The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2)

won’t talk,” he said. “But it’s not going to matter. The way they just came for us, they know something’s up. Your sister probably squealed, or they—”
“She didn’t.” I gave the vent a shake. “They’re bluffing, trying to scare us. Like my mom—that was always her trick. She’d have no clue what we did, or if we did anything at all, but if she thought we looked guilty, she’d sit us down in the kitchen and ask ‘why’d you do it?’ And we’d crack every time, point our fingers at each other—”
“I won’t point any fingers.” Lock grunted. “Did you hear that, just now?”
“Hear what?”
His voice dropped to a growl. “Trust me. Just trust me.”
I heard the scrape and creak of a door opening, and the scuffle of boots. Something hard hit the vent and set it thrumming. A buzzer went close by, and I knew Lock was gone. I called out to him anyway, and the siren wailed back. Trust me, he’d said. I closed my eyes and tried, but his boast from Outside haunted me, words I couldn’t shake. I’m a trained Decemite.
I knew what that meant.
My turn came soon enough, a quick march down the hall and a shove that sent me reeling. I blundered into blinding light and slammed full-tilt into a table. The breath whoofed out of me and I crumpled, doubling nearly in half.
“Watch where you’re going.” One of my guards caught my collar and steered me to a chair. The other shackled me to it, hands and feet. I blinked till my vision cleared, and I saw I was in an interrogation room somewhat larger than my cell, but just as plain. A camera hung in one corner, its sensor glowing red. When I leaned back, it followed me, and I wondered who was watching.
“Don’t fidget,” said someone. I craned to see who’d spoken. My cuffs caught me mid-turn, biting into my wrists. I spotted a man in the doorway, a Lofty from the looks of him, gray hair to his shoulders, bald on top. He was fiddling with a tablet, stabbing pettishly at the screen.
“What—?”
“Hold your horses.” He turned his back on me, and I found myself admiring his coat. It was splendid, long and elegant, tapered at the waist. Its cuffs were richly embroidered, all shades of red and gold. They gleamed when he moved, and I wondered if they felt soft or metallic.
“Myla Hyde.” He skirted the table and took a seat facing mine. “I’m Prium Lazrad.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. His face was strange, but I knew his name as well as anyone. I knew who he was—Lady Lazrad’s great-nephew, and her head of security.
I swallowed, dry-mouthed, as he peeled off his gloves. He had long, bony fingers—a long, bony frame—but he didn’t look fragile. He looked hard as gunmetal, all vicious angles. When he smiled, his lips went white.
“You’re quite rude,” he said. “I don’t rate a hello?”
“Hello.” I shifted without meaning to. My chair scraped on the floor. Prium made a tutting sound.
“You mean, ‘hello, sir.’”
“Hello, sir.” I couldn’t stop staring at his hands. They were big, agile as spiders, and just as restless. Twitching to get at me. I had no doubt he could hurt me, no doubt he’d done it to others before me.
He drew his tablet toward him and thumbed it to life. My picture filled the screen, and he swiped it away. “You ran,” he said. “You stole a mask, a tank, a Geiger counter, and a set of overalls belonging to one... Garis Silverman.” He tapped the screen one more time, and it went black. He wore his nails long, I noticed, lacquered red at the tips. “What did you hope to achieve?”
I stared at his hands some more. His nails gleamed wet and bloody, like they’d just tapped an artery. If he cut me, I’d heal. I’d heal too fast. He’d know.
Prium cleared his throat. “I believe I asked you a question.”
“Ona,” I croaked. I coughed and tried to cover it, and my cuff pinched my wrist. I flinched.
“Oh? Did you hurt yourself?” Prium leaned forward, and I thought his eyes twinkled—maybe waspish amusement, maybe a trick of the light. His tongue darted out, red as his nails. “Go on. You were saying?”
“My sister. I went looking for her. I heard she—” I shut my mouth with a snap. I’d had my story worked out, how I’d looked but never found her, but what if Lock was right? What if she had talked? What if Prium had made her? He was eyeing me like dinner. Hungry, I thought, and I shivered. “Is she here? Is she alive?”
Prium made a humming sound. “Your sister did return to us, but...”
But?
Waves of hot and cold surged through me, popping sweat down my neck. I swayed where I sat, and I guessed my fear was showing, just like Lock had said. I couldn’t have hidden it if I’d tried. But. She’d come home, but. Time hung on his next words—but what?
“Your capture,” said Prium. “Where was that?”
I gaped like a fish, mouth opening and closing on but.
“The Outsiders. Where did they seize you?” Prium leaned forward, a sudden, sharp movement. I lurched back with a shriek. My answer came tumbling out of me like the shock had knocked it loose.
“Some canyon,” I babbled. “I don’t know. It was dark.” Sweat pooled between my thighs, and my teeth began to chatter. I dug my nails into my palms, and still, the words kept coming. “Lock made me hide. I didn’t see much, just rocks and—is Ona here? Did you—did you—?”
“Did I what?” Prium cocked his head.
I ground my teeth. He’d flipped me paws-up, soft parts on display. He had me. He was toying with me, and I knew it, but—
But.
“What, you think I’d harm her?”
“No.” I shook my head so furiously the room spun. “I just meant, where is she? Is she alive? Is she—”
“Breathe,” said Prium.
“Wh-what?”
“I said, breathe.”
I didn’t dare