“You’re missing the big picture here,” Justine said with frustration.
Ariane stiffened. “Everyone keeps talking about that. As if the here and now doesn’t matter. If every life matters, then every life matters.”
Justine’s gaze narrowed in on Ariane, her posture shifting, shoulders straightening, her hands coming up to rest on the table above her phone. “Is this your final say in the matter?” she asked in a cool, neutral tone.
My pulse picked up, reacting to the new tension in the air. I couldn’t hear Justine’s thoughts, but I could feel the change. The low-level hum cranking up another notch or ten.
Justine was going to do something. And she wasn’t alone. I could feel it. The buzz in my brain was too much for one person.
Then it dawned on me. The line behind us, all the cranky, corporate coffee-seekers. Crap. How many of them were Justine’s plants? I’d never even thought about that. She wasn’t going to have black-clad security personnel, like Jacobs and Laughlin. She’d have agents in suits, blending in nicely with all the accountants and bankers in here.
I fought the urge to swing around and count the number of faces turned in our direction, watching too intently. The only slight advantage we had was that, in order to keep their cover, any agents in the restaurant were forced to blend in. Stand in line. Sit at the booths. But that wouldn’t last.
WE’RE SURROUNDED. I thought at Ariane, concentrating on projecting the words clearly.
Next to me, Ariane cocked her head, listening. To me, or the others. “Is that my final word?” she repeated to Justine. “No. This is.” She looked to me. “Over the counter.”
I was still processing that when she moved, boosting herself over the counter and into the area with the bagel shop employees, who seemed equally surprised by her sudden entrance.
Oh. I was supposed to be following her.
I jumped the counter, but not nearly as smoothly, catching a rack of potato chips with my foot and knocking it to the ground.
“Hey!” One of the gape-mouthed employees recovered enough to shout at me.
Ariane ignored it, ducking the grasping arm of a manager and slipping around the three cashiers at their stations to push through a low swinging door, set at counter level.
I stayed as close as possible on her heels as we pushed out into the main room.
I could hear Justine shouting, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw several figures move with purpose, fighting their way toward us, not just lurching out of our way or jumping back in surprise.
The same people who would now be chasing us.
“You realize we’re running from our one chance to get out of this alive,” I said as we plowed out the door and onto the crowded sidewalk, jostling shoulders and elbows as we went. Protests and curses surrounded us, and I heard more than one cell phone clatter to the concrete.
Ariane slowed a fraction. “You can go back. You should. I’ve never wanted anything for you but—”
“Shut up. I just needed to state the obvious.” If there was one thing the last month had taught me, it was that I would regret not sticking around for the ride. I would regret not trusting Ariane.
She looked at me, concerned.
“But if we die in an alien attack a year from now, because they’re blowing up cities and shit, I’m going to be kind of pissed. Just so you know,” I said, pulling even with her.
She shook her head. “That won’t happen.”
The certainty in her voice was reassuring.
“We’ll have met our fate long before then,” she said, and picked up the pace.
Oh, good.
FIRST OBJECTIVE: DITCH OUR TAIL.
“You know, it would help if you weren’t dressed like a human highlighter,” I said over my shoulder to Zane.
Zane gave me an exasperated look as he dodged a tourist family clogging his half of the sidewalk. “Not a lot of choice in my clothes, Ariane.”
I’d figured. He’d protested vehemently when I’d made us both dress up in the Linwood Academy uniforms to infiltrate the school and meet Ford and the others. He was not, I knew, fond of khakis.
In spite of everything, I grinned. I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen, how we were going to untangle ourselves from this mess, but for just one moment, the joy that Zane was alive and okay—or mostly okay—and we were together overrode the panic and anxiety.
“Please tell me you have a plan,” Zane said, drawing up next to me.
I dared a glance behind us. The crowds of people that helped hide us also made it difficult to keep tabs on the agents pursuing us. But I caught a glimpse of pumping legs and dark suits. They were still there. “I have a plan,” I said.