He stared at a spot on the far wall, lost in thought. Something was going on. Something to do with Orange and Skinny, and that guy who either was or wasn’t named Minho, depending on who you talked to. Something was about to happen.

As if she’d read his mind, Orange was suddenly kneeling right next to him. He met her eyes, and she smiled, along with a barely perceptible nod. She squeezed his arm.

“What . . .” he began without finishing. He didn’t know what to ask her.

“Just be ready,” she whispered. “And when the time comes, find something to hold on to.”

His heart rate leaped so hard he could feel it in his throat. “What . . . how will I know?”

She stood back up, softly speaking as her head passed his.

“Oh, you’ll know.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

According to Plan

It was happening today at noon. Finally. After a solid month of meticulous planning.

Mannus sat in a chair, just a few feet in front of her. No one else was in the room, and only Flint still remained in the residence, waiting in the front hall. The amount of deceit, the amount of stealth and secrecy, the amount of sheer guts—all that had been expended and risked in the last month was almost beyond her Flare-enhanced comprehension. It truly surprised her that she hadn’t been caught, that her head wasn’t on a pole somewhere, like in medieval times, glaring with rotted eyes at the people as a warning.

Medieval times. That gave her a whimsical thought.

“Mannus, you know what? In ancient days, I hear that kings would often say, bring me their heads. Do you think that’s true?”

He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. MADNESS! She imagined him thinking it. The word was like a wounded animal inside her head, screaming in pain, pulsing with its own heartbeat. Madness. The greatest fear she’d ever known.

“Just answer the question, Mannus.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, seems like I read that somewhere. What the hell? Shouldn’t we be finalizing things? Not doing history lessons?”

She bristled at that. This man had been given a lot of leeway—she needed him far more than he could even guess—but it still bothered her greatly. Once this was all over . . .

“Careful, Mannus. My point is this—that’s what I want. I want you to bring me back his head. It’s the only way I can know for sure. The only way.”

His eyes found the floor, and she assumed he was trying to hide his frustration. “The Coffin won’t be enough to prove it? That he’s dead?”

“No. It won’t. And I may need something like a head for proof to others. I’m starting to think they knew what they were doing way back then.”