*JACK
I knew my mood was foul.
It might have been the fight with Beck and the way his head cracked against the trunk of the tree. It might have been the throbbing in my hand from my broken fingers.
Either way, I didn’t like this guy on the giant wall screen in the conference room. Good mood, bad mood, I wouldn’t like this guy. He looked greasy. Not his hair, just the way his eyes flickered from Beckett, to me, and back again, like he was unsettled, hiding something he didn’t want us to know about.
No one else likely noticed it, which explained how he’d been able to gain the loyalty of over sixty recruits during his time training them. But I had years of practice studying the intricacies of people—the shift of body posture, a change in voice tonality, a twitch of the jaw—the subtle things people did their best to hide but ultimately couldn’t hide at all. People can never fully cover what’s at the heart of them. And I didn’t like this guy.
And yet, we needed him. He was on the inside, at the mansion. And he was going to help us get Sage out.
We told Sven our idea to send Beckett in first, that Beck would tell our dad he’d changed his mind and wanted to help within the Corporation.
“It’s smart,” Sven said. “It will distract Vasterias, confuse your father, make him question things.”
Again, the nearly indistinguishable twitch and upward shift of his eyes came just beforehand.
“Yes, like I mentioned before, I completely support this idea,” Cunningham said. “At the very least, Beckett will be a distraction for Dr. Adamson, who will likely be watching Sage closer than anyone else.”
Surprisingly, from the minute Beckett first mentioned our idea, both Sven and Dr. Cunningham seemed more than thrilled.
“Fine,” I said. I pushed away from the table. This conversation had lasted thirty seconds too long. “Then we’ll head to our dad’s warehouse in New York. Beckett will be to the mansion within twenty-four hours.”
“And I can provide the motorcycles for the three of you,” Cunningham said. “They’re in the storage unit next door.”
“We’ll only need two,” I said.
“What about the red-haired girl?” Dr. Cunningham replied.
“She’ll be staying here with Finn.”
“No.” Dr. Cunningham and Sven replied at the same time.
I paused, frowned. “Why not?” I glanced from Dr. Cunningham to Sven on the screen. “No one else seems to be caring too much about Finn around here.”
“I care about him,” Cunningham responded, lacking the fervor someone would expect from the father of a dying son.
“Well, certainly you can’t object to someone else being here, willing to sit with him around the clock? Not when it’s in the best interest of your son?”
Even I couldn’t believe Imogen had requested it. And I fought her on it. Because I’d promised Caesar I’d watch over her. But apparently, Imogen felt strongly that Finn was not safe here without her. And God knows I’d argued enough times with Imogen. There was no point.
Sven and Cunningham gave each other a long look that said many things I wish I could have known, and then, they agreed to let her stay.
*
And so it was decided. Final arrangements were made—the full escape plan, the meet-up points, the time we’d be back. Cunningham directed us to the bikes, gave us jackets, helmets, and enough cash to make it to New York.
We would sleep this afternoon, and head out early evening, traveling through the night.
I knew well enough what Vasterias did to test subjects. The sooner we got to Sage, the better.
Hold on Sage. We’re coming.
I just hope she somehow felt it.