“Negative. She’s embedded.”
“Embedded? Kricket is spying?”
“No,” Jax says, grimacing. “I wouldn’t term it quite that way.”
“Explain,” Trey growls.
“She started off as a ransom, an exchange given for Astrid, who was caught and held by Strikers near the Isle of Skye. New Amster has no intention of rescuing Kricket, though. A plan was formulated early on, but it’s been scrapped.”
“Why?”
“Kricket is shaping up to be something of a distraction to the Alameeda—something for them to fight over. If she can provide information to New Amster then that’s a bonus, but given her intelligence, they’ve found that simply inserting her in the fray has sent the Brotherhood into chaos mode . . . and New Amster is rather enjoying it.”
“Why would they use her like that?”
Jax glances at Astrid before looking back at Trey. “If the Brotherhood is fixated on Kricket, they aren’t looking anywhere else. New Amster is a rebel base. They plan to fight the Alameeda and all its allies.”
Whatever Jax is saying gets through to Trey and it acts as a tolling bell to a sleeping giant. Trey turns away from Jax and grasps the tabletop by his bedside, hunching over it. He lifts it up and bashes it against the floor a couple of times before he throws it clear across the room. The soldiers near the door duck out of its way. It crashes into the wall, splintering into a thousand pieces. He rounds on the other New Amster soldiers, the closest being Raspin.
Jax catches him before he can attack Raspin. “Wayra,” Jax says imploringly, “a little help?”
“Why?” Wayra retorts, but he grips Trey’s shoulders anyway. “We should kill all these wackers!”
Jax grunts, not faring well against Trey, even in his weakened state. “Because then . . . we leave her alone in a fight she can’t possibly win!” he snarls.
Wayra and Jax struggle to keep Trey away from Raspin, until Wayra forces Trey back against the wall. “Brother,” Wayra pants, “we’ve got this.” He looks into Trey’s eyes as if they’re the only two here.
“She’s all alone, Wayra.” Trey’s voice sounds sinister.
“So we do what we do. We find her on our own and we get her back.” Releasing his arms, Wayra grasps Trey by the shoulder and he hugs him to him, saying, “Baw-da-baw, Trey.”
Trey’s hand clenches, but his arm around Wayra’s shoulder hugs him back. “Baw-da-baw,” Trey replies as he stares coldly at Astrid over Wayra’s shoulder.
I can’t stay any longer. An ice-water wind blows mercilessly through me. The pull on me to return to my body is undefeatable, and it has me fading into the darkness like a colorless star. I give in to it and snap backward faster than a Jetstream to return to my body.
Taking possession of myself once more, I struggle to inhale a full breath. My lungs are deflated, like a bagpipe with no wind. I open my eyes to a prism of bleeding colors in the bright sunlight, and I close them again. I’m conscious enough to understand that someone is carrying me—Kyon. I’m jostled and bumped against his chest as he runs with me in his arms. The light that shows red through my eyelids suddenly dims, and I hear his shoes clap against the stone floor.
He lays me on a soft mattress. We’re now in our bedroom. The next thing I feel is a hard slap to my cheek. I open my eyes and see him above me. Lifting my hand to my swelling face, I groan, “Yeah, I felt that.”
“You’re back,” he says. He exhales in relief. He gazes down at me like he’s glad to see me.
“Worried, were you?” My voice is gravelly as I quake with cold. I feel frozen from the inside out.
“You have to gain some control over your ability, Kricket, or it will kill you.” He’s sort of handsome when he’s concerned, I think begrudgingly. He gathers the blanket on the bed and tosses it over me, covering my trembling limbs.
“I’ll work on it if you agree to stop hitting me,” I say, rubbing my stinging cheek. My skin is freezing and I have vanilla ice cream breath. There is something in my mouth. I spit it out into my hand. Looking in my palm, I find a sliver of a vanilla bean, only it must be the Etharian version because it’s the size of a coffee bean. I let it fall into the folds of the blanket.
“I was told that the taste of vanilla would sometimes bring your mother back from the future,” Kyon explains. He picks it up and throws it outside onto the patio.
“So you shoved a bean in my mouth?”
“I’ve been carrying them with me since last night. I thought it might help bring you back. Did it?” he asks.