Bang

Rayne

“Where the hell are we going?”

“Get over here. It’s this way.” Rayne’s boots crunched over crushed stones. She was running out of Games to search. Running out of reasons to hope.

The others hurried behind her. “Welcome to the Bastille,” she said, her voice low. “Took you long enough.”

“You didn’t exactly wait for us.” Rook hesitated, tugging at his officer's uniform, blond hair tumbling over his eyes.

“Stow it, Rook.” Cha jabbed her finger into Rook’s chest and he stumbled back, startled. “Time to focus.”

Rook recomposed himself, his face hardening as he jogged to keep up.

Rayne’s breath came in labored gasps as the four of them ran through the night-shrouded alley. The humidity closed around her like a wet blanket. Her silk-embroidered jacket was a dead weight. She shrugged it off in mid-stride, hearing it fall to the ground with a thump. The night was stifling. Even in her light shirt and breeches, she could scarcely draw breath.

The small group of Game Designers reached the end of the wall. Peering around the corner, Rayne held her fist high. Stop.

Briz, their hair hanging in a dark sheet over their white shirt, inched forward to where Rayne stood. In the dim light, Rayne noticed the sweat glistening on Briz’s temples and dampening their chest.

“Is it too late?” Briz asked in their silvery voice.

Rayne shook her head. It was perfect. The soldiers at the gate wouldn’t be expecting a visit at this hour. The early morning darkness gave Rayne and her friends good cover. Plus, the soldiers were foreigners and weren’t familiar with the prison’s layout. No doubt they’d be exhausted and slow to respond once they realized something was amiss.

Straining, Rayne listened for sounds that would give away the guards’ locations.

“What do you want us to do?” Cha cupped her hands around her mouth to muffle her half-whisper. Her brown hair fizzed out in the humidity, framing her face. “The Parisians arrive at first light. That’s in… thirteen minutes.”

Rook shucked his coat onto the ground and loosened the drawstrings of his shirt. Briz and Cha tipped their faces to Rayne, waiting for her instructions.

Rayne silently thanked the three of them. They didn't know that finding proof of Freya's Path was the only thing she had left. The Seers could take away her Thread. Her mother was in a coma and under arrest. Cas was dead. And Avalon and the rest of the coders she'd trusted with her life had simply vanished.

If she couldn't find answers here, she didn't know where else to look.

“We can’t stay here,” Rayne said. “We’ll get caught up in the battle as soon as the mob arrives. I want to get inside the gates before then. I’ll only need a few minutes to search.”

Cha gave a single nod. “No problem. We’ll create a distraction. You can slip in.” At twenty-one, four years older than Rayne, Cha held a wisdom beyond her years.

“I don’t know what you think is in there.” Rook slumped against the stone wall, picking at his shirt. “It’s too hot for this. Can’t we just ask them?”

Briz shot him a look. “Rayne has a plan. This is her Game. I say we play through.”

“And what would we ask the guards, Rook?” Rayne forced herself to whisper. Damp circles spread under her armpits and sweat trickled down her back. She smelled gross, but she stepped close to Rook’s face, nearly matching his height. “Should we ask if they’ve seen anything suspicious? Something that didn’t fit with their reality? Maybe they had a tea party with a group of coders called Freya’s Path. That would sure be helpful.”

Rook rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean that, I just—”

“I know what you meant.” Rayne turned back around. “But they’re aspects I programmed. The guards don’t know anything I haven’t coded. What I’m looking for is outside their awareness.”

The ancient walls of the French prison complex stretched up into the sky like a mountain of stone. Criss-crossed with shadows, its turrets and chimneys disappeared into the darkness. Rayne’s friends fell silent.

“This is what we’re going to do.” Rayne placed her palm against the rough stone. “The three of you are going to run at the guards in this courtyard. Run in opposite directions and keep swerving so they won't be able to fire at you. Keep them engaged as long as you can. This might be my last chance to find something.”

Rook huffed and glanced away.

“And afterward,” Rayne continued, “You can come over to my house and eat all the food in my refrigerator.”

Rook swiveled, his eyes bright. “Fine. That’s a deal.”

“What else can we do here?” Cha asked. “Can’t we help you search?”

I wish.

Her friends couldn’t help her search because Rayne didn’t know what she was looking for. Not exactly.

All she wanted was confirmation that Freya's Path existed. Just a scrap of proof that losing Cas had meant something.

Finding Freya’s Path wouldn’t change the past, but maybe it could give her some answers. Yet the more time passed, the more fruitless her search seemed. Was she truly alone in this?

Briz yanked their hair off their neck and fanned their face. “Let’s go already. No more talking. It’s too hot.”

Rayne paused for a moment, her gaze drifting up to a small window at the top of a door across the courtyard. There was something strange about it, something almost familiar. But it was too far away for her to make out.

“Stop whining,” Cha said. “I’ll count to three, and we’ll run.” She glanced at Rook and Briz. “You gonna play? Or are you too hot?”

Rook managed a crooked smile. He pushed off from the wall and crouched into a runner’s stance. “This is gonna be way too easy. Then I’m having snacks.”

“Wait for my count,” Cha instructed, and moved a short distance away.

Briz shot Cha a challenging glare before stepping into place next to Rook. “Bossing us around because she thinks she’s the best,” they muttered, raising their arms in readiness to sprint.

Cha’s mouth twitched in response.

Rayne glanced from one face to the other, taking in the determination of her three Game Designer friends. She knew they were all up to the challenge. Even if they didn’t know what the real reward was.

“One…” Cha began. The Designers adjusted their spacing so they faced different directions.

“Two… THREE!”

They took off. Rook let out a whoop. Rayne waited for the guards to shout.

“Qui est là? Arrêt! Aller!”

Right on cue.

An angry voice barked orders to ready weapons and capture the intruders. The guards moved in a frenzy after her friends. French curses echoed in the courtyard. A musket blast startled her, but it was too dark to see if anyone fell.

Rayne didn’t waste another second. Running as fast as she could, the warmth of the air grazing her skin, she traversed the courtyard in long strides and fell against the heavy door. Patting the pitted boards, steadying her breath, she searched for anything out of the ordinary. A stray piece of code, a hidden message, a portal she hadn’t planted, or… she didn’t know what.

Her fingertips scraped against the old door, feeling for any indentations or hidden compartments. She pushed her face close, inhaling the warm scent of ancient wood, inspecting every inch she could make out in the darkness.

But there was nothing to find. Just an old, nicked, splintering door. She jangled the iron rings in frustration.

Another musket shot rang out, closer this time. Rayne flinched.

She craned her neck, searching for the window at the top of the door. That could be it. A place no one would think to look. She had to get closer. Taking a few steps back, her eyes scanned the walls for anything that could be of use. Then she stopped, her gaze landing on a large, rusty pipe snaking up the wall.

With a running leap, she grabbed the pipe, dangling for a heart-stopping moment, then found purchase. Hand over hand, she hauled herself up. She had to be right about this. She had to be.

It was a treacherous climb, and more than once, she nearly lost her grip. But eventually, she made it to the window.

Peering inside, her eyes widened. It was dark and she couldn’t make out much, but she saw a few figures, their faces cloaked in shadow.

There was a clang. The door swung open on groaning hinges.

Her right foot slipped on the slick pipe. Her arms reached out wide, pinwheeling, trying to catch hold of anything that could stop her fall. It was no use. She tumbled backward, the smooth cobbles hurtling up toward her. She hit the ground with a thud. Her lungs crumpled and she gasped, trying to drag air into them.

A musket appeared in front of her face. Its wooden stock was well worn, the brass on the end of it freshly polished. The cool metal barrel touched her forehead. A guard leered at her from underneath a black hat. He closed one eye, a thin mustache curling above his lip. His other eye closed down to a slit, as if trying to see into the depths of her heart.

“Wait,” she rasped. “I just want to know—”