Biting back curses, Danny moved to the edge of the bed. His clothes had been replaced by a nightshirt that came down to his knees. There was no sign of his belongings.
The cog, he thought frantically.
He lurched to his feet, then promptly stumbled into the wall. Inching his way to the door on unsteady legs, he fought off the darkness creeping across his vision. He needed answers. Where was Meena? Why wasn’t he back at the cantonment? What had happened to Aditi?
Danny yanked at the knob with both hands. The door remained firmly shut. He was locked in.
“Hey!” His voice broke with fatigue. He banged on the door. “Hey, let me out!”
There was no answer. Danny stepped back and stared at the metal surface, shivering. He hugged the nightshirt closer to his body.
The window—he could at least try to figure out where they were. He stumbled toward it, eyes squinting in the sun’s glare.
He expected to see palm trees and buildings.
Not the vast, chilling expanse of a cloudless sky.
Danny stumbled back until he hit the side of the bed on his way to the floor.
An airship. A bloody airship.
A key rattled in the lock. Swinging his head around, Danny found himself staring at a young man not much older than himself, looking at Danny as if he’d all but expected to find him on the floor. He was tall with wide shoulders and a jaw shadowed with afternoon stubble, his light brown hair combed neatly above a smooth, high forehead.
“You’re awake,” he said in an English accent. “Good.”
“Wh-Who the hell are you?”
“We can have proper introductions later. First, I need to check your condition.”
“Don’t come near me!” Danny used the bed to scramble to his feet, nearly wrenching the sheets off in the attempt.
The young man raised his hands, still holding the brass key. “I don’t wish to hurt you.” As he came forward, Danny backed into the wall. Now he could see the stranger had gray eyes, so light they were almost silver.
“I just want to help,” the young man said, holding out a hand.
It was made of metal.
Something fluttered in his memory—a glimpse of metal underneath a sleeve torn by a bullet.
“You!” he gasped. “Don’t come any closer! Stay the hell away from me!”
“Daniel—”
Danny threw the sheets at him and darted past, veering woozily toward the door, but a large Indian man wearing a turban blocked his path. He grabbed Danny and pinned him to the floor.
“Don’t hurt him,” the young man ordered as he ripped the sheets away. “Liddy!”
Danny squirmed and bucked as a ginger-haired girl rushed inside and knelt beside them. The Sikh man held out Danny’s right arm, and she pushed the sleeve up. Danny couldn’t fathom why until he saw the glint of a needle in her hand.
He screamed and thrashed.
The girl named Liddy cursed. “Hold the bleeder still!”
The gray-eyed man crossed the room to help. Danny felt the needle slide into his vein and groaned through gritted teeth.
“This’ll knock him out,” Liddy said. “Sleep tight, mechanic.” He tried to take a swipe at her before the dizziness overtook him, but his hand barely left the floor.
He was out within seconds.
“Now, let’s try this again. Slowly this time.”
Danny was back in bed. His head felt as though someone had stuffed it with wool. He blinked his eyes open, calm and pain-free.
The light in the room was dimmer than it had been when he’d first awoken. The young man sat on a chair a couple feet from the bed, watching him. This would have ordinarily sent Danny into a panic, but still feeling the effects of the tranquilizer, he only noted the gray-eyed man’s presence with mild surprise.
Danny took his advice, sitting up slowly as blood pulsed against his temples. Leaning against the wall, he cast an eye over his captor.
“Who the hell are you?” he murmured.
“My name is Zavier.”
Danny waited a moment. “That’s it? You chase me across India and the only thing you can say is ‘My name is Zavier’?”
“Zavier Holmes, then, if that makes it better.”
“I’m fairly certain it doesn’t, no.”
The young man held up a finger. He went to the door and returned with a tray. “You’re going to be hungry in a minute or two. This conversation will be easier if you’ve eaten.”
He set the tray on the bed and Danny blearily studied the offerings. Toast with little dishes of butter and jam, hard-boiled eggs, slabs of bacon, and a cup that was covered with a napkin. He lifted the napkin and mercifully found tea.
“Trying to win me over, are you?” All the same, he picked up the cup and sipped carefully. The contents were lukewarm, but better than nothing. He hoped it would clear his mind; he didn’t like feeling so disconnected.
Zavier returned to his seat. “We don’t want to make this harder for you.”
Danny snorted weakly. “Threatening me with a gun, trying to abduct me, succeeding in abducting me, drugging me … Sorry, mate, but you’ve already made it rather difficult for me to trust you. A bit of toast and bacon won’t change that.”
“I didn’t intend it to. But after hearing what I have to say, I hope you’ll consider our side of things.”
“And what would that be, exactly?” But even as Danny said it, his mind began to whir back into motion. “You are the terrorists, aren’t you?”
Zavier flinched. “Please don’t call us that.”
“That’s what you are! You bastards have been destroying towers without even thinking of the consequences. What do you think—How can you even—?” His mind had started up too fast, and now it was stalling. Danny put the cup down and breathed deeply through his nose, eyes screwed up tight.
“If I promise to explain,” Zavier said, “will you promise to listen?”
Danny opened his eyes to glare at him. “Why do you even want me to listen? What am I to you?”
Zavier scratched behind an ear using his metal hand. The likeness of the arm was good, but the fingers were vaguely skeletal. He used them to gesture at the breakfast tray. “Please, eat. This will be easier if you have some food in you.”
“I doubt it.” Still, Danny couldn’t ignore his light-headedness. He reached for a piece of toast.
“Listen, Daniel—”
“Danny,” he corrected, spreading butter over his toast before taking a bite.
“Danny,” Zavier tried again. “I understand my methods were extreme. But you have no idea how badly we need you right now. I may have been … overzealous.”
“You know,” Danny said after swallowing, “you could have—here’s a novel thought—asked.”
“Trust me,” Zavier said, “you wouldn’t have come if I’d asked. I had to find the right opportunities, which wasn’t easy. But we’ve been keeping an eye on you, to make sure you stayed safe.”
Danny barked a laugh. “Safe! Pointing a gun at me and trying to launch me out of a train? That’s safe to you?” He glanced at the young man, who didn’t look so sheepish anymore. “How’s the shoulder?”
Zavier lifted his eyebrows. “Healing. You choose your friends wisely, I will say that. I think I still have a lump where Miss Richards hit me.”