Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,71

do that. The general had found her some other way. She’d made a wrong step somewhere. Or the general had spies in Montfer who had tracked her down.

Leclair’s beady gray eyes scanned the extraction room, landing promptly on Alouette. For a moment, the officer just stared, his tongue jabbing the inside of his cheek, as though he were trying to make sense of something.

Alouette tensed, afraid to even breathe.

The man’s eyes raked up and down Alouette before cutting back to Clodie who stood huddled and shaking in the custody of the other officer. Then, in a quick decision, Leclair snapped his fingers again and nodded to Clodie. “You. Disconnect this girl. Now.”

- CHAPTER 21 - MARCELLUS

MARCELLUS’S FOOT SLAMMED INTO THE rusty door of the couchette for the third time, and the faulty lock finally gave way. The door burst open and he barreled inside, his eyes immediately landing on a small rickety table piled high with titan spoons, clearly stolen. He grabbed hold of the table and, with a yank that sent the spoons scattering to the floor, dragged it across the room and shoved it against the busted door until it felt somewhat secure.

Not that Marcellus really cared if someone were to break in. Let them come. Let them rob him and beat him and take everything he had left. It certainly wasn’t much.

He glanced around the abandoned couchette in shock and horror. He’d seen glimpses of Third Estate dwellings during his door-to-door interrogations, but he’d never actually been inside one before. It was worse than he’d imagined.

Dust and grease clung to every nook, corner, and surface. In a tiny kitchen, which took up the back part of the room, cockroaches skittered over a pile of rotting turnips. A leak from the low ceiling dripped into a foul-colored puddle on the floor, and between two sagging chairs in the living space, rats nosed and sniffed at a stack of empty weed wine bottles.

So this is how she lived.

Marcellus felt a pang of remorse and longing rip through him. He’d been so blind for so long. Too long. Maybe if he’d opened his eyes sooner, realized the truth sooner, taken action sooner, things would be different.

Chatine Renard might still be here.

He scanned every centimètre of the decaying couchette, trying to imagine her here. Living inside these walls. Walking across these floors. Eating at that table. Dodging cockroaches, and rats, and puddles.

He knew the Renards’ old couchette would be abandoned. Chatine’s parents wouldn’t dare return here after they’d escaped arrest. And her sister, Azelle, was dead. Perished in the bombing of the TéléSkin fabrique.

Now all that was left of any of them was this dirty, dilapidated furniture, a few rotten turnips, and a handful of stolen spoons. No wonder Chatine had spied on him for the general. No wonder she had done everything and anything she could to try to escape this. Marcellus was now certain he would have done the same.

Fatigue and grief overtook him, turning his mind to fog and his muscles to mud. He staggered into one of the bedrooms and sat down on the unmade bed. Then, he took out his TéléCom and, after confirming that the tracking feature was still deactivated, spoke the words he’d been dreading to speak for the entire moto ride to the Frets. Terrified of what the response might be. And even more terrified that he already knew.

“Locate Prisoner 51562.”

The search seemed to take forever. Like the TéléCom was purposefully trying to torture him. Marcellus held his breath.

“Prisoner 51562. Location unknown.”

Marcellus’s heart skipped.

Unknown?

That had to be a mistake. He’d seen her on that roof. He’d watched her get flung into the air from that explosif. He’d seen her …

His thoughts juddered to a halt. He hadn’t seen her die. He’d never found her body. He’d found Mabelle’s instead.

Is it possible?

He didn’t want to allow himself to hope. It felt too dangerous. Like wading into deep water with stones tied to your feet.

“Locate Prisoner 51562,” he said again, careful to keep his voice steady and clear. No misunderstandings. No mistakes.

“Prisoner 51562. Location unknown.”

Marcellus let out a hesitant breath. Unknown was good. Unknown was alive. If she was dead, if her life had been snuffed out by that explosif, her Skin would have registered it. She’d be marked dead in the Communiqué, and the search results would have reported that. Which meant … she was still out there. Alive. Somewhere.

Just like Alouette.

The two were both now painfully lost to him. Vanished. Locations unknown.

Marcellus glanced