Piper Cross, an undercover spy, must relive her past as a child gladiator in order to bring the underground arena to justice.
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Growing up gladiator is brutal. The cells are cramped...
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I stayed up on the roof until the pink streaks of dusk gave way to smokey indigo. The rich hue didn't last long, though. As soon as the shopfronts dressed up in their best neons, the stars were chased from the sky and the smog took on an ethereal light. All the suburb had became a stage, and I was an audience of one.
My shoulders felt looser by the time I climbed back through the window. Isaac was waiting for me in the upstairs lounge, a yellow envelope tucked under one arm. The door to Mason's studio was cracked, and I heard a paint brush tinkling against glass. I'd passed him twice in the warehouse today, and he'd offered me a tight smile both times, though nothing was said of the painting Jedda had been kind enough to burn on my behalf. I wondered if Mason blamed me; if he'd told Isaac that I'd gone through his things. My scent was plastered all over the studio, after all.
"We got a package," Isaac said. His voice was soft and murmurous, taking on that rich, velvety quality that made my toes curl against my will. "There's a key with a number on the tag."
"I know." A pause, as I tried to decide how much I was willing to tell him. The truth of Bjorn's heritage idled on the tip of my tongue, but the memory of Mason's painting kept it there. If Isaac was preparing for things to go sour, I should do the same. "My handler just called. The last try out is tonight, so he left some stuff for us at the post office."
Understanding flashed through his eyes like lightning, there and gone. He knew the implications of such a delivery. That his safe house was compromised, that we would be fighting before the moon set, but all he said was: "You like him."
It was a statement, not a question. "Sometimes," I supposed, cocking my head. "He can also be a pain in the ass. Why?"
"I just noticed that he made you laugh. It's not something I've ever seen you do."
My skin prickled with curiosity, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. It was almost flattering to learn that he'd been watching me. "I've not had much reason to."
"Which is why we won't be moving to a new location, even though they know where we are," he said simply. "I trust your judgement in character."
My back stiffened. Trust didn't look like a portrait designed to trap the subject for eternity, and yet I would have to put my life in Isaac's hands before the night was out. I opened my mouth, ready to resolve the misunderstanding then and there, but a pair of teenagers thundered up the stairs, their arms loaded with brown paper packages tied up with string. One of them had an enormous cello case bouncing against their shoulders, its weight dragging against the back strap. Had Bjorn rented a parcel locker or a damn broom closet?
A change overcame Isaac when he realised he had an audience, making me wonder how much of his bearing around me was also a front. The alluringly soft-spoken warrior gave way to a devilish rogue. He leaned against the couch with a lazy arrogance I could only describe as feline, immediately putting the others at ease.
