“Yes,” he said roughly. “I’m going in.”
Crossing the threshold made him ill, and he paused again. But then he looked back at Ahmare. She, too, was hesitating, in the way you’d pause if you had a gun in your hand that might, or might not, blow up in your face if you pulled its trigger. And that wasn’t about where they were going. It was clearly about her guide.
He reached out a hand. “I know where we have to go. I’m not going to let you down.”
As she focused over his shoulder, he was well aware of what she saw: darkness, thick in a way only the subterranean shadow could be.
She did not take his palm, just as she hadn’t taken it as he’d wanted to help her down the ladder. It was as if she had to prove to herself she could go it alone, even if that was not how she was proceeding in—and he could respect that.
But he needed her to hear something.
He put his hand on her shoulder, and she must have read something in his face because she went still. “Listen to me,” he said. “There are four exits in the compound, one at each point of north, south, east, and west. This is the easterly one. They all dump out in various ways at the base of the mountain. The codes are six digits, and they progress, starting with the northern one.”
He ran through the sequences with her and she got them quick, repeating them to him. “And the pound sign,” he added. “Don’t forget the pound at the end. If anything happens to me or we get separated, you need to find one of the spokes in the wheel. The compound is set up in a centralized plan around the intersection of the four compass points. The corridors that curve are not what you want because they’ll just keep you in a circle. The straight ones take you either out to the exits or down to the arena, you got it? Those are what will save you, and you’ll know you’re heading out instead of in because everyone else will be going in the opposite direction, in case the alarm is sounded.”
“Okay. Right.”
“One more thing. This whole mountain is rigged with explosives. You will have three minutes once the red lights come on.” Duran didn’t bother to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “The congregation is brainwashed by the Dhavos. They believe once those red lights start flashing, the end of the universe has arrived and they are supposed to be praying. Do not try to save anyone. Let them go to the arena, they’ve made their decision because of their delusions and that’s their destiny. Nexi and I are the only two people I know who’ve broken out of it. You are not going to win that debate, and more to the point, you need to get yourself out, okay? Do not try to save anyone. You’re the only one who matters.”
She nodded. And then, “Duran . . . thank you. For everything.”
He stared at her face. There was a dirt smudge at her temple, fine curls had escaped her ponytail, and the flush of their exertion to get to the cabin had dulled in the cool temperature of the underground passageway.
Her eyes met his like she was reading his mind.
As they both went in for the kiss, he knew this was good-bye. One, or both of them, was not making it out of this suicide mission alive.
And what worried him most was that she maybe didn’t get his message. When he told her not to save anyone . . . it included himself.
Chances were good she was going to have to leave him behind when the mountain blew, and he prayed her need to save her brother’s life was going to override the light that glowed, soft, warm, and kind, in her eyes as she stared up at him now.
“No one matters but you,” he said roughly.
22
AS DURAN SPOKE, AHMARE did not like the expression on his face. Nope. Not at all.
“Don’t forget me, okay?” he said softly. “You don’t have to mourn me, but just . . . I want someone to remember me.”
“I’m not hearing this—”
“Just in case the Fade is a lie, I don’t want it to be like I never existed at all.”
Before she could argue with him, he squeezed her hand and then reached around and pulled the vault almost shut. Without another word, he started off, and it was as Ahmare stared after him in despair that she noticed a glow far off in the dark distance.
It wasn’t a security light. Running to catch up with him, the illumination was seeping around the jambs of a closed door.
There was no keypad this time. Just a garden-variety handle like the ones in her gym, and given what waited for them on the other side, she felt like the portal should have come with surgeon general’s warnings, an airbag, and a crash helmet.
“One . . . two . . .” Duran gripped the handle. “Three.”
He didn’t slam the release down; he lowered it and pulled the door open. Leaning out, he kept his gun by his side.