The implied threat hung there for a moment, amusing Alex.
He met Ace’s dark expression. “You don’t get anything without giving a little. I’m giving you trust. So trust me. Convince her to trust me before it’s too damn late. Once she’s in custody, my hands may be tied. She’ll be on her own.” He pulled his arm free. “I can buy her a few days. Move fast.”
Alex slid off into the crowd. He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. He’d planted the seed. Now to wait for it to bear fruit.
***
Alex dropped his pen into its holder, leaned back, and rubbed his eyes. They ached, and it wasn’t simply the tedium of the paperwork waiting when he’d returned from the Piece of Asp. His office was dim. He could have flipped a switch and turned on the artificial lights, as the Zone Three Council offices were well-powered by Azcon Sparks, but he knew what it took to provide the energy. He preferred to conserve. He also genuinely liked the light of the beeswax candles that were the alternative. He liked the rhythm and elegance of the dip pens everyone else bitterly complained about, too.
He should go. Full dark had fallen hours before. He still had to report in to Fort Nevada about what had happened, and the Fort was a long way away. He rarely risked a written report outside of regularly scheduled message drops. When something worthy of the attention of his partner, Thomas, occurred, Alex disappeared from his life here in Council Zone Three and made the report in person. It would be a long night before Alex got any rest. Lena was worthy of Thomas’s attention.
She was worthy of attention, period. Alex kept turning her around in his head like a living puzzle box. His fascination wasn’t solely because they had been searching for her, believing in her existence, for so long. He admired what she had built. She lived life on her own terms, without any safety net.
The revolution Alex and Thomas were quietly stoking was dangerous and could be fatal. But they’d built a network to support their efforts. And if all else failed, they had a friendship spanning decades. They had each other. Lena was alone.
If he had been in her position—if his parents had held onto him like a treasure instead of handing him over to the Council in exchange for prestige and a bump in their monthly allotment of charge—could he have made his way, as she had, with no training, simply independence and that ass-kicking attitude?
Alex leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading at the memory of her clawing and kicking for freedom as she’d come down that slope with a Council agent doing everything he could to restrain her. She’d pulled free, and then when she’d seen Alex waiting for her, she hadn’t panicked. She hadn’t given up. She’d marched up that road to get in his face.
They needed her.
He turned to look out the wide-ledged window his rank afforded him. Azcon was dark. It was one of the largest of the relocation centers turned cities, and a little more than twenty thousand people lived here, though few of those citizens wandered the streets now. They were safe at home or, if they were night shift, tucked in to work. The Council touted the comfort it offered citizens during this time of “new prosperity.” Were they comfortable? Or were they resentful but complacent in the aftermath of two centuries of hunger and fighting and uncertainty? Perhaps they didn’t even care who ruled them.
And what about the men and women in Councilor Three’s offices, the bureaucrats and peace officers and agents? Did any of them care? Lucas did. He was a Council man. Alex’s lip curled. After spending the last year and half dealing with the ambitious little prick, when the time came, Lucas would be one of the first to die.
As if the thought of him was a beacon, a quick double knock sounded at Alex’s office door. Lucas entered, reaching over and flicking the lights on as he did. Alex squinted. He continued looking out the now reflective glass for a moment, enjoying that last thought, before he turned to the younger man.
“Hey,” he said mildly. “I thought you were done for the day. What’s up?”
Lucas showed his teeth and slapped a file on Alex’s lap. He kept some papers in reserve, a few thin, faded sheets. “I got her.”
Alex arched a brow. “You got her? How’s that?” He sat forward and lifted the file to inspect. He’d seen it before, the last time about a decade before. Family name, Gracey. He flipped open the family file and read aloud the Citizen Contact Sheet from the top. “Daniel Joseph Gracey. Son of Joseph Michael Gracey and Mercedes Solano Gracey. Home address: 235 Ochoa Street, Unit 9A. Status: Mid-level Spark. Occupation: Junior Assistant Councilor Aide to Councilor Three.” None of this was news to him. He paused, arching his brows. “Is this brother Danny?”