Page 25 of Because I Killed Him
I follow, even though every part of me knows a narrow choke point like this is the last place I should be during a chase. But it’s the only way to reach the train.
“How many of them are students?” I ask, surprised at how steady myvoice sounds. The loose scattering of people funnels onto the escalator behind us, closing in at the edges of my vision until the blur of bodies looks more like a mob than a crowd.
Harrison glances back and counts with brisk bobs of his chin. “Around half are students, but I am acquainted with only four.”
“Youmustconfront them,” Charlotte says.
“What they are doing is not illegal, Miss Deering.”
“It is if we feel threatened, which I, for one, certainly do.” She pulls a cigarette from her purse, but it snaps in her fumbling hands.
“And if they refuse to cease their pursuit?” Harrison asks.
“Then you shall have grounds to file a report.”
“No,” I cut in. “Reporting will risk escalation we cannot afford.”
Charlotte scoffs and points her broken cigarette toward the mirrored escalator wall. The reflection shows an angry swarm of faces, all illuminated by the electric blue glow of their activated Bonds. “The situation has already escalated.”
“If it had,” Harrison replies, “you would be holding a saber, not a cigarette.” He glances back one last time, shoulders tense, then swallows hard and faces forward. “Perhaps it is best if we increase our pace.”
Charlotte grabs the hem of her gown and hurries down the escalator. I follow, mirroring her graceful movements despite my unease. Years of training have taught me to move this way, especially under pressure, but this is the first time I’ve had to stay composed while being stalked by an angry mob, many of whom would bash my skull against the escalator wall if they thought they could get away with it.
I tuck my hands into my coat pockets, focusing on Dad’s daffodil brooch pinned to my dress until we reach the departure platform. Steam rises in gentle plumes, curling through the air as lines of students board a gleaming black-and-gold train.
The Regal Express.
It looms over us like a titan, its body a fusion of black steel and gold, with geometric details and decorative wheels that use magnetic propulsion to hover above the tracks. The train’s double-decker carriages stretch endlessly along the platform, their frosted glass panes refracting beams of light from the security drones patrolling overhead.
Though the train operates autonomously, a holographic engineer waves a flat-top cap from the engine cab. The holograph’s amplified voice booms across the platform: “Prepare for departure!”
Harrison, Charlotte and I hurry down the platform to the rear of the train. There are twenty-five carriages, each marked with a yellow-gold plaque. CARRIAGE ONE: FACULTY. CARRIAGE NINE: BLUE FOURTH-YEAR STUDENTS. CARRIAGE FOURTEEN: PURPLE THIRD-YEAR STUDENTS. CARRIAGE NINETEEN: ORANGE SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS. And then, only a stone’s throw from the caboose, is Charlotte’s and my carriage, number twenty-four.
But there’s no way to enter.
At least a hundred students swarm the carriage, blocking the doors on both sides. Some huddle in circles, while others are distracted by their Bonds, probably checking Quill for clues about my location. A group of young men playing hacky sack at the edge of the crowd notices me first. One of them whistles to alert everyone. I freeze, swinging toward the nearest exit, but the mob behind us collapses into a wall of bodies and traps me inside.
“Do not engage,” Harrison warns, shielding Charlotte and me with his arms.
“And iftheyengage?” I ask.
He nods toward the security drones circling overhead. All are equipped with electroshock tasers capable of hitting targets with pinpoint accuracy. “They will not.”
Charlotte flares her nostrils, then activates her Bond: “Harry’s wrong,” she messages me. “Half of these poor bastards are dopesick. Bliss withdrawals make people more aggressive than the drug itself.”
The crowd surges toward me—a flash flood of sweaty faces, dilated pupils, and necks bulging with angry veins. I spin and scan for an opening to escape. That’s when I spot the Greens from the hoverbus, riding an escalator down to the platform. Harrison’s mustached friend leads the group, a pipe between his teeth, his face shadowed beneath a tweed flat cap.
I raise a hand to get his attention.
The moment the Green’s gaze locks onto me, recognition flashes. Henods curtly, then turns to say something to his friends before the whole group carves a path to the center of the mob. Oranges and Purples move aside as the Greens pass, eyes trailing their tall frames and muscle-chorded arms.
The man hands his pipe to one of his friends and bows to Harrison in greeting. “Mr. Somerset. Good day.”
Harrison scrubs a hand down his sweaty face, looking so relieved I half expect him to pull the man in for a kiss. “Good day, Mr. Lee,” he says. “Might I trouble you to escort my friends and me to our door?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Mr. Lee doffs his flat cap. “But first, I wish to formally request an introduction to Miss Waldsten.”
Harrison frowns. “For what purpose? What are your intentions?”
