Sylph wasn’t budging for humor. “We’re going to best them before the trials. Learn their weaknesses and exploit them.”
Chase fetched her fork and reskewered her breakfast. “Sylph, we probably won’t even see them again until January. No doubt they’re on the other end of North America by now.”
“Lesson one.” Sylph turned Chase’s head by her chin, aiming her attention to a table overflowing with cadets. Tristan and his RIO were seated among them. Laughing. The image hit her all wrong. After last night, what in the world could they find funny?
“You have no peripheral vision, Nyx. It’s how I’ve outmaneuvered you like ninety percent of the time.”
Chase shrugged out of Sylph’s hold at the same time Tristan eyed her across the room. He got up immediately and began to cross the distance between them, RIO in tow.
“Game on,” Sylph whispered in Chase’s ear. Chase swatted her away just as Streaker Team Phoenix stopped before them.
Riot broke the silence. “Hi…guys. How are we liking our stay at the Star? Looks like you’ve already made some ground crew friends. A little tip? Flyboys don’t hang out with them.”
Chase caught herself rolling her eyes on that point. After last night, she had trouble imagining how it could possibly matter who hung out with whom. They could all be at war by tomorrow. She was just about to tell Riot to shut up when Tristan maneuvered first.
He stuck out a hand to Sylph much like he’d done to Chase when they first met, an easy smile on his face. “You must be Sylph. I’m Tristan Router. Lovely flyby last night.”
Sylph ignored his hand, stood, and swept her long braid behind her shoulder. “I’m aware of who you are. Don’t daydream that I’ll celebrate it.” She faced the group. “Kale ordered us to report to the conference room next to his office for debriefing at oh eight hundred. All of us.” Her whole body seemed to go ice-hard as she shouldered past Tristan and his RIO. More so than she ever did around Chase.
Sylph headed for the door, and Riot and Pippin stood to empty their trays.
Riot banged his tray over the trashcan and chatted up Phoenix’s RIO. “I’m Riot. This is Pippin.”
“Really, I’m Henry,” Pippin said. “You remember me. You stood on my face.”
“Sure, I remember,” the broad-shouldered man-boy said. “No hard feelings?”
“’Course not,” Pippin said.
“I’m Romeo.”
Pippin seemed like he’d gotten conked in the head. Chase wondered if he was about to execute some revenge for getting stomped on, but that’s not what came out. “Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?”
It was a weird moment. Even Riot was dumbfounded, or at least he looked dumber than usual.
Romeo clapped Pippin’s shoulder. “La loi est-elle de notre c?té, si je dis oui?”
“Non.” Pippin laughed real hard at that, and it got right under Chase’s fingernails.
“That’s great. There’s a RIO trio now,” she said to herself, enjoying the rhyme. She watched the boys walk toward the door and a scowling, cross-armed Sylph. “What was all that about anyway?”
“They just had a Shakespeare moment,” Tristan said. “In French. Romeo loves that stuff. He thinks it helps him win favor with the ladies.”
“Pippin loves that stuff too,” Chase said. “Guess that means he’ll forgive your RIO for the bashing the other day.”
She had to sidestep Tristan to put her tray on the conveyor belt. While she plopped her silverware into the sudsy tub, a group of freshmen surrounded Tristan. She recognized Stephens and Helena from her ground crew fan club.
“Arrow, have you seen the rec room yet? We could meet you there tonight. Show you around,” Stephens said.
Tristan said he would meet them. And then he said good-bye to half of them by name, apologizing to the three he didn’t know yet.
The laid-back, overly friendly attitude Chase had hated the moment she met Tristan was back. Once more, he reminded her of someone who’d never known a second of crap in his whole life. But now she knew that wasn’t true—it couldn’t be after last night.
Chase took in every angle and curve of his profile as they walked toward the conference room. The insanely heroic boy who’d shielded her from a fuel blast with his body had to be under that civil expression. So where was he? What was this act about?
“You’re off to a running start, Arrow,” she said.
“I have a feeling I’m going to be here for a while. Might as well make friends.”
She grunted.
“You’re not very pleasant considering what happened.”
“And you’re too pleasant”—she paused—“considering. Aren’t you the least bit upset about last night?”
Tristan stopped, turned sideways in the hall like he’d forgotten where he was going. Where he was. His face had the exact same washed-blank look that he had after the fuel truck exploded. Like everything he loved had just burned…
Oh God.
“I’m sorry.” Chase touched his arm, but he didn’t move. “I’m a jerk. You’ll see. No one really likes me, except for Pippin, but I think he’s been stuck with me for too long. Stockholm syndrome, you know?”
Tristan looked down at the spot where she held his sleeve. She let go. Chase’s heart was beating faster than it should. What in the blazes had she just said? It was like she’d sneezed truth all over the front of his uniform.
His voice came up from somewhere deep. “I’m fine, Chase.”
“People call me Nyx.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t the polite, all-purpose look from before. This was a little sad. A little…beautiful. He pulled his hair into a ponytail and eyed the conference room door. “I think we’re about to find out what happened last night.”
“Or that we’re not a high enough rank to merit answers,” she said.
“We figure out what they’re hiding by the way they try to hide it, Chase. Isn’t that how you tracked me down?” He opened the door for her.
14
CHECK SIX
Watch Your Back