Page 36 of Sullied Saints

One points with his bat, and they start running. Towards me. Turning, no longer breathing, I jam the rubbery buttons, praying they still work despite the power outage. I can feel the men as much as hear them, almost on me.

No sooner than I've put in the six-digit code, then the heavy door shoves open from the other side. Tristan grabs me and yanks me inside, slamming the door against the sudden thud that collides with it a second later. Not a body, but the heavy, angry strike of a weapon.

And that’s it, I’m inside. My breathing is short and shallow as I stare at Needler’s back, abruptly on the other side of the glass in this white room, the sounds dulled as voices shout from the hall that I was just in.

Needler turns to me, even more sinister in the red cast, and for a moment, I step back, not knowing what to expect.

He opens his mouth, but movement on the other side of the glass draws both of our gazes that way. I recognise Conrad immediately, and a beat later, the handgun in his grip. The glass is bulletproof. This whole room is practically a bomb shelter, but still, the sight of it sends a chill down my spine. Needler steps forward, reaching out to tug me back behind him.

Conrad's attention is on Tristan, however, not me. "It’s true, you are here." He smiles, almost a laugh. "We got here in time."

Needler says nothing, only staring back at this, his most adoring fan.

"Tell us the code. We can get you out of here now."

Two more men step in, the ones I saw with the bat and the crowbar. They're dressed so… normally. For some reason, I'd been imagining a mob in rags or some kind of homemade armour. This is almost worse, like they came here as a diversion from their day jobs.

"I don't know the code," Needler tells them evenly.

Now, Conrad looks directly at me, where I've backed up to the edge of the bed in the corner of the room. "She does."

Without so much as glancing back at me, Needler shakes his head once.

Conrad's brow darkens. "We're here to get you out. So, you can get rid of Cocooner."

"I won't kill Cocooner."

Ignoring this, Conrad steps closer. He's a tall man, if slight, and he can look Needler in the eye as the other man doesn't move. "Once they move you to whatever maximum-security hell they've got lined up, or that island for the insane, you'll never get out." When Needler doesn’t respond fast enough, his voice rises. "It'll be lethal injection. We're trying to save you."

"I can't let you in."

"For what? Forher?"

The look Conrad casts my way stills me. Such blame, suchhate.

"I'm not your enemy," I say, and my voice, while feeling tremulous, comes out loud and even.

"You could have stopped Cocooner! Back when there was only one.” Right, when thatonewas my husband. As though I’d known. If only it was that simple. “You put the one who could help us in here while our people are being murdered!"

"I'm trying to catch Cocooner as much as anyone."

Conrad dismisses me, turning back to Tristan. "Get the code out of her and come with us.”

Shaking his head, Tristan steps back. "I won't."

Conrad’s face twists slowly into rage. He raises the gun and fires at the glass. The sound is muted on our side, but on his side, the two others yell and clamp their hands over their ears, deafened in the small space. Needler doesn't so much as flinch, and the glass is unbroken, though with a round in it like a tiny dent.

The burst of anger apparently spent, Conrad smiles, then spreads his arms. Despite it all, I can see even more strongly now, what’s so drawing about him, why he probably would have won the city if Cocooner hadn’t sent him into grief, and why the people are following him now. He’s the kind of person you can’t take your eyes off, whether they’re behind a desk or leading an army. Calmly, he sits on the stool in the middle of the room.

The power comes back on, casting us all into a harsh white light. Glancing at the ceiling, Conrad appears unconcerned, commenting, "Well, we've got the place surrounded, and we're not leaving until we have what we want." He smiles thinly. "You'll have to get hungry or thirsty, eventually."

"The riot squad is coming," I point out.

"Then this is where we make our stand."

Taking a breath, I understand reasoning with him, especiallymereasoning with him, will do no good. I also know that, with us in here as hostages, and potentially others hurt in the rest of the station, it’s going to be hard for the squad to make its way through.

"You can't blame her for the reality of her husband," Tristan says.

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