Chapter 20 The Enemy of My Enemy
The shipyard smells of rust and dead fish. It is a graveyard of giant iron husks, casting long, jagged shadows under the moonlight. Jax kills the headlights a mile before we reach the warehouse, navigating by the silver glow reflecting off the river.
As the van stops, the silence is deafening. No music. No applause. Just the sound of the wind whistling through the hollow ships.
"My ankle is gone," I whisper, the words catching in my throat. The lidocaine has fully worn off. It feels like someone is driving a glowing coal into my joint.
Caspian is out of his seat instantly. He does not say a word. He just scoops me up. I am too tired to fight him, too broken to care about the tough girl act. I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of sweat and expensive soap that is slowly being replaced by the grime of the shipyard.
"Inside. Now," Jax hisses, scanning the horizon for the red and blue glow of police lights.
The warehouse is a cavern of darkness. Caspian sets me down on a pile of old sailcloth. My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps.
"I have to call my mom," I say, reaching for my pocket. "If Arthur is telling the world I am a kidnapper, the police will be at her door. Lumi, she will be terrified."
"No!" Caspian grabs my wrist, his eyes wide. "Zoe, do not. They will be tracking her phone. The second you call, you give them a GPS coordinate. You will be in handcuffs before you can say hello."
"So I just let her think I am a criminal?" I snap, my voice echoing off the metal rafters. "I let her sit there while the police tear our apartment apart?"
"We find another way," Jax says, pacing the floor. "But Caspian is right. The Flats are crawling with Thorne's private security. They are not looking for a dancer. They are looking for a target."
Suddenly, the heavy iron door of the warehouse groans. It does not open all the way, just a sliver, but a beam of light cuts through the darkness, blinding us.
Caspian steps in front of me, his fists clenched. Jax pulls a heavy wrench from his belt.
"I told you this place was a ghost property, Thorne," a woman's voice rings out. It is cool, sharp, and sounds like it is used to giving orders. "But ghosts do not usually make this much noise."
A woman steps into the light. She is in her late forties, wearing a tailored trench coat that costs more than my mom makes in a year. Her hair is a sharp silver bob, and her eyes are like flint.
"Who are you?" I ask, clutching the sailcloth.
"Someone who has spent ten years waiting for someone to do what you just did on that stage," she says, walking toward us. She does not look at the boys. She looks at me. "I am Julianne Vane's former employer. And Arthur Thorne's biggest mistake."
Caspian stiffens. "Senator Sterling? No, you are her sister. Genevieve Sterling."
"The disgraced one," she says with a thin, dangerous smile. "The one Arthur Thorne tried to disbar when I found out he was funneling Academy funds into his private legal wars. I have been watching you, Zora. Not for the dancing, but for the fire."
"Is my mom okay?" I demand, trying to stand.
Genevieve walks over and pushes me gently back down. "She is safe. I had my team move her and Lumi to a private clinic an hour ago. The police are currently banging on an empty door in the Flats."
The relief is so sudden I feel like I might be sick. "The surgery. Lumi needs—"
"The surgery is being scheduled as we speak," Genevieve interrupts. "I have already covered the deposit. Consider it an investment in a very public, very messy downfall for the Thorne family."
I look at Caspian, then back at her. "What is the catch? People like you do not do favors for girls like me."
"The catch is that you do not get to hide," Genevieve says, leaning down until we are eye to eye. "Arthur wants to call you a kidnapper? We are going to call you a whistleblower. He wants to freeze the Gala money? We are going to sue him for every cent he has, and then some. But I need you to keep the spotlight. The public loves a rebel, Zora. But they love a martyr even more."
"You want to use us," Caspian says, his voice cold. "To get back into politics."
"I want to burn his empire down," Genevieve corrects. "And you two are the matches. If you want to save your sister and clear your names, you do exactly what I say. You stay in this shipyard. You do not post to social media. You do not move until I say the stage is set."
She tosses a thick envelope onto my lap. "There is a doctor coming in twenty minutes to look at that ankle. If you want to dance again, you will listen to him."
She turns to leave, but stops at the door. "Oh, and Zora? Do not get too comfortable with the Prince. In this game, the first thing an enemy does is go for the heart."
The heavy door slams shut, leaving us in the dark again.
I look at the envelope. I look at Caspian. The rags to riches dream is starting to feel like a rags to revolution reality. My sister is safe, the surgery is paid for, but I have just traded one master for another.
"Zoe," Caspian whispers, sitting down beside me. "We can not trust her."
"I know," I say, reaching out and taking his hand. His skin is cold, but mine is burning. "But right now, she is the only one with a bigger gun than your father."
I lean my head on his shoulder, the darkness of the warehouse closing in. We have the money. We have a protector. But the price of success is starting to feel a lot like the price of a soul.
"We are not ghosts anymore," I say.
"No," Caspian replies, his grip on my hand tightening. "We are weapons.”