IN HOPE’S FINAL MOMENTS on this earth, she is overwhelmed by senses. Bang of the pistol. Acrid scent of gunpowder. Spreading warmth of blood. Blackness.
But when she opens her eyes . . . she’s still standing, and the spreading warmth is blood flowing through her veins, not outside them.
Her hands flounder against her body. There’s no wound.
At her feet, Dr. Gallingham lies motionless, a single bullet hole in the side of his head. A thin trickle of moisture dribbles from an eye.
Hope tries to make sense of it all, and when her gaze finally shifts to the doorway, she is surprised to see someone else in the room.
Scylla.
There’s a gun in her hand; smoke curls from its barrel.
“I heard the sirens and guessed it was you,” Scylla says. “Took me forever to figure out where you were.”
Hope is speechless. Not just that she is still alive and was spared from death at the last possible moment, but that Scylla talked. For the first time since Hope has known her, words have come from Scylla’s mouth.
“Scylla . . .”
“I know,” she says, her voice raspy and unpracticed. “Surprised me too.”
There is no time to figure it out, and Hope rushes to her friend and gives her a grateful hug.
When they pull apart, Hope says, “You survived the avalanche.”
“Barely. I tried to get back to you, but Maddox found me first.”
“And they’ve held you prisoner here?”
Scylla nods.
“How’d you get free?”
“Once the alarms went off, the guards stopped paying attention. I was able to sneak up on one. That’s where I got this.” She holds up the gun. They hear footsteps outside the door. “We better get going. There’s a service elevator that’ll get us back down.”
She turns to go and is nearly to the door when she notices Hope hasn’t moved. Scylla looks at her a moment . . . and then understands. “Chancellor Maddox?”
Hope nods.
“It won’t be easy,” Scylla says.
“It never is.”
Before they go, Hope takes one last look at Dr. Gallingham, knowing she will never have to see his face again, never have to hear his grating voice. Whatever else happens tonight, there is that small bit of comfort.
They slip out of the Records room, and Scylla leads Hope to a far staircase. They scurry up until they reach the top floor, the fifteenth. Scylla presses her ear against the door.
“Brown Shirts,” she mouths.
They grip their knives and Scylla whips open the door.
There are four soldiers keeping guard. By the time they register the presence of the two Sisters, Hope has kicked one in the groin and disarmed another. Scylla sweeps her knife across the throats of the other two.
All four lie scattered on the floor.
“You okay?” Hope asks.
Scylla nods, then takes two pistols from the soldiers, handing one to Hope. Hope is no fan of guns, but something tells her they might come in handy. They race down the hall toward the very last door. After a shared look, they step through it.
Chancellor Maddox stands on the far side of the room, facing them. Her hair is as long and blond as ever, and as perfectly combed. The calm expression on her face seems to indicate that she’s been expecting Hope. The beauty-pageant queen ever ready for the next event.
“Come in,” she says, smiling pleasantly. “Don’t just stand there.”
Hope and Scylla take several steps in, their pistols trained on the chancellor. A long oval table sits in the center of the room, surrounded by thick leather chairs. On one wall is a series of maps, tattooed with symbols. The opposite wall is glass, looking out past the Eagle’s Nest and into the black night. Hope is able to make out the rocket launchers at the far edge of the fortress.
“I wondered when you’d be showing up,” the chancellor says.
Hope has no good response. She can’t get over the fact that the chancellor’s tone is so pleasant. Something’s not right. Hope and Scylla have snuck into the headquarters, gotten past the guards, have their guns pointed at the chancellor, and yet Maddox acts like she’s happy to see them.
“You’re just in time to watch,” the chancellor says.
“Not if we stop the launch before it happens.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—I wasn’t making myself clear. I’m not talking about the attack, I’m talking about the execution.”
Hope doesn’t understand, and even when Chancellor Maddox raises her hand and reveals a small pistol, Hope still doesn’t get it. After all, she and Scylla have weapons too. But instead of aiming the gun at Hope or Scylla, the chancellor points it to a far corner of the room . . . where Book and Cat stand bathed in shadows, their hands tied behind their backs.
Hope’s heart does a flutter at the sight of them. She is awash in emotions.
“What’re you doing here?” she asks.
“Trying to help,” Book says.
“Maybe I don’t need your help.”
“Now now, children,” the chancellor interrupts. “Let’s play nice. Especially on this momentous day.”
Hope turns to the former beauty queen. “You can stop with the pretending,” she says. “We know what you intend to do.”
“Oh?”
“The chemical weapons, the rocket launchers. You’re going to murder thousands of innocent civilians and every government official there is.”
“Correction: every government official but one.”
If Chancellor Maddox is impressed that Hope has figured out her plans, she doesn’t show it.
“You were even going to kill the Hunters,” Hope goes on, “if the wolves hadn’t done it first.”
“You know what they say. ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’” She smiles innocently. “Now why don’t you and your little mute friend put down those guns before your boyfriends get hurt.”
“Don’t do it,” Book says to Hope.
Hope glances at him. She knows he’s right—this is the moment she’s been waiting for. But it’s her life she’s willing to give up, not someone else’s. As much as she wants to pull the trigger, she can’t. It’s not fair to sacrifice Book and Cat when she’s the one who wants revenge.
She places her weapon on the oval table and slides it forward across the varnished surface. Scylla does the same.
“So tell me,” Chancellor Maddox says, waving the pistol between the prisoners. “Should I shoot you now, or would you like to witness the second Omega and then be shot? I can’t make any promises about the fireworks, but I can guarantee that this time we’ll get it right.”
For the longest time, no one speaks. They barely even breathe. There’s no good answer to the chancellor’s question, and no possible way to save their lives.
It’s Book who breaks the silence.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
Something about his words—and the tone behind them—sends a shudder down Hope’s spine.