He had settled her back on the couch, telling her it was time for him to do his part in gathering information. He moved around to the far side of Three’s desk and went through the drawers, lifting out leather binders and envelopes. He set them in front of him on the desk and pried them open, carefully preserving the wax seals of each. He didn’t say anything. He went through the papers with methodical efficiency.
She turned to stare again at Councilor Three. In spite of what Alex had done, she couldn’t deny how good it had felt to sit beside him earlier, working together to get the answers they needed from the Councilor to keep their movement, and Sparks themselves, safe. Somehow it made it easier to know that they were the same. Perhaps that’s why she understood the choices he’d made all along? They were the same decisions she’d have made.
Confronting Alex head-on, his actions seemed not far removed from those of the Council. But from the side, from the angle she had on his motives and their truth, was he wrong? She didn’t think so. He didn’t care about consolidating power. He only wanted to reserve a place for people like them. If his methods were similar, so be it. Sometimes fire wasn’t fought with water.
She leaned forward and scrubbed her face with her hands. A moment later, her head popped back up.
Was that a scream?
As if her movement had reminded him again of her presence, he started to speak. “Lena—”
She held her hand up for silence and listened. Her heart thumped in her ears, and she focused to hear above it. Yes, outside the silence in the room, faraway shrieks and shouting came closer.
He listened, too, then nodded and returned his attention to the paper in front of him.
She stared at the wall, focused on the sounds filtering in from the outside. “What’s happening out there?”
He turned a glance up to her and then back down. “The attack.”
She frowned. “Wait. Our attack?”
“Mm-hmm.” He set the slip of paper to the side and shuffled the other papers back together. He began slipping them back into binders and envelopes.
“I don’t understand. I thought it was a focused strike to come for the Councilor. Who is that screaming?”
“The caravaners.”
The caravaners? The people who worked the caravan? “But—are they being attacked?”
“It’s a necessary component of the larger strategy.”
“A necessary component? What strategy? And when did you throw that in there?”
“It was always a part of the plan.” He was matter-of-fact. “It’s collateral damage. But there will be very few actual casualties, and those who die were chosen for specific reasons.” He held her shocked stare, his own face utterly calm. “There has to be terror. They have to be in fear for their lives, Lena, or when they’re questioned at the Meet, the stories won’t support the evidence. But despite what you’re hearing, it isn’t indiscriminate killing out there. They just think it is.”
Before she could respond, the door opened and Jackson slipped in.
“We need to move her. Now.” He marched across to the couch and grabbed her hand.
Alex stood up. “What’s happened?”
Jackson pointed to the side of the car, indicating the sounds coming from outside. “All of that? It isn’t just us. There’s another group out there, in black and grey. Not us.” He yanked her up from the couch. “Their leader is tall and thin. He came in with them, blew right past me and told his men to focus on finding the Councilor and kill anyone who got in the way. They’re coming here, too.”
Alex cursed. He stood and gathered up all of the papers and little wax seals. As he shoved them together in a folio and stuck it under his arm, he told Lena, “Light him up.”
“What?”
“Light. Him. Up. Burn the car. It needs to burn hot and fast. This group may really be from the Council, and we can’t have the truth reported back to them.”
She turned to the Councilor. The man she tortured to death. She gritted her teeth. She would not feel guilt for what she’d done, nor for the darkness in which she’d reveled. He had earned it, and more. Now, the easiest solution would be to ignite the carpets beneath him.
She looked at Alex, shoving the last of the drawers closed and moving quickly to join them.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Alex stood in the entry. “Agents dressed in green and brown are ours. Black and grey,” he looked to Jackson for confirmation. At Jackson’s tense nod, he continued, “Black and grey are not. You follow Jackson, Lena.” He nodded at Jackson. “I’m clearing the way to the rendezvous point. Stay close.” Alex darted off into the twilit grey.
She turned back for just a second, sending out her wishes. The fire whooshed up, hot and pale, running up the man-shaped bulk on the floor in a bright wave that crested at the top and ran together in a bright twisting column. It threw off sparks that nestled in folds of the garish fabric covering the ceiling and walls and couch. The embers burrowed in, glowing, smoking, and then lighting. It was beautiful. It was just.
By the time Jackson pulled her away, pulling on her hand held tight in his own, little fires were already burning merrily. She looked back once. Orange light danced behind the curtained windows. One of the curtains went up, peeling away in a cascade of orange.