Piper Cross, an undercover spy, must relive her past as a child gladiator in order to bring the underground arena to justice.
*****
Growing up gladiator is brutal. The cells are cramped...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The distant chug of traffic filtered through the bay windows of the cafe, shuttered against the wintry breeze. A cup warmed the circle of my hands as I sat on a rickety stool at the bar, slowly coming to the realisation that it was meant for show rather than actual use.
The barista had drawn a leaf with the milk foam, and I'd contemplated it the way a cat considers a bug, plonking my spoon in the moment I grew bored.
Now I sat and drank in my surroundings, swirling the dregs as I took in the concrete jungle that had replaced the mountains of old. It was a rich place; always something happening and moving, never a dull moment for those who liked to find a perch and simply watch. I could get used to this, I thought, surprised to find homesickness absent from my heart. Pothos hung in almost every storefront, peppering the grey with green. I liked it.
I wasn't sure why I bought the fancy tin of instant coffee on my way out. I recalled Mason saying that Isaac was a fan of fancy cafes, and I was ashamed to say that my thoughts had erred dangerously towards scenario in which we both set up camp on a rickety outdoor table, our legs crossing casually as we watched the world pass by. Maybe he would scribble lyrics into the margins of the newspaper. Maybe I would smile as I read them.
"Distance truly makes the heart grow fonder," I muttered as I left the shop, drawing a side-eyed glance from a man waiting at the tram stop. I'd spent the night in a hotel up the road, only feeling a little guilty for the luxury of a shower and a bed with fresh sheets while the others slept on their stretchers.
They would know those comforts before the day was out, though. I relished the thought of all the blood money I'd whisked away from other patrons going back into the pockets of the very hybrids they sought to exploit, but my satisfaction ran deeper than that.
My time with the hybrids reminded me of my role as Head She-Wolf at Ridgeview. I'd loved the purpose, the responsibility; how the air was constantly filled with the distant sounds of their breathing, bickering and their laughter. It was the first real home I'd ever known, so different to the dead air of the crypts I'd been raised in.
Now it was time to build another.
I could sense my time in limbo drawing to a close, and acknowledged the abandoned shopping mall for the stepping stone it was. I'd never officially been stationed there; I'd sought solitude, as it made it easier to bear the weight of every night spent in the stands. I saw myself in every victor. Sometimes I wished myself among the slaughtered, because it could be so exhausting to breathe at times.
The metal tin was a reassuring weight in my jacket pocket as I strode towards the warehouse. Isaac's paranoia was justified, and so was mine, but I would not allow it to ruin what had the potential to be a symbiotic relationship at the very least. We wanted the same thing — at least for now. He would have to earn my forgiveness, but I would not throw contrived obstacles in his path.
