Chapter 15 Blood and Zinc Tape
The basement of the boxing gym smells like old leather, sour sweat, and damp concrete. Above us, I can hear the rhythmic thud thud thud of heavy bags being punched. It is a brutal sound, but it matches the beat of my heart.
Jax drops a plastic bag from the pharmacy onto a wooden bench. "Got your supplies, Z. Strongest stuff they had. And enough tape to mummify a horse."
"Thanks, Jax," I say, leaning against a rusted squat rack.
Caspian is standing in the middle of the room, looking around at the cracked mirrors and the bloodstains on the floor. He looks completely out of place in his tailored, soot stained clothes. He looks like a fallen angel in a cage.
"You okay, Prince?" I ask, pulling a bottle of pills from the bag.
Caspian looks at me, his eyes dark. "I am wondering how many more times my father is going to try to kill us before the sun goes down."
"He doesn't want us dead," I say, swallowing two pills. "He wants the drive destroyed. Killing us is just a side effect he is willing to accept."
I sit on the bench and begin to unwrap my ankle. The skin is angry, a deep shade of mottled plum. The heat from the fire has definitely made it worse. It is twice the size it was this morning.
Caspian kneels in front of me. He doesn't ask. He just takes the roll of zinc tape from the bag. "Let me."
"I can do it," I mutter.
"Zoe, stop," he says softly. He looks up at me, and the distance between us, the hills and the Flats, feels like it is vanishing. "You can't even see the back of your own heel. Let me help you."
I let out a breath and lean back, watching his fingers. He works with a quiet, intense focus. He doesn't just wrap it. He is building a brace out of tape. Every layer is tight, locking the joint into place. It is going to be agony to move, but the ankle will not buckle.
"Why did he sue my mom, Caspian?" I ask. The question has been burning in me as much as the fire did. "It wasn't just about the car, was it?"
Caspian stops for a second, his hand resting on my calf. "My father doesn't do anything for just one reason. The man in the other car, the one you hit, he wasn't just a client. He is a major donor for the city's political board. If the truth came out that he was speeding at ninety miles per hour, he would lose everything. My father had to protect him to keep his own seat of power."
"So my mother's life was just a trade-off for a donor's reputation?" I feel a surge of cold fury.
"To him, people are just numbers on a ledger, Zoe," Caspian says, finishing the wrap. He stands up and offers his hand. "Let's show him he miscalculated."
We start the music on Jax's portable speaker. The beat is heavy, a low thumping bass that echoes off the concrete walls.
The new ending isn't about grace. It is about the collision.
I start the routine, limping intentionally at first, weaving the pain into the movement. When Caspian reaches for me, I don't move toward him with a dancer's poise. I move like I am fighting for air. We clash in the center of the floor, my shoulder hitting his chest.
"More," I gasp. "Don't catch me so gently. Make it look like a wreck."
We go again. This time, when I spin, I let my weight fall heavily. Caspian grabs my waist, swinging me around, and as I land, I collapse to my knees. The tape holds, but the pain is a white hot flash in my brain. I don't stop. I crawl forward, dragging my fingers across the concrete until Caspian pulls me back.
"It is perfect," he says, breathing hard. "It is horrifying, but it is perfect."
"It is the truth," I say.
We practice for hours. The pills start to kick in, numbing the sharp edges of the pain, leaving me in a hazy, floating state. Every time we finish the set, Jax gives us a thumbs up from the corner.
Around 4:00 PM, Jax's phone chirps. He looks at the screen, and his face goes grim.
"Z, you need to see this."
He turns the phone around. It is a live stream from the Vance Academy. The red carpet is already being rolled out. Madam Sterling is standing in front of a swarm of reporters, looking perfectly poised in a silk gown.
"We are deeply saddened by the recent events involving one of our scholarship students," she says into the microphones. "While the Academy remains a place of safety and excellence, we cannot tolerate criminal behavior. The Gala will proceed tonight as a tribute to the resilience of our true artists. Sloane Miller will be taking the lead solo."
"Resilience," I spit the word out like it is poison. "She is talking about resilience while she helps a man burn down a neighborhood."
"Look at the bottom of the screen," Jax says.
A news ticker is running across the bottom. Police seeking information on the whereabouts of Zora Vane and Caspian Thorne. Both considered armed and dangerous.
"Armed?" Caspian laughs, a dry, hollow sound. "With what? A pair of pointe shoes and a thumb drive?"
"They are setting the stage," I say, my voice steady. "They want the police to have a reason to shoot if we show up. They are not trying to arrest us. They are trying to finish what the fire started."
Caspian walks over to the bench and picks up his ruined shirt. He looks at the soot and the holes. "We can't walk through the front doors. They'll have scanners and armed guards."
"I know a way in," I say. I look at the cracked mirrors, seeing the girl I was yesterday versus the girl I am now. "I have spent months cleaning every inch of that building. I know where the ventilation shafts lead, and I know which service elevator has a faulty sensor."
"It is a suicide mission," Jax says, but he is already reaching for his keys. "Which means it is right up my alley. I'll get the van ready. We need to get you some clothes that don't smell like a house fire."
"Caspian," I say, turning to him. "This is your last chance to walk away. You could go to the police. Tell them I kidnapped you. Tell them you were a victim. You could save your future."
Caspian walks closer, stopping only inches from my face. He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "My future didn't start until I met the girl who danced in the dark, Zoe. I am not going back to the silence."
He leans down, and for a second, I think he is going to kiss me. But he just rests his forehead against mine. "Let's go give them a show they will never forget."
"Jax," I call out. "We need black hoodies. And a lot of hair dye. We are not going in as dancers."
"How are you going in?" Jax asks.
I look at my hands, still stained with soot and zinc dust.
"We are going in as the people who clean up their mess," I say. "We are going in as the janitors."
The final plan is set. The Gala is three hours away. The city is looking for two fugitives, but they are looking for them in the shadows. They will not be looking for us in the one place we are supposedly banned from.
I grab my crutches, but I do not lean on them. I stand straight, letting the tape do its work.
"Let's go burn his world down," I say.
We climb out of the basement, leaving the smell of sweat behind for the smell of a revolution.