Page 42 of Heir of Ashes

I bared my teeth in a feral snarl. “Mild sedative.”

Logan shut up after that, although his jaws kept clenching, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel too hard. The seething anger I could feel from him kept spiking in intensity. I opened my window to let the cold, drizzling rain keep me from reaching out and tasting the refreshing flavor of his anger again.

***

Despite being exhausted, I was too keyed up and couldn’t sleep. We went for another round by the Midtown and Sierra Oak addresses with the same result. The only difference was the tension inside the car and the fact there were no lights on at the Midtown address this time around.

By the time we returned to the hotel, it was past midnight. For someone who had been awake since before dawn, I shouldn’t have had any trouble sleeping. Yet I flipped and flopped like a beached fish and envied Logan’s easy sleep.

For a long hour, while Logan breathed softly on his side of the bed, I only tossed and turned and punched my pillow. How could he fall asleep so fast? That wasn’t fair. Fair? Such a foreign word, a non-existent sentiment in my life this past decade. Was he faking it? He looked peaceful, relaxed, his breathing soft and even. Would he open his eyes if I got up and walked away? Did it matter if he was faking? I wasn’t going to give him the slip.

It all boiled down to trust. Or the lack thereof. In the end, I got up and took a long hot shower, which only served to freshen me up. I was still too wired to rest. I adjusted the lamp on the desk to a soft glow and finished drawing Logan the blueprints.

I was halfway through the sub-levels in Building C when Logan stirred and came to stand beside me.

“Hey,” he said, glancing down at the drawing. “You don’t need to do this now. Aren’t you tired?”

I shrugged. “Can’t sleep,” I said, connecting the lab with another square lab and dotting the four corners with red dots.

“What’s that?”

“Cage lab. C-4 level.”

There was a pause before he touched his fingertip to one of the red dots. “And this?”

“Cameras.”

Logan leaned back on the desk and watched me for a while more. “What’s a cage lab?”

I paused and met his eyes. “It’s where the Scientists cage a subject, either alone or with some rabid or venomous animal to see how they’ll react.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything else.

I drew four prints while Logan stood there, leaning against the desk and watching me. Occasionally, he’d ask me about a particular square or a level, and I’d pause to explain the layout, detailing what each section was for. Building A had a more straightforward design, with large rooms on the first two floors, parallel with the room below, while the top two contained the bedrooms—or cells—for the preternaturals.

Logan touched a lock of my still damp hair and twirled it around his finger. “I like your hair.”

I gave him a sideways glance before returning my attention to the drawing, but my focus was broken, and Logan was still twirling my hair around his finger.

“Why’d you dye it red?”

“A friend thought it’d be fun.”

“Black suits you better.” He brushed a finger softly over the dark roots.

I nodded once, then added, “Blond didn’t suit you either.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling, then he bent and brushed a kiss on the top of my head before returning to bed.

I didn’t even get a chance to dodge or protest. Once I was able to focus again, I closed my eyes and concentrated on clearing my mind. I wanted to see the prints in a different light, to make sure I wasn’t missing anything vital. I picked up the page where I drew the top two levels of Building A. If Logan went late enough, he’d find his friend in there, but at night, the guards tightened security, adding more Elites to the third and fourth floors. Sometimes, eight to ten guards patrolled each floor, depending on the number of preternaturals present.

Building C might be the better option, I considered as I spread all four prints on the desk. I tapped the magic marker twice, studying the prints of the sub-levels. They were full of mazes and closet-sized rooms that served as small on-site offices for the most privileged scientists, connected to private labs by inner doors or two-way mirrors. Plus, foot traffic was heavy in that building, and if he disguised himself as a scientist or a guard, he might be overlooked long enough to come and go. All in all, there were more places to hide, if need be. Except for the one tiny detail: it was also underground. If an alarm sounded while he was still in one of the sub-levels, he’d never get out of there.

After heaving a long, tired sigh, I checked, then double-checked all the prints and references again. If Logan failed in this suicidal mission, it was not going to be because I missed something. In a sudden burst of inspiration, I wrote “Mission Suicidal” in bold red letters on top of the print with the outlineof the three buildings. Because I knew Logan wouldn’t be able to do it. He might get in and even get as far as his friend, but he wouldn’t make it out alive. Not on his own.

I yawned—finally, oh thank you God—and looked out the window at the brightening sky. Another sunrise, another day. Where would I be this time tomorrow? Would I even be alive? Time was so precious, and it just kept ticking away.

After I rolled up the sketches, I secured them with a rubber band, crawled into bed, and fell asleep instantly.

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