“He’s afraid.” Ivy’s voice held an echo of pain that wasn’t her own. “I can sense it from here—Zaira is his only anchor to sanity and he’s terrified he’s falling back into the abyss. More than that, he’s terrified for her.” Her head turned toward the door behind which Alejandro screamed in fury. “Keeping him trapped and unable to assist in the search for her isn’t a good idea.”
Vasic wanted to free the other male, but he also knew that to be an impossibility. “He’s a deadly threat. He’d think nothing of killing tens if not hundreds of people in his hunt to find Zaira.” The commander was Alejandro’s sole priority but not in a healthy way. “The best we can do is sedate him so he doesn’t harm himself.” And hope Zaira wasn’t lost forever, because if she was, so was Alejandro.
The clarity of Ivy’s eyes reflected her awareness of that terrible unspoken truth. “I’ll see if I can calm him enough that the process of giving him a sedative doesn’t turn into a bloodbath—and doesn’t cause him even more psychic pain.”
Waiting in the predawn darkness that cloaked this part of the world, he watched until he saw her reach the closed door guarded by two sentries who came toward her, no doubt with a report about Alejandro. Only then did he follow Zaira’s lieutenant, Mica, out of the compound that had functioned as a secret bolt-hole under Silence. It was here that many of their “dead” had come, the ones deemed useless by Ming and targeted for execution.
Aden, Vasic, Zaira, and the others at the heart of the rebellion hadn’t been able to save all their brethren and each loss lingered an open wound on their souls, but they’d saved enough that the squad was now the strongest it had ever been. Many of Ming’s useless Arrows had decades’ worth of experience to pass on to those coming through the ranks. Even Alejandro had something to contribute—quite aside from being a fully trained Arrow who could provide backup as long as Zaira gave him the order, he was a genius with delicate explosives.
Ming hadn’t seen any of that. All he’d seen were men and women who were “imperfect,” and thus not worth the time or the effort to ensure they could remain a part of the squad. That made him a fool.
“What was Zaira doing outside the compound?” he asked Mica.
“I think she just needed downtime.” The dark-haired and stocky male, whose jaw was currently heavily shadowed by stubble, glanced around to ensure they couldn’t be overheard. “Some of the older Arrows occasionally do their best to make her brain explode.”
“I’ve always told Aden I’m surprised they’re all still alive.” Zaira was not known for her patience.
Mica’s expressionless facade didn’t crack. But when he spoke, Vasic understood why he was Zaira’s lieutenant. “I’ve offered to disappear them where no one would ever find the bodies, but Zaira says they’ll come back from the dead, they’re so stubborn about doing things a certain way.”
It would, Vasic thought, take time for the old guard to adapt to this new world. “Did she often take the same route on her walks?”
Mica shook his head. “She was scrupulous about never following a pattern . . . but she did go for a walk away from the compound at some point every two or three days.”
So someone had to have been watching her, waiting for her to get far enough away that the chances of backup reaching her in time were low.
“We’re here, sir.”
Though the canal water sat dark and placid beside them, the evidence of violence was easy to spot not far from where two older Arrows stood watch and kept away the robe-and-slipper-clad spectators who’d spilled out of the nearby homes. Splatters of blood marked the cobblestones, distinctive even under the dull yellow of the light seeping through the old glass of the ornate streetlamp.
Krychek appeared beside Vasic right then. Dressed in black combat pants and a black T-shirt, the cardinal telekinetic appeared more akin to the Arrows than to the political sharks with whom he swam daily. “This is the location?” His eyes, cold white stars on black, scanned the scene.
Vasic gave a short nod before looking toward Mica. “The bodies?” There was too much blood for one person; he’d have known Zaira had taken down at least one of her attackers even without the telepathic briefing he’d received when Mica’s team first arrived at the scene.
“We have three in a cold storage room at the compound.” The lieutenant stood at parade rest, his eyes watchful of the civilians who lingered beyond the perimeter. “Someone used a high-powered laser to burn off the dead men’s faces and their fingerprints show signs of having been burned off months ago.”
“Crude but effective.” Kaleb looked at Vasic from the other side of the splatters of blood, having walked slowly around, his eyes cataloguing the evidence as he moved. “Obliterating the faces wouldn’t have taken longer than a minute at most. DNA?”
Mica answered only after glancing at Vasic and receiving a nod. Vasic wasn’t officially Aden’s second in command, had never believed he was stable enough for the position, but his squadmates had always treated him as if he was—and now, the mantle was beginning to fit.
“No DNA hits.”
It was possible to wipe someone that deeply from the official record, but it took considerable power and access. “Psy?” he asked the lieutenant as Kaleb crouched down beside the bloodstains as if attempting to analyze the pattern.
The answer was a surprise. “One Psy, two humans.”