was deposited into the silver one.
âLena!â Kirra shouted.
But she had been swallowed up by the vehicle, lost behind its tinted windows, and was already on her way back to the hangar.
Â
The ride back was short and silent for Kirra, who was drowning in disappointment. They had been so close. She gazed gloomily at the car ahead. Lena had done so much to get them away and Kirra desperately wanted to tell her how much it meant, how thankful she was, how brave she thought Lena had been. Maybe they would tryit again someday. They could plan it carefully together, work out every detail to ensure they werenât ever caught again.
All too soon the cars were parked and Kirra and Lena found themselves back in the hangar. A single light high up in the ceiling gave the area a deceptively welcoming glow â until Kirra saw Latham waiting for them.
He looked tired and supremely inconvenienced by their near escape. Kirra couldnât help staring at the small handgun resting in his grip. Was he going to kill her? The terrifying thought collided with what he had said about how important she was. Latham needed her. He wouldnât kill her.
âKirra,â he began wearily, âyou must know that this will be your last attempt at leaving us. Security will be improved greatly from this moment on. Be assured, you wonât get so far next time.â
Kirra felt Lena reach for her hand and hold it tightly; her fingers were cold but remarkably reassuring nonetheless. Looking up, Kirra saw a strange emotion in her friendâs eyes. Acceptance perhaps, or something akin to it. Standing there with her, shoulder to shoulder, Kirra wanted to tell her it didnât matter. They could try again. They would try again.
She heard Lena take a long, slow breath as Latham started speaking very softly to her in what sounded like her own language. When heâd finished, he motioned for her to go to him. Lena looked at Kirra once more and, with an encouraging smile that seemed to communicate there would indeed be another escape attempt some day soon, she stepped forward.
She had barely left Kirraâs side when Latham raised the gun. Kirra must have screamed. She must have. Who else could have made the terrible sound that accompanied the gunshot?
Not Lena. Of course not. How could she? She was sprawled on the floor and she wasnât moving. Blood was running thick and fast into her hair, as though it had a life of its own. Kirra wanted to believe she wasnât dead. She wanted it so much more than sheâd ever wanted anything in her life. But Lena was motionless, her blood was everywhere and her big dark eyes were glassy and still.
Â
Kirra was in her cell. She didnât recall leaving the mouth of the hangar and had no idea how sheâd got back here. She supposed someone had carried her, or possibly dragged her, but it didnât really matter. The only thing that mattered was that Lena was gone.
Kirraâs chest tightened as the thought repeated itself over and over in her head, each time more excruciating than the last. She had never in her life known such kindness from a stranger, and because of that kindness Lena was dead. No, that was wrong, Kirra thought. Lena hadnât died. Sheâd been murdered â by Latham.
Latham , Kirra thought. He needed to die. He needed to be killed as soon as possible, and Kirra was the one to do it. It didnât matter that she came from Freemont or that she was still in high school. It didnât matter that murder had never once crossed her mind before. Latham had killed Lena, and Kirra was the one who was going to avenge her. She was certain of it.
It wasnât until dawn that she realised she was still wrapped in Lenaâs dark red jacket. She remembered how Lena had given it to her the instant sheâd realised Kirra was trembling from the cold. Even now, it was still keeping her warm.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MILO FRANKLYN
A bleak sort of haze
âLena!â Kirra shouted.
But she had been swallowed up by the vehicle, lost behind its tinted windows, and was already on her way back to the hangar.
Â
The ride back was short and silent for Kirra, who was drowning in disappointment. They had been so close. She gazed gloomily at the car ahead. Lena had done so much to get them away and Kirra desperately wanted to tell her how much it meant, how thankful she was, how brave she thought Lena had been. Maybe they would tryit again someday. They could plan it carefully together, work out every detail to ensure they werenât ever caught again.
All too soon the cars were parked and Kirra and Lena found themselves back in the hangar. A single light high up in the ceiling gave the area a deceptively welcoming glow â until Kirra saw Latham waiting for them.
He looked tired and supremely inconvenienced by their near escape. Kirra couldnât help staring at the small handgun resting in his grip. Was he going to kill her? The terrifying thought collided with what he had said about how important she was. Latham needed her. He wouldnât kill her.
âKirra,â he began wearily, âyou must know that this will be your last attempt at leaving us. Security will be improved greatly from this moment on. Be assured, you wonât get so far next time.â
Kirra felt Lena reach for her hand and hold it tightly; her fingers were cold but remarkably reassuring nonetheless. Looking up, Kirra saw a strange emotion in her friendâs eyes. Acceptance perhaps, or something akin to it. Standing there with her, shoulder to shoulder, Kirra wanted to tell her it didnât matter. They could try again. They would try again.
She heard Lena take a long, slow breath as Latham started speaking very softly to her in what sounded like her own language. When heâd finished, he motioned for her to go to him. Lena looked at Kirra once more and, with an encouraging smile that seemed to communicate there would indeed be another escape attempt some day soon, she stepped forward.
She had barely left Kirraâs side when Latham raised the gun. Kirra must have screamed. She must have. Who else could have made the terrible sound that accompanied the gunshot?
Not Lena. Of course not. How could she? She was sprawled on the floor and she wasnât moving. Blood was running thick and fast into her hair, as though it had a life of its own. Kirra wanted to believe she wasnât dead. She wanted it so much more than sheâd ever wanted anything in her life. But Lena was motionless, her blood was everywhere and her big dark eyes were glassy and still.
Â
Kirra was in her cell. She didnât recall leaving the mouth of the hangar and had no idea how sheâd got back here. She supposed someone had carried her, or possibly dragged her, but it didnât really matter. The only thing that mattered was that Lena was gone.
Kirraâs chest tightened as the thought repeated itself over and over in her head, each time more excruciating than the last. She had never in her life known such kindness from a stranger, and because of that kindness Lena was dead. No, that was wrong, Kirra thought. Lena hadnât died. Sheâd been murdered â by Latham.
Latham , Kirra thought. He needed to die. He needed to be killed as soon as possible, and Kirra was the one to do it. It didnât matter that she came from Freemont or that she was still in high school. It didnât matter that murder had never once crossed her mind before. Latham had killed Lena, and Kirra was the one who was going to avenge her. She was certain of it.
It wasnât until dawn that she realised she was still wrapped in Lenaâs dark red jacket. She remembered how Lena had given it to her the instant sheâd realised Kirra was trembling from the cold. Even now, it was still keeping her warm.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MILO FRANKLYN
A bleak sort of haze
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