Page 76 of Silver Elite

It’s not eerie anymore. I know what’s happening. But at the moment, I don’t care.

I walk down the dark, silent tunnel, focusing on the pale flicker of light in the distance. My footsteps are quiet against the paved ground. I reach the light and enter the South Plaza.

I stand in the center of the open courtyard. It’s depressingly familiar. The red dirt beneath the soles of my boots. The platform. Floodlights affixed to the wall shine down on the wooden structure as if it’s the stage for a Company theater production. It looks innocuous when there isn’t anyone kneeling on it, begging for their life. Not that Uncle Jim begged. He had too much pride for that.

The memory of his rugged face flashes through my mind. I can almost hear his brusque voice ordering me to finish my chores.

Tears sting my eyelids. I turn away from the platform and glance at the gates behind me, then tilt my head to examine the wall, its stone ledge high above my head.

Wiping my palms on my pants, I approach the gate, plant my foot on the first iron bar, and start to climb. When I reach the top, I swing myself onto the wall itself. I find a foothold in the stone and feel for anywhere I can grip my fingers.

Still, nobody stops me.

I climb higher. My fingers curl into the rough surface as I pull myself up onto the ledge that spans the perimeter of the wall. It’s several feet wide, allowing me to walk along it without fear of losing my balance. I go about fifty feet before stopping to take in the view. Beyond the base, the city stretches out before me like a black canvas waiting to be painted. Faint lights wink in the darkness. Proof of civilization.

I pivot and stare at the execution platform twenty feet below. Memories flood my mind. Memories of Jim’s body crumpling to the ground full of bullet holes. The blood soaking his shirt. His last words whispering inside my head.

Goodbye, little bird.

The pain throbs like a phantom ache. I close my eyes, willing the tears away, but they threaten to spill over for real this time.

“Careful, Darlington. One wrong step and you’ll end up a broken dove on the dirt.”

I’m not at all surprised to hear his voice.

I sit on the ledge, letting my feet swing over the edge as I peer down at Cross. Bastard only seems to get more attractive.

Rather than respond, I shift my gaze away.

The gates don’t creak as he climbs onto them. I find that disconcerting. They creaked when I did it. And his ascent of the wall is so silent I wouldn’t have even known he was there if my peripheral vision wasn’t clocking flashes of him walking toward me.

He joins me but remains standing. There’s a gun holstered to his hip.

“You’re not going to need that,” I tell him in a tone laced with amusement. “I wasn’t trying to escape.”

“You can’t escape, Dove. You wouldn’t have made it out of the barracks if I hadn’t let you.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Every inch of this place is covered with cameras and silent alarms. My security team alerted me the moment they saw you exit the bunks. Same way they alerted me when they saw you stealing a bike in the east quadrant.”

“Why did you order them to leave me alone?”

“Wanted to see where you’d go.” His gaze fixes on the execution platform before he voices an unexpected question. “Did you witness the incitement?”

I ignore the tiny jolt of anxiety. “Honestly? I was too busy trying to figure out how to get up on that platform and save my uncle. I didn’t notice what the squad was doing until people in the crowd started screaming.”

Cross continues to observe me. I feel those blue eyes rake over every inch of me, including the parts made a little too visible by the thin white tank top they gave me to sleep in. I keep putting inrequests to have my belongings from Z shipped to me, and those requests keep getting denied. I assume it’s Cross’s doing. No leisure passes. No cozy pajamas. He has zero interest in making me feel comfortable here.

After a brief silence, he slides his gun out of its holster. I stiffen. But all he does is lower his tall frame and fold it into a sitting position next to me. He sets the weapon between us on the ledge, then chuckles when he notices me eyeing it.

“Try it,” he murmurs, the dimple making an appearance. “Liven up my night.”

I pretend that his nearness isn’t affecting my heart rate. That his woodsy scent isn’t wreaking havoc on my senses. “You mean this isn’t lively enough for you? Traipsing after me in the middle of the night, refusing to let me grieve in peace?”

“Is that what this midnight excursion is? A grieving session?”

“You sound like you don’t believe me.”

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