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Authors: Laura Thalassa
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shooting range, though I never forgot just who ran right next to me. Caden had a presence that couldn’t easily be ignored.
The outdoor shooting range was located on a stretch of the mountainside that had been flattened out. On all sides, large dirt mounds prevented stray bullets from finding their way out, and in the distance, images of gun wielding individuals had been set up as targets.
“Lucky you,” Caden said, “today Lieutenant Newman decided to have us practice on stationary targets.”
“Oh goody,” I said joylessly.
Day two of my humiliation was officially about to begin.
Twenty minutes later I stood at the edge of the shooting range with Caden. Just like Close Combat yesterday, my weaponry instructor, Charles Newman, had divided us into pairs and singles to practice our technique with ourselves.
I stood, feet shoulder width apart, handgun in my hand. It was loaded with oh-so-frightening paintballs, not that I blamed the facility. Arming imprisoned teenagers with loaded guns would be just plain stupid.
Caden studied my form. He bent and adjusted one of my legs. I couldn’t ignore the way his hands lingered. “Does that feel good?” he asked.
I blinked a few times at him before I realized he was referring to my center of gravity and not his hands on my leg.
I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment.
He stood up. “Now raise the gun and grip it with both hands.”
I did as he said. He studied my form, lifting and straightening my arms further. I watched him, fascinated by this serious side of him. In his concentration, he’d let down his guard again, and I could see in his eyes how scary intelligent he was.
Altered intelligence. That was one of the mutations that Debbie had mentioned when she told me about the scientists who developed us. I wondered just how extensively they’d warped our genes.
“You know, I’m still angry with you,” I said casually as Caden adjusted my grip.
The seconds ticked by, and I almost thought Caden had missed what I said. Then he walked around me and leaned into my ear. “Only because you finally met someone who’s your match.”
His low voice brought goose bumps to my skin, and the hand that had been positioning my grip now skimmed along my arm. He knew exactly what he did to me.
“You prevented me from escaping,” I said.
He came around to face me. “No, the government did that the moment they made you. I just caught you a bit sooner than they might. But — ” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I considered letting you slip through my fingers.”
I scowled at him. “What changed your mind?”
He lowered my arms, never taking his eyes off me. “The moment I saw you …” Something flickered behind Caden’s eyes. “You were real. Up until then you were just a phantom.”
“You talk about me as though you knew about me even before we met,” I said. I shifted my weight uncomfortably.
Caden’s eyes glittered. “That’s because I did. Ember Elizabeth Pierce, born on February twenty-eighth to Lila and Gordon Pierce in Buffalo, New York.”
Caught off guard, I stumbled back at his words. My grip on my paint gun tightened. Paintballs weren’t bullets, but at such close range they could do a whole lot of damage.
As if sensing where my thoughts were going, Caden twisted my wrist back and disarmed me.
“Hey — ”
“We all have files, Ember,” he said, emptying the paintball gun of its ammunition and setting the colored balls on the table next to us. “I’ve memorized more than just yours, so you can stop feeling special.”
But mine meant something to him. That much I could tell.
“You were a teleporter who really had disappeared,” he said, getting back on topic. “At least on paper. A trail gone cold.”
I shook my head slightly. He’d known about me, thought about me, before he’d met me. And, judging by his voice and his mannerisms, I mattered to him, though I wasn’t sure why.
“And then the project found you, and I
The outdoor shooting range was located on a stretch of the mountainside that had been flattened out. On all sides, large dirt mounds prevented stray bullets from finding their way out, and in the distance, images of gun wielding individuals had been set up as targets.
“Lucky you,” Caden said, “today Lieutenant Newman decided to have us practice on stationary targets.”
“Oh goody,” I said joylessly.
Day two of my humiliation was officially about to begin.
Twenty minutes later I stood at the edge of the shooting range with Caden. Just like Close Combat yesterday, my weaponry instructor, Charles Newman, had divided us into pairs and singles to practice our technique with ourselves.
I stood, feet shoulder width apart, handgun in my hand. It was loaded with oh-so-frightening paintballs, not that I blamed the facility. Arming imprisoned teenagers with loaded guns would be just plain stupid.
Caden studied my form. He bent and adjusted one of my legs. I couldn’t ignore the way his hands lingered. “Does that feel good?” he asked.
I blinked a few times at him before I realized he was referring to my center of gravity and not his hands on my leg.
I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment.
He stood up. “Now raise the gun and grip it with both hands.”
I did as he said. He studied my form, lifting and straightening my arms further. I watched him, fascinated by this serious side of him. In his concentration, he’d let down his guard again, and I could see in his eyes how scary intelligent he was.
Altered intelligence. That was one of the mutations that Debbie had mentioned when she told me about the scientists who developed us. I wondered just how extensively they’d warped our genes.
“You know, I’m still angry with you,” I said casually as Caden adjusted my grip.
The seconds ticked by, and I almost thought Caden had missed what I said. Then he walked around me and leaned into my ear. “Only because you finally met someone who’s your match.”
His low voice brought goose bumps to my skin, and the hand that had been positioning my grip now skimmed along my arm. He knew exactly what he did to me.
“You prevented me from escaping,” I said.
He came around to face me. “No, the government did that the moment they made you. I just caught you a bit sooner than they might. But — ” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I considered letting you slip through my fingers.”
I scowled at him. “What changed your mind?”
He lowered my arms, never taking his eyes off me. “The moment I saw you …” Something flickered behind Caden’s eyes. “You were real. Up until then you were just a phantom.”
“You talk about me as though you knew about me even before we met,” I said. I shifted my weight uncomfortably.
Caden’s eyes glittered. “That’s because I did. Ember Elizabeth Pierce, born on February twenty-eighth to Lila and Gordon Pierce in Buffalo, New York.”
Caught off guard, I stumbled back at his words. My grip on my paint gun tightened. Paintballs weren’t bullets, but at such close range they could do a whole lot of damage.
As if sensing where my thoughts were going, Caden twisted my wrist back and disarmed me.
“Hey — ”
“We all have files, Ember,” he said, emptying the paintball gun of its ammunition and setting the colored balls on the table next to us. “I’ve memorized more than just yours, so you can stop feeling special.”
But mine meant something to him. That much I could tell.
“You were a teleporter who really had disappeared,” he said, getting back on topic. “At least on paper. A trail gone cold.”
I shook my head slightly. He’d known about me, thought about me, before he’d met me. And, judging by his voice and his mannerisms, I mattered to him, though I wasn’t sure why.
“And then the project found you, and I
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