Alice was in her diary room, printing the day’s events in laborious capital letters into a red leather book with cream-colored paper, a cup of coffee she had forgotten about an hour ago sitting, ice-cold, next to her elbow. All around her on the old writing desk, similar red and black leather-bound volumes lay in haphazard stacks and piles; the left side for the ones she had been reading, the right side for the ones she had completed in recent years. Behind her, the walls of the room were nothing but inset bookshelves, unstained brown wood and row after row of leather and cloth bound diaries, hundreds of them, in varying states of repair. She didn’t know how old she was, but the other day; she’d gone looking for the oldest diary in the room. The best she’d been able to do was one from 1922. She’d been freaked out by that, but she hadn’t said anything to Rebecca or Alistair when they came around regularly to pester her.
She’d probably spent too much time up here recently, though she knew from her diaries that she’d always preferred to retreat here. Alistair’s download had restored the framework of her memories, recent events and happenings, the names of the people around her and some of her past with them, but none of the context had come with it, and her own mind felt alien to her, like someone had replaced the furniture in her bedroom while she was out with things that were nice, but not quite the same. Still, it worked well enough that she could manage, and every day she remembered other bits and pieces, not memories exactly, but feelings and preferences, foods and people she liked and disliked, things that she knew how to do, books she’d read and movies she’d seen. She’d put a Darkthrone album on the stereo the other day, ‘ Panzerfaust ’, the same one that was playing softly on her laptop right now, and was fairly certain they were her favorite band. Stuff like that had been happening all day, and trying to remember it all and write it all down gave her a headache.
When she wasn’t trying to preserve what was left of her, she read the diaries. It was fascinating, some of the time, like reading a series of fantasy novels populated entirely with people she knew but remembered only vaguely. At random, she’d pulled a volume that was more than a decade old, and found herself reading a detailed description of a night that she’d spent with Michael, the scratches her nails had left across his broad, muscular back. She blushed to think that she had considering flirting with the handsome black man the night before at dinner. Four hours later, reading another diary, she’d discovered why they no longer spoke, and did some more blushing.
Alice read the most about the people around her, what she thought of them, what they had done together. Rebecca was interesting, because she was one of the only people that Alice really remembered of her own accord, along with Xia, who she’d remembered not to hug when she’d seen him, because he was pathological about disease, and lived in a sealed clean room in the Science building at the Academy. Something about Rebecca, just thinking about her, made Alice feel a little safer, a little better, and she knew that she trusted her, as far as she was willing to trust anyone. Alistair, on the other hand…
He had come to see her several times since that day, treating her, helping her reconstruct her memories into some sort of order, and he was unfailingly polite. She respect him as a boss, it was obvious, and the diaries were replete with stories of his prowess and brilliant improvisations in the field, but she didn’t like having him in her head. Actually, she had to take a long, hot shower after every one of his visits. Her diaries had made this relationship all the more problematic.
Many of her diaries had asides, notes written directly to herself, on the assumption that she would forget eventually. Most of them were not particularly significant, though a few of them had been helpful. The one that concerned her was brief, but it had been underlined several times for emphasis.
‘Something is wrong with Alistair,’ it read, her normally neat block letters slanted with agitation.
There was nothing else in the diary that helped her understand the note, but it fed her own growing distrust of her supervisor, and she wasn’t entirely sure that she’d have been able to hide that from a telepath of Alistair’s ability, during their little reconstruction sessions. She didn’t know why she wasn’t supposed to trust him. She wasn’t even sure how much she trusted the diaries, or the woman who’d written them. However, she had to lean on something, and the disjointed, verbose diaries seemed like the most solid thing available to her.
The first weeks had been the worst, when she felt the entire time as if she was trying to scramble up a gravelly hill, sliding backwards further with every step she took forward. She could see pity in the eyes of everyone she met, when she couldn’t remember their names or who they were, and more often than not, she protected herself by responding with hostility and the cruel smile that her face settled in almost automatically. That, at least, she felt comfortable with; that she knew was her own. Lately it was a little better. It had been days since she had met someone and not known who they were, or made a colossal misstep in conversation. She’d been reluctant, when Gaul had approached her and offered her a temporary teaching position, running the Program, because she thought she didn’t remember how to do it. But when she’d actually gone out there, to the shooting range and the cavernous room with the tile floor dotted with tiny, irreversible bloodstains and the rough painted circle, it all came flooding back, and she’d thrown herself into the work. It helped her to center herself, and she knew instinctively that she had looked to violence for that in the past as well.
It didn’t hurt that Alex Warner turned out to be almost as fun to pick on as Mitsuru was.
Alice wrote until her hand cramped up, until she was certain that she’d written down everything important, all of her conclusions and suspicions, the whole of the day’s events in as concise a manner as possible. Then she went back to reading, one of the diaries she’d pulled from the wall earlier, a recent one. The things she’d been doing right before she disappeared.
She was so engrossed in the diary, and the knock at the door was so quiet, that at first Alice wasn’t sure that she had heard it. She crept up to the door out of habit, light on the balls of her feet, then remembered that there was no peephole, and reluctantly opened it a crack instead. She looked outside, sighed for effect, and then opened the door to let Rebecca in.
“Finally. I could feel you standing on the other side of the door, you know. What a fucking day, let me tell you,” Rebecca said, breezing past her, her brown hair tied back in a bun with something that looked like a chopstick sticking through it. She wore a tight blue t-shirt with the UCLA logo and worn, comfortable-looking jeans, a lit cigarette in her right hand. “I swear these kids spend their free time plotting ways to make my life miserable. When Gaul pulled me from the field I thought I was getting a reward. A vacation, or at least a desk job with weekends off. I thought that life would get easier when no one was shooting at me.”
Rebecca glanced around the room, then perched herself precariously on the corner of Alice’s desk, nudging the trashcan with toe of her shoe, so she could knock the ash from her cigarette into it. Alice barely managed to avoid laughing aloud. She’d already known Rebecca would refuse any chair in the room — without needing her diary to remind her, she knew that.
“Since when did you ever give anyone the chance to shoot at you?” Alice asked fondly, sitting back down in front of her desk, and closing the diary she had been reading.
Rebecca winked at her with a wry grin.
“Somebody has been doing their homework on the old days, I see,” Rebecca said, smiling. “Been reading about our many adventures? Have you read about the thing in Greece yet? The one with those two amazing Algerian cousins?”
A piece of Alice’s memory fell out of the sky, whole and vibrant, just like that. It was a good thing. She felt warm and her skin tingled, thinking about that night, lying on the beach on a very small island with the wind off the Mediterranean cooling the sweat on her naked back.
“Yeah,” Rebecca sighed. “That was back when I used to get laid occasionally.”
Rebecca snuffed out her cigarette and dropped it into the trashcan, then hopped back up and started wandering the room. She crouched over the laptop and switched the music over to Minor Threat. Alice let it pass. She had learned that Rebecca hated black metal earlier in the day, from her diaries.
“Why don’t you, then, if you miss it?” Alice asked mischievously. “It’s not that hard to arrange.”
Rebecca snorted and resumed her position on the exposed corner of the desk. It looked uncomfortable to Alice, but whatever.
“I’m not like the rest of you people,” Rebecca said, taking a hard-shell plastic case from one of her pants pockets and opening it. “I don’t want to have to go to work the next day with the person I just slept with. It’s… icky. Uncomfortable. Besides, my job practically requires me to be all of these kids’ big sister. That’s a very fragile notion. I have to try and stay as perfect as possible in their eyes.”
Alice laughed at the idea of Rebecca keeping up the appearance of virtue — Rebecca, who chronically smoked, swore, and littered with a haphazard apathy. Of course, thanks to her empathic gifts, no one held any of that against her. It just wasn’t possible.
“Besides,” Rebecca continued blithely, pulling a neatly rolled joint from out of the plastic case, “I’m not even remotely attracted to anyone here. Not my type.”
Rebecca lit the joint and inhaled, coughed briefly, then, with her eyes red and watering, offered it to Alice. Alice wondered if she did stuff like that, and couldn’t remember. She refused, just to be safe, and Rebecca shrugged.
“Remind me,” Alice said, trying to sound casual. “What is your type?”
“That reminds me of a story, actually,” Rebecca said mischievously, pausing occasionally to pull at the smoldering joint. “We did a job together in Venezuela one time, out in the jungle — FARC country, you know? Anyway, we’re slogging along through the brush and the trees, and it had been raining for days. It was terrible, my hair smelled like mildew, and this purported guerrilla group we are supposed to check out aren’t anywhere. Finally, after three days, we drag ourselves into this little village, way the fuck out there, expecting nothing but Indians. Instead, it turns out that there’s this whole group of graduate students from the University of Ohio at the same village, anthropologists, and they end up offering us dinner. So we’re hanging out, getting drunk on this awful moonshine they distill themselves out there in a tin boiler, and waiting for them to finish cooking some sort of stew, when you tap me on the shoulder, and you point out this guy to me, one of the students…”
Alice kept smiling expectantly for a moment. Rebecca remained silent and motionless so long that she got worried.
“And? Rebecca? Hello?”
“Did you feel that?” Rebecca asked, her eyes filled with worry.
“What?”
“Alice,” Rebecca said, dropping the joint, still burning, into the trashcan, and taking her gently by the shoulders. “Did someone just apport into the Academy?”
Alice closed her eyes and looked for the silver veins running through the Ether that marked passage, the roiling of the endless fog. They were there, as obvious and temporary as contrails.
“Yeah. Multiple ports, actually. Why?”
“Because they are all angry, angry and scared,” Rebecca said, heading for the door and pulling Alice behind her. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Alice asked, grabbing for the shotgun and bandolier that sat next to the door, blunt, mean, and reassuring.
“Wherever they’re going,” Rebecca said grimly.
“Where is that?”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca snapped, pulling her along. “I haven’t figured out who they are here to kill yet.”
It seemed to Alex like he waited on the steps for a long time. It wasn’t unpleasant, though; he was sore and battered from Michael’s class, and it felt good to be out, watching the sun sink behind the sea of fog below the Academy. There was a certain pleasant tension, torn between eagerness and anxiety at what would happen with Eerie. Alex hit play on his mp3 player, and it brought him something new, something odd and electronic, something he’d never heard before. That meant that Eerie had put it there, when she plugged his player into her laptop last week. The singer’s voice had been pitched-shifted into a frantic, sexless thing, the desperation of a late night nervous breakdown over a long-distance call.
He decided it didn’t fit his mood, and skipped ahead until he hit something more innocuous, a hip-hop group from Hong Kong called Lazy Motherfuckers. He only had a different sweatshirt and jeans to change into, but they were his nicest sweatshirt and jeans. Stretched out on the warm grey stone, lying there thinking about nothing in particular, until he felt Margot looking down on him, even though he’d never heard her approach.
“Come on,” she urged, helping him up with one cool hand.
“Did I ever tell you that I like your hair like this?”
Margot mumbled something and turned away.
“Let’s go,” she said roughly, over her shoulder, “I don’t want anyone to see us. We have a pretty narrow window of time when this is possible.”
“Aren’t you over-thinking it? Can’t I just hop a fence or something?”
“Are you kidding? Eerie’s in trouble with Rebecca. Rebecca’s not to be messed around with,” Margot said seriously. “Even if she is a softie when it comes to Eerie, she’s still an Auditor…”
“What?” Alex stopped in his tracks, dazed. “What did you just say?”
Margot stopped at the edge of the trees and looked back at him as if he was insane.
“Rebecca is an Auditor, you fool.” Margot’s mouth was a barely visible contemptuous line, her eyes gleaming with an internal radiance that shown through the dusk. “You actually didn’t know that? Then she must not have wanted you to find out. Well, that’s life, right? You can’t take anyone at face value. I work with them now, Alex,” Margot said, sounding a bit like she was laughing, “The current Auditors. Alistair, Alice Gallow, Mitsuru Aoki, Xia, and, of course, Rebecca Levy. Though I’ve never seen her out in the field. I hear she’s terrifying.”
“Really?” Alex was dumbfounded, walking blindly behind Margot while his mind was very much elsewhere. “She just seems so… I don’t know. Nice, I guess. I’m having trouble imagining it.”
“You are a soldier Alex, as is everyone you know,” Margot said casually, but with a terrible coldness. “At some point, you are going to have accept that.”
Stunned as he was, Alex knew that Margot was right. He had been fooling himself, after all. If she was in charge of him, what else could Rebecca be? And why did he feel so surprised by it? It wasn’t as if Michael had always been a teacher, and he’d known that Alice and Mitsuru worked in the field, killing people, but Rebecca… it wasn’t only that she hadn’t told him, though that was a part of it. Seeing her as an Auditor was so profoundly at odds with the woman he thought he knew that he had difficulty reconciling the two images. He was felt anger and betrayal, and he was surprised to have such a strong reaction. He hadn't realized the degree to which he trusted Rebecca, until that moment, when he started to questioned her.
God, he hated empathy.
He followed Margot through the wooded area behind the library; a cluster of willow trees hugging a milky, churning creek, surrounded by twisted oaks and deliberately spaced fruit trees. It was a popular area to hang out and study, during the day, when the weather was nice, and most of the students who smoked would sneak out here to do it. But in the evening half-light the ground was a treacherous tangle of roots and brambles, and Alex stumbled and muttered curses under his breath, periodically urged to hurry by Margot who was apparently untroubled by the darkness. Eventually, she seized his hand like a mother pulling along a difficult child.
“Quicker this way,” Margot snapped, scowling as she pulled him along, her cold fingers tight around his wrist. His arm hurt, but he was afraid to say anything.
They walked roughly parallel with the creek for a short time, eventually emerging behind a few low hills to the east of the monolithic Administration building. There was a cluster of homes surrounded by low fences in the small valley there, notched between the hillsides, one of which looked familiar. It took Alex a moment to place it. The wind must have been playing tricks with him, because more than once, he could sworn that he saw someone following them, a figure he couldn’t make out through the trees. Margot’s pace was too demanding for him to stop and take a good look, and he quickly forgot about it, focusing instead on not tripping over roots and tree trunks in the waning light.
“Isn’t that Anastasia’s house?”
“We are neighbors,” Margot acknowledged. “The little one on the end, that’s Eerie, Sebastian, and myself.”
“Who’s Sebastian?”
“He’s a pyrokine, like Xia, maybe more so. A bit touchy about strangers. Might try to burn you alive if he sees you skulking around. Fortunately, he’s only ten, and he’ll be so absorbed watching TV downstairs that he’ll never even notice you are here. He kinda latched on to Eerie a few years ago and he’s lived with us ever since,” Margot said, tossing her shoulders indifferently. “Don’t worry about it. You probably won’t get set on fire. Follow me.”
“I hate it when you say stuff like that, you know,” Alex complained, following her with a heavier heart than when he had started.
“I do.”
They wound around the buildings and the hillocks in an abstract path that seemed utterly haphazard at first. It wasn’t until they were almost halfway to the house that Alex realized she was intent on keeping them out of view of the bulk of the Administrative building. She stopped one house past Anastasia’s, just short of their destination.
“Here’s my ID card,” Margot said, handing him her pass card. “Give me yours.”
“Why?” Alex said, digging it out of his pocket.
“When you open the door, it will record me going in the house, rather than you, dumbass,” Margot said, snatching his card. “I’m going to read in your room. I’m not going to see anything gross in there, right?”
“I don’t even know what you mean by that, but no,” Alex said, trying to remember if that was true or not. “Nothing gross. But I didn’t make the bed.”
“Fine. Eerie’s room is upstairs, second door. You have till midnight, and then we meet back here and switch cards. Don’t leave me standing out here, or you’ll be sorry.”
Margot didn’t wait for a response. She just walked off, leaving him standing there, staring at the pass card in his hand, though it looked no different from his own. Eventually he walked over to the little cottage, like the ones in some of the older neighborhoods in Bakersfield, wood and white stucco and ivy on the walls, and opened the door with a swipe of the card. The stairs were to his right inside. He could hear a TV in the front room, but no one reacted to his coming in. He went up to the second floor, past an unmarked door that he assumed was Margot’s. Part of him wondered what her room would be like, what she would keep there, if there was anything up on the walls, but mostly he was simply nervous.
He knocked as quietly as possibly, but she must have been waiting, because she heard him, and called out musically for him to come inside.
Anastasia waited for Donner to find the right bush to relieve himself on. It wasn’t glamorous, but that was dog ownership, even if the dog was actually a wolf that could transform into something that looked human. She stood by a ditch on the side of the road while Timor hovered at a discreet distance and Renton at a less discreet one.
“Well, hello,” Renton said unexpectedly, his hands suddenly on her shoulders, steering her in the direction of a figure moving quietly and deliberately through the failing light. “Is that Margot? Where do you think she’s going at this hour?”
She shrugged out of his grip and kept a firm leash on her temper, which threatened to explode. Ever since she had brought Timor in, Renton had been this way. She knew perfectly well why, of course, and it vexed her to no end.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you fix that,” Anastasia suggested coolly.
“Follow a girl through the woods at night? I’m your man…”
Renton smiled creepily and padded off in Margot’s direction. Anastasia knew perfectly well what she was up to, obviously, but she had planned to have hot cocoa and watch the Neverwhere DVD set her little sister had given her, on her bed with Donner and Blitzen, and if Renton saw that, he would snicker. She liked the idea of him hanging around outside Alex’s room, cold and getting the wrong idea about Margot, a great deal more. Besides, Timor was her favorite among the cousins, but so recalcitrant when Renton was around that she hardly had the opportunity to talk to him. She double-checked that Renton had actually left, glanced at the still occupied Weir, and then wandered over in his direction.
“You can relax,” Anastasia said generously. “Renton will remain occupied for the rest of the evening.”
“Good,” Timor said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m not sure that I’ll get used to all this subterfuge, Anastasia. Are you certain you want to pursue this course of action?”
“I have to,” she responded airily, swirling her skirt with one hand. “Are you sure you can handle it, when the time comes?”
“Oh, yes,” Timor said, with his charming and utterly matter-of-fact confidence. “That won’t be a problem. Have you picked a time yet?”
“No,” Anastasia said, watching the last sliver of the sun disappear and feeling the same sadness that she always felt when she had to throw something away that she’d gotten used to having around. “But it will be soon, I’m certain. Be ready.”
“Of course,” Timor said smoothly, giving her a smile that rather made her wish that they weren’t cousins. Then again, being her cousin made it alright for her to take his arm to stroll along the darkened road, so maybe it wasn’t all bad. “Do you think that Katya will have to do her half of the job?”
“That is still up in the air,” she said, sighing and looking up at the emerging stars. “I am nowhere even close to deciding. We will all go back to the island, and then we will see what happens. If everything goes according to plan, then we have nothing to worry about. If not, we still get Emily to cook for us on vacation. She is really quite a talented chef, you see.”
“Yeah,” Timor said, nodding. “Dinner was good. You do realize there’s no way she’s the girl to back, right? You have to know that. You always know everything. So, why are you helping her?”
Anastasia pulled his arm closer because she could, because he didn’t think anything of it, and because Renton wasn’t here, and lately that had started to make Anastasia feel a little bit giddy.
“Because I like her, I suppose,” Anastasia said, feeling as if she was confessing something. “And also because she has something I want. Her older sister. Therese Muir is an effective Operator, and if I can’t recruit her, I am going to have to kill her, because she is an endless pain for me as things stand. Anyway,” she added thoughtfully, “you shouldn’t underestimate a desperate woman, and Emily is desperate. You really like Eerie that much more, then? I wouldn’t have thought it.”
It was too dark to be sure, but Timor looked like he was thinking about it. She didn’t pester him, and they wandered a bit off the path, into the shadows of the woods and the smell of moss, the wolves trailing behind them. She clutched at his arm, unable to see, but he walked confidently through the sound of crunching leaves. Even when he had been a rough and clumsy teenager, she remembered, he had been this way, she couldn’t help but rely on him, and he practically encouraged the whole world to do the same. She wondered, not for the first time, what it was that made him and his sister so profoundly different.
“She’s cute enough,” Timor said indifferently. “And Eerie seems nice in her own weird way. She’d make a good girlfriend for a shy guy, and Alex is exceptionally shy. Even I can see that. Emily is, well, she has looks and poise and she is a hell of a cook, but she’s a bit lacking in something important. I’m not sure what it is, so don’t ask me. She’s just not the kind of girl I can see Alex falling in love with, that’s all. So, I hope you’re hedging your bets.”
“You know I always do,” Anastasia chided him as he took her other hand and lifted her, delicately, over a protruding obstacle that was invisible to her. “Eerie and I have cooperated for years. She became recalcitrant and cut me out when Alex showed up, so I respected her wishes and left her to her own devices. True, I sent Katya to watch over them, but that is probably excessive caution on my part. I can’t imagine Alex getting up the courage to do anything more than talk, but I told Katya to take care of it if things get too heated.”
“Another night spent outside a window watching those two make out,” Timor laughed. “You’re going to warp my sister even more than she already is. I’m not sure I — hey…”
He trailed off. She would have asked him what was going on, but he put his hand on her shoulder, and she knew he meant for her to stay quiet. While Timor had worked as an assassin for her for a year or so, he was a capable bodyguard as well, and she respected his wishes. Anastasia knew from a lifetime of experience that a part of being guarded successfully was simply cooperating with the process of being protected. After a moment, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, she could feel his breath against her skin, and though she never would have admitted it, she didn’t mind at all.
“There are two or three people on top of the hill to our right, coming in our direction, and another group off to the left, circling around to the houses. I don’t think they know we are here, I think they are heading toward one of the houses behind us. Could be you, could be Alex. Either way, they trip over us here and we are in trouble. Can you bring your Weir closer to us?”
Anastasia pulled the whistle from where it hung on a thin braided platinum chain, down in between what she optimistically thought of as her breasts. There was no audible noise when she blew into it, but the Weir came over on their padded feet, sidling through the undergrowth to take positions protectively around her.
“Okay,” Timor said, sounding impressed and encouraged. “Those are better odds. Now, what do you want to do?”
“I don’t want them to see us. Let them pass us, and then follow them before you do anything. I want to know who they are.”
“Fine,” Timor said, concentrating, and then pointing to a nearby copse, dominated by one massive old leafless oak. “They won’t look over there when they come by. But, if they have any telepaths with them and they have your signature…”
Anastasia chuckled as she walked over behind the tree, Timor and the Weir tagging obediently along behind her.
“Not to worry,” she said warmly. “They won’t notice me, I’m sure.”
She was right, of course, and they didn’t. There were three of them, dressed in grey and dark blue, their faces obscured by smudge paint and darkness. It didn’t matter. She still recognized them.
“Taos Cartel.”
Timor turned to look at her, his expression strained.
“What? You can’t be serious!”
“I am,” Anastasia said icily. “They are Taos Cartel members, no doubt about it. They could only be here for me. We have traitors in the Black Sun. Clearly, Terrie is not the only cartel that has been compromised.”
“Assassins,” Timor said softly, watching them disappear back into the brush, moving steadily toward Anastasia’s house. “Here for the future head of the Black Sun. They mean to put the whole cartel into disarray. Maybe even start a civil war.”
Anastasia emerged from behind the tree, following the path the assassins had taken, a respectable distance behind. Donner and Blitzen pressed against the blooming skirts of her dress, and she was grateful for their presence. She could walk confidently in front of Timor, her servant, which was important. Because the dogs would do the worrying for her. And there was indeed much to worry over.
“Two teams that we know about,” Anastasia reminded him. “There could be more. They aren’t here for me exclusively. The Taos cartel fields twenty-two combat capable operators. If they are making a move, then it makes no sense not to hit me with everything they have.”
“Are you going to recall Renton?” Timor asked nervously, checking his long Russian army coat, no doubt confirming the presence of the various implements of his trade. “He could be useful.”
“No, I like him where he is,” Anastasia said thoughtfully. “If they are hitting multiple targets, I am willing to bet that Alex is one of them. But I do have to warn someone.”
She had Brennan, the only other competent telepath she had on campus, relay the call to him. The man she wanted to talk to wasn’t a telepath, but thanks to the Etheric machinery implanted in his brain, he could download protocols at will from the network. Since he was a precognitive, he was always listening when he needed to be, because he knew that he would need to be.
“Gaul.”
“Anastasia. I assume I know why I’m hearing from you?”
“Yes. I have five of them over here, two teams. I’ll take care of them. Nevertheless, I thought you should know — they are members of the Taos Cartel, and there could be fifteen or so more of them in Central. Proscribe the Taos Cartel. I officially withdraw the Black Sun’s protection.”
“Understood. Don’t bother taking them alive.”
Anastasia broke the connection and smiled. As if, she thought. Questions had to be answered, and it wasn’t as if Gaul and his Auditors planned on sharing information with the Black Sun when they dragged their own prisoners down to the cells.
“This works out well,” Anastasia said, satisfied. “Alright, Timor. Take the first group as they leave the woods. And if you can leave one of them alive…”
Timor acknowledged her with a nod, and then ducked on ahead, moving at a jog. She gave a curt command in Norwegian, the Weirs’ mother tongue, and they glided into motion, spreading out to Timor’s flanks, moving quickly through the leaves and the darkness.