“I’m not sure, but you have to hide until I can find out.”

“Hide?”

“Yes. I’ll explain later.” We rush through several rooms of the house, passing windows on all sides, and then hurry downstairs into a basement. Beside the closed door is a black square on the wall. Arek takes his phone from his pocket and presses it quickly against the black square. Instantly we hear the door unlock and it slides into a pocket. This house seems to have ahead-of-the-curve technology. The room is nearly empty, appearing to be more like a panic room than basement. He leaves my side and says, “Safe down,” as he heads to the middle of the room.

Everything is concrete, which makes me curious about what he is expecting to appear, until a rectangle portion from the cement ceiling lowers. Finally, I can recognize shelves of guns, ammo, vests, and knives of all kinds. There are drawers also, which he pulls open and sifts through until Kilon enters and whistles behind him. Arek’s voice rumbles, “The 1911?”

“Is there any other kind?” Kilon grins. As though Arek knows exactly where he’s standing, he throws Kilon several guns, which Kilon prepares in seconds. He notices my eyes on him and says, “There’s no better gun than this, right here. The Sig 1911.” The black steel lays easily between his fingers until he hides it under his clothes.

Arek grins. “If you like the tank,” he says as he grabs three guns that appear to be lighter.

“You know I do. And two Karambit,” Kilon requests.

Arek slides two curved knives to land perfectly at Kilon’s feet. Kilon quickly hides these as well.

When Arek has retrieved everything he needs, he turns back to us and says, “Safe up,” while he places several weapons within his clothing. Slowly the shelves rise to the ceiling until it is invisible once again. “Code on,” he says. He reaches my side, “Wait here, until I come to get you.”

“How long?” I ask nervously.

He looks at me carefully. “Willow, nothing can happen in here, I promise you. You will be safe.”

Just out of curiosity, I test the handle on the door once he leaves and as expected, it doesn’t budge. In a room with nothing, five minutes can seem like an eternity. So after nearly an hour, I am studying the ceiling. There are several places with defined margins of possible dropping walls. “Safe down,” I test out hesitantly. Nothing happens. “Code off,” I say. Nothing happens for just a few seconds, until suddenly I hear a woman’s voice: “Waiting for code.” Just then the door opens and Arek looks at me with a sideways glance.

“You expect it to be so easy?” he says.

“I was bored.” His tension is palpable in his tired eyes. “I thought seeing you would make me feel better, but it doesn’t,” I say quietly.

In seconds we stand just inches from each other, but neither cares to move away. He searches my eyes.

“What?” I ask. Hope and fear often look too alike to differentiate.

“He is here.”

“The Monarch?”

“Sort of. The Electi,” he nods.

“You look worried. Should I be worried?”

“We have no other options.” He stands so close it is possible he can feel my unchained heart. With each pump my body seems to rock back and forth.

Kilon hurries into the room. “They’re waiting.”

“Right now?” I ask, surprised.

“Yes. I’ve tried for the last hour to convince them otherwise, but you are expected,” Arek says.

A deep breath lifts my chest.

“Before we go,” Kilon says, and Arek turns to him. “They have one request.” Kilon pulls from under his jacket something metal and places it in Arek’s hand. When Arek turns back to me his discomfort is obvious, which makes me stare at his white knuckles. He holds a pair of deep black handcuffs that look nothing like the silver ones of old.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“They need to know that everyone is safe.”

“And I would be reason for people to not be safe?”

“If you were your old self . . . then, yes.”

I can’t believe what he is saying. “You were there when I was left for dead because I couldn’t defend myself. You think I need those?”

“No, but others are concerned.”

“What others?”

“Leigh Rykor, for one.”

This catches my attention. “Rykor?”

“Yes.” He says it as though he doesn’t want to explain yet knows he must. “My father, Leigh Rykor. He’s the head of the Protectors, and he needs to make sure that the Electi is safe.”

Kilon steps forward, “He is waiting.” He reaches for the handcuffs, but Arek won’t let them go.

“No, I’ll do it.” Arek takes the last step until my chest is nearly touching his and I hold my breath so nothing will move. “I need you to trust me.” He turns me around so that my back is to him. The cold metal wraps around one wrist at a time with a machine gun click into place. No matter how gentle he is, the metal still strangles my wrist bone.

At that moment it is possible that not even being buried alive would have been worse than this—the constriction of my chest and breathing—it is hard to stay calm. Being in handcuffs isn’t the norm for most and certainly not me, yet what did that say about who they thought me to be? Who had Remy been?

Kilon on one side and Arek on the other, they lead me out of the basement and through the home. Before we enter the kitchen where everyone waits, I stop. “Wait!” I try to control my breathing. “I can’t do this.” My throat tightens.

“We have to, and you can,” he states.

“You won’t let anything happen,” I hope.

Arek places a hand on my neck and unexpectedly a new man stares into my eyes. “Never. I promise you.” Just as before, deep within, there is a fascinating ability to trust him. “This will all make sense soon.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Just outside a room off the back of the house, two men in suits and earpieces stand like statues.

“Who’s in there?” I ask.

“The Electi. This conversation is for him and me. Just stand there quietly.”

“I have a job in San Francisco where kids are waiting for me.”

“After everything that has happened, you are worried about your students?” Kilon questions.

“That’s the world I know.”