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THEIR RETURN TO THE Enclave was uneventful—the shantytown, the gates, the vehicle-lift, and the arrival at their villa.
Darcy remained uncommunicative throughout the trip. Connor was still reeling from their discovery of the extra Implant, and thoroughly cowed by Darcy’s lecture—and threat—on the highway.
Tony left for his own villa after dropping them off, eager to put the day’s events behind him. He swore his family would never know the details.
The lights were dim inside their villa, the sun having set not long before. The Enclave’s lights were a vivid kaleidoscope beyond their windows, the cheerful display at odds with the somber mood Darcy and Connor brought home with them.
The lights outlined the silhouette of a tall figure standing in their gathering room. His hands were clasped behind his back as he admired the vibrant glow of the Enclave. He pivoted to face them as they entered.
Darcy and Connor hesitated at the sight of their unexpected guest. The newcomer stood opposite them, cocking his head to one side as he studied them with open curiosity.
“Councilor, the time is long overdue for a conversation between us,” he said at last, speaking in a clipped monotone. Connor didn’t recognize his voice.
Darcy didn’t respond, and the silhouette spoke again, his words couched in an odd formality. “Councilor, I’m afraid your anticipated timeline has been compromised. We must speak.”
“You . . .” The loathing in Darcy’s voice turned the single syllable into a heavy-handed curse. “Why should I listen to you? I know what you are.”
“Nevertheless, Councilor.” The mysterious figure, unfazed, stepped out of the shadows. “The time is upon us.”
His eyes fastened on Darcy, his expression benign. Connor found his unblinking gaze disconcerting.
Darcy glared at their uninvited guest, making no attempt to disguise his animosity. His mouth twisted, and he spoke a single word, laced with contempt.
“Mateo.”