2 YEARS EARLIER
(Unread) J. Locke
NOW
I couldn’t meet Jordan’s eyes, but I had felt them on me the entire time.
I needed space to grasp what had happened and process the emotions it had left me with in its wake. But not right now. There was no room for it in the shadow plains. I had to focus. We had an important job today, and something in me told me it would be dangerous.
More than ever before.
The instructions were simple; get inside the building, find out who or what is causing the activity, and find out why they’re there. Shoot to kill if the situation arises. And go back home.
We had packed and moved on quickly, making our way through the abandoned streets.
Before leaving the warehouse, we had to ensure the mutants had pulled back a little before escaping the street. They had been close to the entrance, within hearing distance, so we had to be careful not to make too many sounds.
I walked out front, taking the lead.
Jordan was walking at the back, as he usually did, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Did last night run in a loop through his head, too? Did he still feel my lips on his skin like I did his?
I was officially the other woman now—the woman I never wanted to be to him. I’d rather be a stranger. But we were never going back to being strangers, not after last night.
“The building is at ten o’clock,” Vlad’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I halted, looking for the building.
Jordan had gotten the message and walked forward until he stood next to me. “It has a rooftop,” he pointed out.
Which meant we were going to climb it and enter from above instead of below. The safer option.
In silence, we walked closer, slowly approaching the building, and the rest of the team lined up against the wall. I was the lightest of the group, so I started unclasping my backpack and gun, but kept my knives strapped to my body in several places. First Lieutenant Gabon and Colonel Kilich took my stuff, strapping it to their bodies instead. Major Britton brought me the rope and buckles, which I fastened to my uniform instead.
The climbing part was easy; there was a rain pipe going all the way up at the side of the building, and it was only three stories high. I could climb this. But climbing without alerting our arrival was the hard part.
Jordan walked over, anchoring me with one hand on my shoulder. “You got this?”
I looked up at him and swallowed. His touch ignited a flame within me. Memories of last night flooded my mind and I forced my breathing to remain calm.
“I do,” I said, and grabbed the pipe, pulling it a little to ensure it was secured and wouldn’t collapse when I put my entire weight on it. With one last look up, I put my feet on the other sides of the pipe, and started climbing, pulling the pipe to me to create a good grip for my feet—one step at a time.
I moved my hands, keeping my body weight pressed back into my feet. The pipe groaned with the next movement—the metal bending beneath my hands. It better hold me, though, because I was almost past the first floor, and falling from a couple of feet wasn’t exactly deathly, but it would hurt a whole damn lot if I fell on my ass.
Hand, hand, grip. Shuffle feet. Rest. Repeat.
As I continued my path upward, sounds came from the right, on the second level, and I looked in terror as I watched a window opening. I hadn’t made that much sound, right? The pipe’s groaning was just as loud as the wind that swooshed past the buildings and the trees whose leaves rustled.
Laughter sounded, and someone stuck out a hand holding a cigarette, which they tipped down so the ash made its way down to my group, who were still lining the wall.
If the person the hand belonged to would look down, he’d see them. If he looked up, he’d see me.
My muscles were burning from the effort to keep still.
The person kept tipping his cigarette—even blowing some smoke into the crisp air.
After what seemed like an eternity, they pressed the cigarette out against the windowsill and threw it outside, closing the window again.
Thank the fucking gods.
Inhaling sharply, I quickly continued on my way. I was almost there. I didn’t dare look down at my group, afraid another window would open—or worse yet, they would get over to the roof and smoke there.
Arriving at the top, I had to reach one arm over the ledge and peek over it—but no one was there. I climbed over it and looked around to find an old roof vent protruding from the roof. Walking over to it, I unwrapped the rope from my waist and made a loop around the metal vent. I tugged it, testing the cylinder’s strength. Fastened the string with a clasp, I let the rest of it trail behind me as I made my way back to the ledge.
I threw the rest of the rope down, being careful to fling it far away from the building. It would make a lot of sound if sturdy rope thudded against a glass window.
Jordan caught it, pulling it taut before it could fall back. He tested it, pulling his weight on it, and I looked back at where the rope looped around the metal. Nothing happened. Not even a groan. I stuck out my thumb, and he passed the rope to Colonel Kilich.
Swiftly, one after the other, they made their way up—not one window opening during that time. The last to come up was Jordan, who pulled up the rope but didn’t unfasten it.
The door to the roof was locked, as we had expected. Major Britton started picking the lock, and in no time, the door popped open with a sigh—groaning slightly as we opened it halfway.
We descended into the building, making almost no sound. My heartbeat sensor showed life, about five spots, one less than us, but it didn’t show what floor they were. Jordan beckoned us closer and signaled in different ways. Britton and Keano remained on this floor, Kilich and Gabon would go all the way down, and Jordan and I would go to the middle floor—where we knew people would be.
We all went our separate ways, four of us descending. When we arrived at the second floor, Kilich and Gabon continued down the stairs.
When they were gone, Jordan held his ear against the door and listened. His large frame curved around it as he stuck his head around the edge, looking inside. With one wave of his hand, I followed him onto the floor—both of us going in different directions.
Before we parted, we looked at each other; a silent convey passing between us. His helmet and night vision goggles shielded half his face, but with a twitch of his lips, he turned around and walked away—gun out.
Although I preferred knives, I, too, had a silenced gun in hand and made my way through the floor. I turned off my earpiece to hear better and focus on my surroundings.
Many rooms were open and abandoned, but I heard someone speak around the corner. As the person started walking, I quickly dashed into the room opposite me, hiding behind the door. The footsteps faded into the hallway, and I darted across it to where the person had come from. At the door, I heard nothing, so I slipped inside the room and closed the door softly behind me.
After inspecting the room, I found a desk with a lot of documents on it. Not old documents, new ones. I tried to read with my night vision goggles, but it took too much effort. Carefully, I removed my helmet and night vision goggles and pulled a small flashlight from my pockets. I turned it on and shoved it between my teeth, taking the documents from the table and holding them closer.
My blood turned cold.
These documents were Borzian.
Making sure my recording camera captured all the papers, I quickly put them down again. Squatting, I opened more drawers, which contained even more documents.
Most of them were unreadable, all written in Borzian. But when I found some that were in Ardenian, my breathing hitched.
I recognized one name on them.
Domasc.
My eyes scanned the documents fervently. The more I read, the more the ice in my veins burned. I was looking at messages from Domasc and someone else, but I couldn’t figure out who that was.
You promised me three years, and they’re almost over. The voting will be soon.
The bird is on its way. Don’t threaten me, Ana. I have more important things to think about than your games.
I will be there soon.
Then, from the last couple of weeks.
The bird is coming sooner than I promised. What will I get in return?
A peacock has joined the package. The entire flock is yours. Don’t return them. They are of no use to me.
Yes, all of them. A present.
The messages made no sense to me. It was a conversation between Domasc and someone else—maybe even someone he had a relationship with. It had to have something to do with why they were here. Why we were here…
And the bird. Domasc kept going on about birds in all of his messages.
Light footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned around in a flash, dropping the flashlight from my mouth. I saw the outline of a person walking through the door opening, but immediately lost sight of them. A beat later, my head was slammed against the wall behind me—and the person in question ripped off my body camera, tearing it off and shattering it with a weighted object.
Then, the person, a woman, started speaking, and the blood drained from my face.
“Finally, we get to meet,” she said in accented Ardenian.
“Who the fuck are you?” I hissed, pushing her away from me and grabbing the flashlight from the table—directing it at her. She was of average height, just a tad smaller than me. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a stern face.
She didn’t have to answer. I recognized her.
“It’s only fair I introduce myself, I guess, as I already know your name,” she drawled, stalking closer to me like I was her prey. “I’m Tatiana Zander.”
I said nothing.
“Won’t you say hello to your aunt?” she asked.
Zander.
My stomach sank as it all clicked. My mother’s maiden name. The bird. Ana. It all fit so well that I felt the need to scream at Jordan to get the hell out of here.
This mission…
It was all a set-up.