Cress (The Lunar Chronicles #3) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,30

up. “Thorne—report. What happened down there?”

The screen returned only static.

Cinder chewed on the inside of her cheek. After a moment, the static was replaced with a simple text comm.

CAMERA DISABLED. WE’RE INJURED. OPEN DOCK.

Cinder reread the message until the words blurred in her vision.

“It’s a trap,” said Wolf.

“It might not be,” she answered.

“It is.”

“We don’t know that for sure! He’s resourceful.”

“Cinder—”

“He could have survived.”

“Or it’s a trap,” muttered Scarlet.

“Cinder,” Iko broke in, her voice pitched high. “What should I do?”

She swallowed, hard, and shoved herself away from the chair. “Open the dock. Both of you, stay here.”

“Absolutely not.” Wolf fell into step beside her. She could tell that he was in fight mode—his shoulders hunched near his ears, his hands curled into claws, his stride fast and determined.

“Wolf.” Cinder pressed her titanium fist against his sternum. “Stay here. If there is a thaumaturge on that ship, Iko and I are the only ones who can’t be controlled.”

Scarlet latched on to his elbow. “She’s right. Your presence could do more harm than good.”

Cinder didn’t wait for Scarlet to convince him. She was already halfway down the ladder that dropped into the ship’s lower level. In the corridor between the podship dock and engine room, she stopped to listen. She heard the solid closing of the dock’s doors, and the life system pumping oxygen back into the space.

“Dock is secured,” said Iko. “Life system stabilized. Safe for entry.”

Cinder’s retina display was panicking, as it tended to do when she was nervous or afraid. Red diagnostics flared up in the corner of her vision, laced with warnings: BLOOD PRESSURE TOO HIGH; HEART RATE TOO FAST; SYSTEMS OVERHEATING, INITIALIZING AUTO-COOL RESPONSE.

“Iko, what do you see in there?”

“I can see that we need to get some real cameras installed on this ship,” she responded. “My sensor confirms that the podship has docked. I detect two life-forms inside, but it doesn’t seem that anyone has gotten out of the ship yet.”

Maybe they were too injured to get out of the ship.

Or maybe it was a thaumaturge, unwilling to leave the shuttle while there was still a chance they could reopen the docking doors and have everything inside sucked out into space.

Cinder opened the tip of her left pointer finger, loading a cartridge. Though she’d used up all her tranquilizer darts during the fight in Paris, she’d been able to manufacture some weapons of her own—projectiles made out of welded nails.

“We just received another text comm from the ship,” said Iko. “It says, ‘Help us.’”

Everything inside Cinder’s head was screaming at her—Trap. Trap. Trap.

But if it was Thorne … if Thorne was inside that ship, injured or dying …

Clearing her thoughts, she reached up and punched in the dock’s access code, then wrenched down the manual lever. The unlock mechanism clunked and Cinder held up her left hand like a gun.

Thorne’s podship was sandwiched between the second pod and a wall of cords and machinery bolted to the thick paneling: tools for loading and unloading freight, fueling equipment, jacks, air compressors, pneumatic coils.

She inched toward the ship.

“Thorne?” she said, craning her head. She spotted a lump of fabric in the pilot seat—a body hunched over.

Shaking, she swung open the door before ducking a few steps back and aiming her weapon at the body. His shirt was soaked in blood.

“Thorne!”

Lowering her hand, she reached forward, rolling him toward her. “What hap—”

An orange light brightened in the corner of her vision, her optobionics reminding her that her eyes were a weakness.

She gasped and raised her hand again, just as he shot forward. One hand wrapped around her wrist, the other clamped around her neck, his movements so fast Cinder fell onto the floor. For a moment it was Thorne on top of her, blue eyes surprisingly calm as he pinned her to the ground.

Then he morphed. His stare became cold and crystalline, his hair grew longer and lighter, and his clothes melded into the red and gray uniforms of the Lunar royal guard.

Her instincts seemed to recognize him before her eyes did, flaring with violent hatred. This was not any Lunar guard. This was the guard who had held her captive during the ball, while Levana taunted her and threatened Kai, threatened everyone.

But wasn’t he—

A fluttery laugh drifted through the air. Cinder squinted against the bright lights as a woman emerged from the podship.

Right. The personal guard to Head Thaumaturge Sybil Mira.

“I had expected more from the galaxy’s most-wanted criminal,” she said, watching as Cinder pressed her free hand