Chapter 2

TWO

XERO

An alarm rings through my ears, piercing the thick veil of unconsciousness. I jerk awake, my senses assaulted by an oppressive heat and the acrid stench of smoke.

Flames flicker through the haze, accompanied by the sizzle and snap of burning wood.

The crawl space is on fire, but my hair and clothes are drenched. Jynxson must have installed a sprinkler system in the bedroom to stage a prank.

I grope around the mattress, trying to awaken Amethyst, but she’s not there. In a frenzy, I roll off the bed and inhale lungfuls of cooler, more breathable air. The smoke down here isn’t nearly as thick, giving me a view of the fire raging through the door.

After pulling down the bed sheet and holding it over my nose, I crawl around the bed’s perimeter.

“Amethyst?” I yell, my lungs exploding into a riot of coughs.

My answer is the crackling of flames and the popping of burning wood.

Where the hell is she? Did she already escape?

My palm lands on a piece of broken glass, reminding me of the bottle Amethyst smashed over my head. There was no explanation—just a cryptic conversation about a video of us shot in the graveyard.

The dizziness, headache, nausea, and fatigue I’m suffering could be symptoms of smoke inhalation, but the chemical scent hints at chloroform or somnochlorate.

That makes no sense. I’m the only thing standing between Amethyst and her enemies. She wouldn’t set her only protector on fire and escape… unless someone or something affected her mental state.Pushing those thoughts aside, I rush around the bed, checking that she isn’t lying somewhere on the floor, unconscious.

Heat crawls under my skin, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. If I don’t leave this crawl space soon, the flames will overwhelm the room. I grope around in the dark, but there’s no sign of Amethyst. I hurry across the space to the panel by the bathroom door and stand, hoping to hell that the heat hasn’t warped it shut.

The metal lever sears my palm even through the protective sheet, but I force it open just wide enough to squeeze through and tumble into a darkened hallway.

I stagger forward, choking, coughing, groping my way through the smoke-filled enclosure. Up ahead is another hatch that leads to the space beneath Mrs. Baker’s house.

Betrayal burns through my gut, filling the back of my throat with bile. The woman I went to such lengths to protect left me to burn.

She knows too much: our hiding places, our personnel, our plans. Hell, if she told the police I was still alive, or even a fraction of what she’s observed of my operatives, then every asshole with a gun and a grudge against our group will invade the catacombs.

My fingers find the section of the wall that opens into number 15 Parisii Drive, and I push. The small door swings open, letting in a rush of cool air. I clamber inside, cross Mrs. Baker’s crawl space, and continue into the tunnel leading to the catacombs.

Footsteps echotoward me through the dark. I straighten, already on guard for an attack.

“Xero?”

The overhead lights flicker to life, illuminating a small group of people in black. I can’t make out their figures with my vision still hazy, but I recognize the voice.

It’s my hacker, Tyler.

I stumble, only for him to rush to my side and catch me before my knees collapse.

“Your computer system went down,” he says. “I checked the cameras, but there was nothing. What happened?”

My lungs burn, and my throat is raw, but I force out, “The crawlspace is on fire. Amethyst is missing.”

“Were you under attack?”

I don’t know what stops me from saying that the woman I once forgave for betraying me left me unconscious to die in flames. Maybe it’s disbelief. Maybe it’s the shame at having been fooled twice. Maybe it’s the futile hope that this was all just a misunderstanding. Either way, the truth clogs my gorge.

“Evacuate the catacombs,” I say through ragged breaths. “At least until we assess the threat level.”

Tyler and the others speak at once, but their voices fade in the rush of blood between my ears. As my vision turns black, the last thing I think about is the raw fury twisting Amethyst’s beautiful features as she hit me over the head with that bottle.

Time passes. It could be hours, considering every muscle in my body screams as if I’ve forced it through four marathons. I wake upin one of our above-ground infirmaries, overlooking a garden. The last vestiges of sunlight stream in through the windows, telling me that I’ve lost most of the day.

My chest is tight, with smoke still lingering in the back of my throat despite the oxygen mask. There’s an IV attached to my arm delivering a clear fluid that I hope is just saline, because I don’t have time to hang around.

Amethyst is gone, and I passed out before I could order Tyler to track her movements.

With a grimace, I remove the oxygen mask and force myself to sit up. As I reach for the IV, a small hand grabs my wrists.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a female voice snaps.

I turn to lock gazes with my sister. Her hair, which is usually pulled off her face in a neat bun, is disheveled, and her brown eyes are swimming with concern.

“Camila, I?—”

“Isabel says you can’t leave.” She places the mask back on my face and yells, “He’s awake!”

Grinding my teeth, I make a mental note to kick Tyler’s ass for his choice of babysitter. If anyone other than my two sisters were keeping me restrained, they would have landed in the wall.

The door opens, and Isabel strides in, her features stern. “Hear me out before you tear apart the room.”

My nostrils flare, and I clench my teeth.

One would think Isabel would be the kinder of my sisters. She’s a year older than Camila with delicate features framed by loose curls. She’s more maternal and chose to heal people rather than kill. But the training she’s endured under our Chief Medical Officer has polished her soft edges to stone.

“We performed a bronchoscopy to remove small particles from your lungs. You need to rest for at least the next few days until we receive the results from your arterial blood gas analysis. That’ll give us more information to work out a treatment plan.”

“I don’t have twenty-four hours, let alone seventy-two,” I say through gritted teeth.

Camila places a hand on my arm. “Everything’s under control. We evacuated the catacombs. All operatives are in above-ground safe houses across the city. Tyler and Jynxson are both in the waiting room with information on Amethyst’s movements.”

My heart skips a beat, and I shuffle up to sit straighter. “Bring them in.”

“Wait.” Isabel raises a hand.

“What?”

“Mobilize the team from your bed, but don’t leave this room. Do not make me have to sedate you.” She levels me with a glower.

I give her a sharp nod.

“Alright.” She reaches across the bed and gives my handa gentle squeeze. “And welcome back.”

Guilt settles in the pit of my gut, and my chest tightens with regret. I was so preoccupied with finding Father and the boys he’d confined in the underground facility that I hadn’t thought to make time to celebrate my escape from prison with my sisters.

Then there was my obsession with Amethyst. It was so all-consuming that I didn’t even notice the red flags. Maybe fucking her in the Ministry of Mayhem’s screen room was the step too far that finally made her snap.

The events of last night are still hazy from having inhaled a large quantity of nervous system depressants. I need to find her before she destroys my operation and?—

Jynxson steps into the room, interrupting my thoughts. Isabel slips out of the door, letting in Tyler. They’re both downcast, and Tyler’s eyes are red-rimmed, making me dread the worst.

I inhale a sharp breath into the oxygen mask and brace myself for bad news.

“Report,” I rasp.

“Two operatives are dead,” Tyler says.

My stomach plummets. “Who?”

“Port and Bowker,” he replies.

“Was it Amethyst?”

He shakes his head. “Doubtful. Police found Melonie Crowley murdered at her home with her brother-in-law, Clive Bishop. When the forensic team searched the grounds, they found our men parked in a car nearby, with bullet wounds through their heads. Whoever took them out used a long-range rifle and knew what they were doing.”

I grind my teeth. “What did the surveillance footage show?”

“About twenty minutes after the fire started, someone triggered a localized EMP burst around the Crowley house, taking out all the surveillance cameras and communication networks.”

My jaw tightens. The timing is too much of a coincidence to be anything other than intentional. Whoever killed Port and Bowker had to be connected to Amethyst’s disappearance. The question is whether she was working with the killers.

“What kind of device?” I snarl.

“We think it’s connected to a truck that’s been circling the highways surrounding Alderney Hill.” Tyler glances at Jynxson before adding, “It entered the hill just before the communications went dead.”

Clenching my fists, I glance over at Jynxson. “Did anyone track Amethyst?”

Jynxson steps forward. “We found footage of her exiting through a mausoleum and running toward the new vicarage.”

My breath catches at the thought of her running to that bastard. “So, she’s with the priest?”

He grimaces. “She entered the vicarage with Reverend Thomas. Shortly afterward, she drove his car into the EMP-affected region on Alderney Hill.”

“And where is he now?”

“Simon’s Memorial Hospital,” Jynxson mutters, “but that’s not the worst part.

“What?”

“We recovered footage from the vicarage of Reverend Thomas attacking Amethyst. It looks like he’s connected to X-Cite Media.”