The Bravo team will stay behind and move the recovered Gifted to our version of the processing camps, only instead of poking and prodding at them to figure out what use they’ll be to our manic mission, we’ll be starting the long process of undoing all of the programming and torture they’ve endured since they were taken.
Some of them will die there.
It doesn’t sit well with me, it never has, but sometimes they’re too far gone, the damage is too much to come back from.
I blow out a breath and tip my head back against the seat, enjoying the quiet moment without having to think about council meetings or political moves. As much as I didn’t want to leave my Bond behind, definitely not after the revelation of more Resistance interference, there’s something about getting away from all of the trappings of being North Draven the Councilman that I desperately needed.
It all feels like bullshit, like sand slipping through my fingers while the world burns around us all anyway.
William would’ve known what to do, more than I ever have.
There were fifty captive Gifted here and we got thirty-eight out alive. It sounds like a terrible amount of casualties, and in other situations, heads would be rolling about losing twelve Gifted, but these sorts of recon missions… twelve is right about average.
We’ve never gotten everyone out alive before. We’re outnumbered and always running on the defensive, our greatest weakness as a society, and with that comes far too much blood being spilled. It’s easier to digest the numbers here on the ground, watching the TacTeams work their asses off to get the worst of the brainwashed victims restrained before they become a danger to themselves or others, but in my office back home when I get reports, those numbers burn a hole into my deepest marrow. It’s never enough. Nothing we do ever is.
With those morose thoughts, I almost miss it.
It starts with Gryphon’s fingers thrumming against the leather seats, a small outlet for his frustration. The calm over Nox’s face, something I’ve barely seen before and that had only taken place when his own bloodlust had been sated, slowly melts away until the furrow in his brow is firmly back in place.
Blood and pain.
My bond hasn’t stopped whispering to me all morning, telling me all about the darkest and most blood-soaked things it wants to do to every member of the Resistance we come across today. It makes it harder for me to notice that same tension entering me that has taken hold of the other two, but once I see the scowl on Gryphon’s face, I take stock of myself.
My skin feels tight with irritation, as though it’s pulled tighter over my frame now than it was ten minutes ago, and my entire body feels restless. There’s a tension in me that wasn’t there before. Something is happening within our Bond.
Oleander.
I don’t have my phone with me, protocol on this sort of mission, and I try not to sound panicked or desperate when I murmur to Gryphon, “Contact Oleander. Tell me where she is right now.”
His eyes flick to mine, the frown still firmly in place, and there’s the slightest pause before he curses and his eyes flash white as he calls on his gift for an extra boost.
It’s all I need to see to know that I’m not wrong, that something is happening right now that even with hundreds of miles between us, I can feel her there under my skin. We might be Unbonded but it doesn’t matter, she’s there in my blood and the deepest, darkest corners of my soul.
The panic gets worse.
Nox is watching us both keenly, not faking his usual indifference when it’s only the three of us, and when Gryphon curses again, he drawls, “Where is she? Are we about to go running after our little poisonous Bond again?”
Gryphon ignores him as he grabs out his comms, a feat because even I want to snarl at his jabs and I’m sure being Bonded only makes this feeling a million times worse. When he doesn’t get an answer on the comms, he unbuckles his seatbelt and lurches into the front of the truck, coming back with his phone and a vaguely sick look on his face.
I take a deep breath and count down from ten to keep myself in line, forcing my bond back from lashing out.
“Kieran isn’t answering me,” Gryphon says as his scowl deepens, and I want to reach across the backseat and choke the answer out of him, another sign that something has gone wrong in the hours since we left the mansion.
My bond is writhing with bloodlust.
“She’s not answering me either. Get Gabe on the phone, call Bassinger too,” Gryphon snaps, throwing the phone to me as he presses both of his palms against his temples like he’s in pain.