76°00'08.2"S 53°43'31.2"E - Nuevo Trujillo, Spanish Antarctic Colonies

  26.05.2024 19:00, UTC+03:00

  A soft voice, too soft to be a young man’s. With an eerie confidence.

  “You have to promise. I will know.”

  A sharp tone of a begging voice, of a woman who had never begged before.

  “Please, stick to the plan, please, fire them off!”

  Letters written in ash, floating at the back of my mind.

  I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY.

  My eyes snapped open. Sirens, those of warning and war, echoed throughout the station, only to make my eardrums hurt even more.

  “Fuck,” I said, spitting blood, trying to get up. The Weaver, she was gone. I had lost my senses just as I had pinned her down. She was begging… to fire them off?

  I looked around. Left and right. One wing of the station was on fire; some incendiary mechanism had gone off in the meantime, blocking the entrance. But that was it. The other trains were intact. The trains. The Transantarctic, right. If I was right, that was where this mysterious Token was.

  “Fuck,” I said once more, trying to find my balance. The Transantarctic. I had to get there before more T-Agents arrived on the scene.

  “You have to promise.”

  The boy’s voice still lingered in my mind, but the promise was vague. All I remembered was that I had to get the Token from the Transantarctic and hide it. And then find Romero. As I promised. I climbed out of the tracks and onto the platforms. I had to get back to the Transantarctic in the last wagon.

  “For what?” I mumbled. I knew it was for Weaver’s Token, but for what? I could not remember.

  With uneven steps, I walked up to the Transtarctic’s entrance. My left foot was missing its beat; it felt like the muscle was torn. Or maybe the concussion had messed with my balance.

  For what have I agreed to promise? For the Weaver to escape. It did not make sense.

  I leaned over the door of the Transantarctic. The Weaver had threatened that everything was rigged with explosives. But the boy had reassured me. His priorities were changed.

  The doors slid open, coming into close range with my T-Chip. I stepped inside Wagon Four and the memories – false and true memories – all flooded my mind. This was where the Prince had manipulated me into Soothing everyone. This was where I had lost, yet again my sense of self. It was also where Miguel and Catarina were by my side. Annoying me.

  “T3-Elena, do you copy?” A new frequency forced its way into the earpiece. Ricardo’s voice.

  “More time,” I whispered. And like a prayer answered, an explosion tore the silence. And another one. Somewhere in the Plaza de Armas, fire wrought destruction begged by my words.

  The boy was listening. The Survivor. ángel Vázquez Ramos. He was watching me, I just knew he was. I just could not see him.

  “You have to promise. I will know.” I heard his voice in my memory. What a sight and feeling it was to see him in that blend of reality, Soothing and Catalina’s Insight. He was Cursed. But not like I was.

  He was everything I was trying to fight against. But I had given a promise.

  “I am trying,” I said, walking as fast as I could through Wagon Three and Four. Four were left.

  “T3-Elena, do you copy? Are you in the Plaza de Armas? We see your vitals going strong, are you there?” Ricardo was insisting on the comms. His voice was muted by my burst eardrums, but it was there. I could hear him clearly.

  I did not know what to tell him.

  This is bigger than us.

  I found the Token – it was Azura’s plan to bring it to Santiago.

  I met the Weaver.

  I met an Angel.

  I have to betray you just this once. And then I promise I will get you.

  My thoughts bumped around my head, even more annoying than Catalina’s suggestion. Always smarter than me:

  LIE

  “Is this how it is going to be now? You, the little devil in my head?” I spat the words as I spoke. Perhaps when this was over, I would quit the Agency. Go live with my father. Visit my mother’s grave, and have a heart-to-heart with it.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The doors of the stationary Transantarctic opened one after the other, each one reminding me of yet another layer in my broken ego. Elena, the Prince’s friend, the Agent, the Daughter, the one whose memories are broken, the one with a mission, the one with a promise…

  “T3-Elena, ANSWER ME! I know you hear me!” Ricardo’s shouting did not command anger, but fear. He was afraid, worried about me. And afraid about the situation, going out of control.

  I tapped the earpiece.

  “I am here, Ricardo,” I said. I did not need to pretend I was exhausted; I could hardly speak. “I am badly injured. Took refuge in one of the trains.”

  I was not lying. Just omitting truths.

  Wagon Six, the doors slid open again. And then Wagon Seven.

  “We cannot extract you. The main building is on fire. Are the platforms as well?”

  “Not for now,” I answered. I tapped the earpiece again. I could smell fire. I approached a window to see if I could tell what was happening. Orange and red hell is spreading from the main station into the platforms. I was not in immediate danger. But at this rate, I would be.

  “Remember, kid, I can’t save your friend if you grill me in here,” I said. I knew he was listening.

  The door to Wagon Nine did not open. I almost bumped my head into it, expecting it to react like the other wagon doors.

  “Any bright ideas?”

  PROTOCOLPLATA

  I tapped on the wall on the left side of the train, hoping the electronics of the train still worked.

  I coughed. Ashes in the air, smoke.

  A monitor snapped into motion from the wall, protruding and asking for my command.

  “Enter… password…” I said, trying to keep myself mentally focused. “P-R-O-…”

  “Which train are you in? They got into the station, and they are searching the platforms.”

  “I am almost there. Please don’t hurt them. You don’t need to delay mo…”

  My begging did not matter. Not hurting anybody was not part of the deal, but how this kid had learned not to hesitate even for a moment?

  A new explosion shook the train. This one was closer. Not in the train itself, but close enough to ensure nobody would find me. But now I did need an exit strategy.

  T-O-C-O-L

  I hesitated. Whatever it was behind this door, was it meant for me to find and hide? Did Azura, maybe even the Prince himself, conspire for this to get to my hands? The Weaver begged for the kid to fire them off clearly in disagreement.

  Are you up to the task?

  That’s what Se?ora Maria del Padre had asked me. The woman behind the cigar and all that smoke, an envoy of the Sagrados. Also looking for precisely the same thing. The Weaver’s Token.

  PROTOCOLPLATA

  Catalina’s letters floated in front of my eyes, drawn in haste and urgency, underlined with wrath, and then penciled over again and again.

  “Which train are you in? Are you there? T3-Elena I won’t leave you to die!” Ricardo’s voice pierced through my skull. He was trying to decide if he would recall the Agents risking their lives just to get me. And he did not want to. “Please.”

  P-L-A-T-A

  I tapped the letters as fast as I could. The doors slid open.

  “I am here,” I said and coughed, “I am here, Ricardo. I think it is the Transantarctic. The maniac chased me into it. But now she is gone.”

  All there was, it was a glass case in the middle of the table. I ran to it and picked it up. Inside, there was a bracelet. Was it silver? Or maybe white gold. Or both. It did not matter.

  HURRY

  I tried to open the glass case. It would not budge.

  “Fuck!”

  HURRY

  I reached for the firearm in my belt. The firearm that the Weaver had stolen just minutes ago – it was back there. Returned to me. I pulled it out and prayed it still had some grit to it. I shot the glass case, and it broke into a thousand pieces. I leaned over it and picked up the bracelet from among the glass.

  SEXTO: CASCADA

  I had no time to wonder what those words meant. I snuck the bracelet into my pocket, and started to run unbalanced through the Wagons.

  “We are in, where are you, Elena?”

  “Wagon Seven,” I said, panting, as I slid through the doors into that Wagon and threw myself to the ground. I tumbled and ended up with my back against one of the tables, somewhere in the middle of it.

  A sharp pain crossed my chest and flowed up to my neck, and then to my temples. My ears rang again. Fuck, I was messed up. The hit by Weaver was still taking a toll on me – she had really caused a concussion. Lying in a corner of the train, back against a table’s leg, it was not even theatrics at this point. It was a wonder I had managed to get all these things done.

  I felt the floor shake as pairs of boots ran through the halls, belonging to the Agents about to find me any moment now.

  And then I heard his voice, I really heard it. I did not know that was possible. I thought he could only watch. He was not just everywhere. He could send messages as well.

  “Don’t let them find it. And make sure Oriol gets out safe.”

  “Where should I get him?”

  “I will be watching. Just get him out of the HQ.”

  I nodded. Tears ran down my cheeks. Here I was, complying with a kid with a powerful Curse.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked. He did not answer.

  He was everything I hated in this world. Tears blurred my vision, as more pain ran down my ears. Hot pain, blood. Suddenly, I could not keep my head straight. I leaned to the side, eyes closing.

  “Catalina. After all, wouldn’t it be funny… If I just lay here now… And die?” I mumbled, last words barely intelligible.

  I heard them shouting, while the world turned dark.

  “She is here! She is here! T3-Elena, stay with us!”