straight, tense line.

“This doesn’t require physical touch,” Struck assures the recruit. “It’ll take less than a minute.”

“No,” she says stubbornly. “I’m not letting her read my mind.”

“Build a strong shield and she won’t be able to.”

“She’s not getting inside my head,” insists Bryce.

Struck picks up her tablet. “All right. As you wish, Granger. I’ll grant your request to be cut from the Program.”

Alarm widens Bryce’s eyes. “No! You can’t do that!”

“Then you’ll allow Amira to test your shield.”

“I’m going to talk to my father about this.” Desperation trembles in the young woman’s voice.

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