Page 62 of Silver Elite

The smirk he aims my way tells me I’m exempt from that threat. If I stop, I go to the stockade.

We take off, a groggy, disorganized mass at first, but eventually we fall into a rhythm. The air is sharp, each breath burning my lungs. I can hear the ragged breathing of the others around me, can feel their resentment like a physical weight.

“Why would you do that, Wren?” Lyddie pants, her voice muffled by the sound of our feet hitting the ground.

Unlike the others, she seems more disappointed than mad. Ugh. I hate it when people are disappointed in me. That’s so much worse.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess I just…needed to feel alive.” It’s the best lie I can come up with, and it sounds hollow to my ears.

“Well, congratulations,” I hear Ivy say from behind us. “We’re all feeling real alive right now.”

In front of us, Kess, who’s running alongside Roe and Anson, twists to sneer at me. “Selfish quat,” she hisses. “You’re fucking dead.”

Ford’s voice wafts out of the truck that follows the group at a lazy speed. “Pick up the pace, assholes! You’re moving like snails!”

My legs are screaming, my body pleading for rest, but I push on. The memory of the wind in my hair as I rode away from the base earlier seems so distant now.

“Hey, Darlington,” Betima says with an irritated breath. “Next time you want to feel alive, try not to drag us all down with you, keen?”

Whenever the truck gets close, I resist the urge to look at Cross.Each time we pass an exit gate, I force myself not to cast a longing look toward it. I slip up only once, my gaze lingering on the gates that lead to South Plaza, and I can almost hear Cross’s voice inside my head.Go ahead, try to escape again. I dare you.

No. I won’t be attempting another escape. There’s no room for reckless Wren anymore. I need to be more restrained going forward. If I run, it can’t be a spur-of-the-moment decision like tonight’s haphazard move. It needs to be planned. Methodical.

It’s time to play it smart.

Chapter 15

By the time I was six years old, I was an expert in survival.

Jim taught me how to build a fire and keep it burning. How to mend my clothes. How to stitch my own wounds.

He taught me to recognize the dangerous plants in the Blacklands and utilize their poisons to eliminate the prey that crept into our clearing when the sun left us.

He taught me to hide when we heard the infrequent roar of a fighter jet powering through the sky, because he wasn’t sure if the gap in the mist was large enough to make us visible from above.

He taught me to defend myself using only my fists, my legs, my teeth. He showed me that any part of my body could be used as a weapon.

He taught me how to stay alive.

All this is to say—I can kick Lyddie De Velde’s delicate ass without breaking a sweat.

And yet I’m currently lying flat on my back, pretending to gasp for air.

Each time she’s come at me, her movements hesitant and clumsy, I’ve let her gain the upper hand. Most of our fellows are busy withtheir own sparring matches, but a handful gather around us. I suspect they’re all hoping to see me get annihilated on the mat.

It’s been days since we served our collective punishment for my individual infraction, and most of my fellows still haven’t forgiven me for making them run endless laps. Three recruits got cut that night, including the ever-timid Pera. Although with her it was only a matter of time. She was never going to find her footing here. The teenager joined the Program directly out of upper school, which I think was a mistake. At least two-thirds of the other recruits completed a year or more at a job assignment before coming here.

Kess is especially keen to remind me that she hates my guts. But at least she loathes me out loud, whereas Ivy likes to whisper about it in the mess hall with Bryce. Ivy’s always fucking whispering.

Both she and Kess are watching my sparring match this morning. Their laughter grates, but I ignore it, scissoring my legs to disrupt Lyddie’s footing. I use hardly any force, so I expect her to hold her stance.

Instead she goes tumbling to the mat.

Shit!

Would it kill this woman to bebetterat this?

It isn’t until I intentionally allow her to pin me, her legs straddling my chest, her elbow digging into my windpipe, that Ford allows me to tap out.

---