Super Spy (Book 2)

19. A Stolen Moment

When Jace returned to the Super Sector, the first thing she did was shower, because she decided that Grayson would be more likely to believe her tale about the deranged swamp creatures if she didn't look like one herself. Once she had finished scrubbing her skin till it was red and raw, and rinsing the final clumps of mud out of her orange curls, she felt calmer. Or at least, more numb.

While her hair dried, she sat on the edge of her bed, watching her spy-moths flutter around in their glass case. Her gaze drifted to the photo of Luke tacked up on the wall, and she felt a brief, sharp twist in her gut. Maybe the irae did have a chance at reviving him . . . but she couldn't stake lives or betray her ideals on a maybe. Her decision didn't waver. Hesitantly, she reached out to peel the photograph off the wall. She stared at it for a moment, feeling nothing. He was gone. He had been gone for years, and she just hadn't seen it. 

She expected the revelation to be devastating, to reduce her to a weepy mess, but instead, all she felt was a sense of . . . defeat. Maybe even relief. A sense that she could finally let go. It would be so nice to let go. To stop carrying him around everywhere. She carefully folded the photo and tucked it away into a drawer. 

Then someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Jace said in a startled squeak, shoving the drawer shut, though there was nothing illicit inside. Only that hidden photo.

The door swung open, revealing Tristan at the doorway, holding up two coffee cups in greeting. His bushy brown hair nearly brushed the ceiling.

"'Morning, Jace." He paused at the threshold. "May I?"

"Y- yeah, that's fine," Jace stammered. She scanned her room quickly, embarrassed at the rumpled state of her bedsheets and the mud she'd tracked in all over the floor, but it was too late to clean anything.

Tristan walked in, and his gaze flickered to the mud and leaves streaked on the floor, but he made no comment. He handed her one of the cups, and she automatically began saying, "Oh, I don't drink coff—" She peered inside the cup and paused as she inhaled the warm steam. "This is tea?"

"Earl gray," said Tristan, leaning against the wall, wearing his customary languid grin. "Milk, no sugar."

"You remembered my drink . . . Thanks," said Jace sheepishly, taking a sip. The hot, fragrant liquid felt nice after the crazy night she'd had, and she felt a flood of warmth that she could only partially attribute to the tea.

"I came here to thank you, actually." Tristan took a draught from his own cup, then fished something out of his pocket: a tiny vial filled with bluish-white liquid. "Remember when you gave me this? It's been very helpful."

It felt like so long ago that Jace had handed him the vial of liquid collected from the ruins of Xavier's cryo-tanks, and asked him to deduce what it was— and so much else had happened since then— that she'd almost forgotten about it. 

"What did you find out?" she asked. She scooted down her bed to make room for him, smoothing out the messy covers.

Placing his coffee cup next to the spy moths' container, he sat down at the other end and draped his arms over the bedposts, making the frame creak. "It exactly matches the liquid found nearby all of the recent attacks. We've found out Xavier and his terrorist group must be behind the new attacks as well— likely supervillains that have remained loyal to him even though he was killed. They seem to be a lot stronger this time, though. We think the vines are Harrison's, and that his powers have been enhanced somehow."

"That's . . ." Jace blew out a breath, sighing. "That's partially true."

Tristan quirked an eyebrow.