“We have con1rmed capture. Shepherd, initiate lockdown from control. Other intruders are attempting a retrieval.”
Silas Aicked the 1rst few switches in front of him, watching the changes on the display board. Just as he was about to pick up his radio device and verify that they had truly locked Priest in—because she was wily enough to somehow slink away before then—a unit of covert agents returned to the control room.
“Quick, quick,” one said. “Begin lockdown before they escape.”
There were huge portions of the base hit by the overhead bombing. This timing had been less than ideal, though it wasn’t as if the Japanese cared about asking which hour suited its conquests best.
“Of course,” Silas returned. The display board winked its lights at him. He knew the other intruders were Communists following Celia’s report. The Nationalists thought they were trying to break Oliver out, if the chaos of battle sounding over the radio lines was any indication. The control tower kept track of which doors were open, which were closed, and which were nonresponsive. He could trace the exact path his friends had taken for entry, following the red lights that signaled maintenance on the door. When Silas looked wider, however, there were multiple doors nonresponsive in places he knew his friends had not touched. They required a complete lockdown to cut those paths oP.
But he couldn’t do that until the rescue mission got out.
“Shepherd, initiate lockdown,” his superior demanded again, the radio overwhelmed with static. “What’s taking so long?”
With a wince, Silas moved the sliders on the control panels, watching the lights in every sector change color. There was little he could say to buy time. He
could only hope that his friends had moved fast. If they were already at the outer facility, then this wouldn’t aPect them.
He smacked the glass case closed, cutting oP access to the main control panel. Now that part was out of his hands. There was another matter, far more pressing.
Silas stood up. Cast a glance at the other operatives, busy with their work.
The bombing had reached a lull.
“I’m going to go oversee the completion of Priest’s capture.”
One of the operatives glanced up. “They put her in the west sector. Infrastructure is most sound there after all the bombing,” he reported. “The soldiers said it was like handling a feral animal. Almost bit Jiang’s 1nger oP for trying to remove her covering.”
Silas frowned. “What was he doing touching her anyway?”
“Hey, don’t ask me.” The operative put his hands up. “Just trying to make your job easier, all right? You can deal with it.”
To tell the truth, he hadn’t wanted to give Priest up. He hadn’t wanted to turn her over to the Nationalists, at the mercy of soldiers who had full permission to use torture if they weren’t hearing what they wanted. But what was he to do? They had assigned him this task. First and foremost, catching Priest had been Shepherd’s priority mission. It had been a matter of improving national cohesion, of solving their internal issues before the country could 1ght oP its foreign invaders. It was his own fault he had grown so attached. It was his fault that he had wandered astray somewhere along the line, trying to 1ll this hole in his chest. National responsibility used to be enough. Now he was turning his head toward personal fascination, acting as if Priest were a friend he needed to care for rather than an enemy to capture.
What had happened to him?
Silas shook oP his thoughts, picking up the portable radio in case his superiors wanted to contact him again. He stepped out, taking the stairs down to the ground level of the control tower. The lights had gone out in the corridors. A row of gas lanterns lit the entryway instead, varying shades of gold and white-blue. Whatever battle had occurred here was now over. Still, the
hallways loomed ominously in the dark. The stone walls garnered an echo, but the metal-padded corridors were no better, resembling an oversized cage.
Silas greeted the soldiers guarding the west sector. One of them was covered in blood, though he looked uninjured.
“Third cell,” the soldier said, gesturing for Silas to proceed. “Shout if you need us.”
Silas could feel his pulse pounding in his throat. It wasn’t as if he was nervous.
It was hard to describe what he was, because the culmination of so much work was cresting to this result in front of him, yet if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure what this result would bring him. Priest’s capture wouldn’t be any help getting Orion back anymore. Priest’s capture alone couldn’t help them win the civil war.
He needed to see her. That was all. He needed to know that he had a purpose in this city, and he was capable of achieving it.
Silas walked toward the cell. The radio in his hands buzzed. “Shepherd, report.”
A burst of static. He ignored it.
Priest was in the corner. Dressed in black, just as his friends had been when they broke in too.
“Hello,” he said. “You will have to forgive me for deceiving you like this. It was a matter of necessity.”
“I could have.” Priest’s voice was a shock. Much sweeter than he expected. Much more… familiar than he could have guessed. She still had her back to him, facing the corner of the cell. “But is this the worst that you’ve done?”
“Shepherd. Shep… come in… Shepherd?”
Silas turned the radio oP, sheer incomprehension slowing his movements. He knew this silhouette. He knew exactly who was standing before him.
There had been a mistake. They had caught the wrong person, made a mix- up inside the facility when the soldiers were pursuing intruders.
Silas gripped the bars. “Don’t worry,” he said in a rush. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out.”
“Why?” Phoebe turned around. “You’ve worked so hard to put me in here, Magician.”
