Chapter 35 The Midnight Perimeter
"Three minutes, Zora. If you’re not past the North Gate by then, the system reboots and the silent alarms go straight to my father’s tablet."
Caspian is hunched over a laptop in the maintenance crawl space, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of the screen. His fingers are flying across the keys, bypassing the Academy’s high-frequency security grid. This isn't the Caspian who dances in the spotlight, this is the boy who learned how to hack his own father’s life just to survive it.
"I’m ready," I say, pulling the hood of my dark sweatshirt over my head. I’ve taped my ankle so tight I can barely feel my toes, but it’s the only way I can run.
"The back-door code for the service exit is 0-9-2-2," he whispers, looking up. "The date of the fire. My father is nothing if not predictable in his narcissism. Once you’re out, take the alley behind the infirmary. Jax is waiting in the black sedan two blocks down."
"Why are you doing this, Cas?" I ask, pausing at the edge of the shadows. "If he catches you, there’s no coming back from this. He’ll strip your name. He’ll make sure you never dance on a stage again."
Caspian gives me a small, jagged smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "He already did that, Zora. He did it the moment he turned our home into a prison. Now go. You have two minutes and forty seconds."
I don't look back. I move through the service corridor like a ghost, my sneakers silent on the linoleum. The Academy feels different at night, less like a school and more like a tomb. The air is cold, smelling of floor wax and old secrets.
I reach the service exit and punch in the code. 0-9-2-2.
The heavy steel door clicks. I push it open and slip into the night. The transition from the Academy’s filtered air to the sharp, smoggy bite of the city is like a slap in the face. I stay low, hugging the brick walls of the infirmary, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Every shadow looks like a security guard. Every gust of wind sounds like a siren.
I reach the alley and see the faint glow of tail lights. The black sedan is idling, the engine a low, rhythmic growl. Jax is in the driver’s seat, his face hidden by a baseball cap.
I scramble into the passenger seat, and he peels away before I can even close the door.
"You’re late," Jax says, his voice tight. "I almost thought the Thorne gargoyles got you."
"Caspian had trouble with the firewall," I pant, leaning my head against the window. "Are we clear?"
"For now. But we’re heading into the Old Shipyard. That’s Thorne territory of a different kind. The guards there don't wear blazers, they carry lead pipes."
"I don't care," I say, clutching the silver key in my pocket. "My mom says the logs are in the locker room of the old shipyard. Locker 42. She said it’s the only place Arthur never looked because he thought he burned the whole dock down."
"Your mom is a lot tougher than I gave her credit for," Jax mutters, swerving around a pothole as we descend from the Hills into the Flats.
The scenery changes fast. The manicured lawns and streetlamps of the Academy disappear, replaced by boarded-up storefronts and flickering neon signs. This is the world I know. The world that doesn't pretend to be pretty.
The Old Shipyard sits at the edge of the river like a rusted skeleton. The cranes look like giant, frozen birds against the grey sky. It’s been "condemned" for twenty years, but everyone in the Flats knows it’s where the Thorne company dumps the things it doesn't want the world to see.
Jax kills the lights and rolls to a stop fifty yards from the main gate.
"I’ll keep the engine running," he says. "If you’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’m coming in after you."
"Stay here," I command. "If we both get caught, Lumi has nobody. I’m the only one who can move through those corridors without making a sound. I’m the Janitor, remember?"
I slip out of the car and vault over the chain-link fence, my ankle screaming as I land. I ignore it. I follow the layout my mother whispered to me, past the rusted turbines, through the loading bay, and down into the basement of the foreman’s office.
The air inside is thick with the smell of wet iron and rot. My flashlight beam cuts through the darkness, hitting piles of old shipping manifests and broken glass.
I find the locker room. It’s a tomb of lockers, most of them hanging off their hinges. I scan the numbers, my breath hitching in my throat.
38\. 39. 40. 41.
42.
The locker is dented, the grey paint peeling like dead skin. I insert the silver key. It’s stiff, resisting me, but I twist with everything I have.
The lock snaps.
Inside is a small, waterproof satchel. I pull it out, my hands shaking. I flip it open and see the leather-bound logs, the daily records of every Thorne vehicle and driver from twenty years ago.
And tucked into the back cover is something else. A photograph.
It’s my father. He’s standing in front of a company car, smiling, with his arm around a much younger Coach Elias.
"They weren't just colleagues," I whisper, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "They were partners."
"They were more than that, Zora."
I spin around, my flashlight beam swinging wildly.
Sloane Miller is standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a designer trench coat that looks absurd in this filth, and she’s holding a small, silver pistol.
"I followed your friend’s car," Sloane says, her voice trembling but her eyes dead set on the satchel. "My father told me if I ever found where the logs were hidden, he’d make sure I was the star of the midterm. No matter what the Board says."
"Sloane, put the gun down," I say, stepping back. "You don't know what’s in these logs. Your father is using you. He’s been using all of us."
"I don't care about the truth, Zora!" Sloane screams, and the sound echoes off the metal lockers. "I care about winning! I care about being someone! You come in here with your tragic story and your 'street' style and you take everything! You took Caspian! You took the lead! You're not taking my future too!"
"Your future is a lie, Sloane! Look at the date on these logs!" I hold the bag up. "The night of the crash, your father wasn't even in the city. He was here, at the shipyard, signing off on the vehicle that hit my family. He knew the brakes were shot! He sent my father out to die!"
Sloane’s hand shakes. The gun wobbles. "He said, he said your father was a drunk."
"He said whatever he had to say to keep his empire," I say, taking a slow step toward her. "If you give him these logs, he’ll destroy them, and then he’ll destroy you because you’re a witness to his crimes. You think he loves you? He loves his reflection. That’s it."
A floorboard creaks behind Sloane.
She turns, startled, and in that split second, a dark figure lunges from the shadows.
It’s Elias.
He doesn't use a weapon. He uses a sweep of his cane, knocking the gun from Sloane’s hand. He pins her against the lockers with a strength that shouldn't belong to a man with his injuries.
"Go, Zora!" Elias roars. "Get the logs to the car! Now!"
"Elias, no!"
"Go!" he bellows. "I’ve been waiting twenty years to finish this conversation with the Thorne family. Take the truth and run!"
I don't wait. I grab the satchel and sprint. I burst out of the shipyard, my lungs burning, and dive into Jax’s car.
"Go! Go! Go!" I scream.
Jax doesn't ask questions. He hammers the gas, and we roar away from the shipyard just as the sirens begin to wail in the distance.
I look back and see the flickering lights of the shipyard. I have the logs. I have the truth.
But I left Elias behind with a girl who has nothing left to lose.