The Last Signal

Chapter 4: Safehouse

I am at Virel City. Underground. Sector 9.

The safehouse smelled like bleach, old coffee, and something metallic I couldn’t name.

Blood, maybe.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry flies. One wall was all screens — 16 of them, all showing different parts of Virel. The other wall was all weapons. Guns. Batons. Knives. Things that didn’t have names.

And in the middle of it, on a metal chair that looked like it belonged in a hospital, Ryker Vega, sat, with his shirt off.

The burn on his chest was bad. Black and red. Five perfect fingers. Like the Null had branded him.

"Stop staring," he said without looking up.

"I’m not," I lied.

I closed the door behind us. Locked it. Once. Twice. Three times.

Old habits.

Three years of running taught me that doors are the only thing between you and death.

Ryker finally looked at me. His eyes were bloodshot. There was a cut on his jaw. Blood on his knuckles.

"You did good back there," he said.

"I did what I had to."

"That’s not what I meant." He gestured to the chair across from him. It scraped against the concrete floor when I pulled it. "Sit."

I did. The metal was cold through my jeans.

For a minute, neither of us spoke. Just the hum of the screens and the drip of a pipe somewhere in the back.

My hands were shaking. I tucked them under my thighs.

"You’re bleeding," Ryker said.

I looked down. My palms were raw. Lightning burns. Little black lines where the power had scorched my skin.

"They’ll heal," I said.

"Let me see."

It wasn’t a request.

I held out my hands. He took them. His fingers were warm, and calloused. He smelled like rain and gunpowder.

He opened the first aid kit on the table. Gauze. Antiseptic. Tweezers.

The antiseptic stung. I hissed.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Since when do you say sorry?"

"Since you saved my life. Twice."

He wrapped my hands carefully. Bandage after bandage. Like I was something fragile.

Like I wasn’t the girl who’d just blown up half a train station.

"Why me?" I asked. The question slipped out before I could stop it. "You could’ve left me in the alley. In the station. You’re Bureau. I’m a suspect."

Ryker finished the last knot. Didn’t let go of my hands right away.

"Because you heard Agent Cruz die," he said. "Because you didn’t run when the Null came. Because..."

He stopped.

"Because what?"

"Because you’re not like them," he said finally. "The other Signalers we’ve picked up. They beg. They cry. They break."

He looked up. His eyes were dark.

"You fight back."

I snorted. "You say that like it’s a good thing."

"It is." He stood. Wincing as the burn on his chest pulled. "Come here."

He walked to the wall of screens. Tapped one.

Footage from the train station played. Grainy. Black and white.

Our fight.

I watched myself. Screaming. Lightning everywhere. Wild. Animal.

"That’s you without training," Ryker said. "Now watch this."

He switched the screen. Zoomed in. On my face.

Right before the lightning hit, I looked terrified. Lost. Like a kid.

"That’s you with fear," he said. "The Static can smell that. They can use that."

He turned to me.

"What do you want from me?" I snapped.

"Control," he said. "If they have a copy of your Signal, they can track you. Mimic you. Frame you for murder."

He stepped closer.

"I can teach you to block them. To hide. To fight. To turn the noise off."

"And in return?"

"You help me find who killed Agent Cruz. You help me take down The Static."

"That’s it?"

"That’s it."

Liar, my gut said. There was something else in his eyes. Something he wasn’t saying.

The burner phone on the table buzzed. Loud.

Ryker picked it up. Read the message. His jaw went tight.

"What?" I asked.

"Three more Signalers went missing tonight," he said. "All in Virel. All in the last 6 hours. Ages 16 to 22."

My stomach dropped.

"The Static is moving fast," I said.

"Because they have you now," Ryker said. "Or part of you. They’re testing. Seeing how far they can push before you break."

The room went quiet.

I stood. Walked to the weapon wall. My fingers hovered over a baton. Heavy. Cold.

"Teach me," I said.

Ryker blinked. "What?"

"You said you can teach me control. Teach me." I picked up the baton. It was heavier than it looked. I almost dropped it. "I’m tired of running. I’m tired of being scared. I’m tired of hearing people die in my head."

For the first time, Ryker smiled. Small. Tired. Real.

"Okay," he said. "First lesson. Breathing."

"Breathing?"

"Your power comes from noise. From other people’s signals. From the city. To control it, you have to find the quiet inside you."

He stepped behind me. Close. I could feel the heat from his body. From the burn.

"Close your eyes," he said. Low. In my ear.

I did.

"Breathe in. Four counts."

I did. The air smelled like him.

"Hold."

My heart was pounding. Too loud. I could hear his too. 72 beats per minute. Steady.

"Now out. Six counts."

The noise in my head dulled. Just a little. The car horns. The distant sirens. The echo of the train.

"Again," he said.

We did it ten times. By the end, my hands weren’t sparking.

"Good," Ryker said. He stepped back. "Tomorrow, we do it with noise. With people screaming. With fire."

"Tomorrow?"

"If you’re still here."

I opened my eyes. He was watching me. Really watching.

"Where am I supposed to go?" I asked. "They have my Echo. They’ll find me anywhere."

"Exactly," he said. "So you stay. You learn. You fight."

He walked to a locker. Pulled out a blanket. Gray. Thin. Threw it at me.

"Couch," he said. "Door locks from the inside. Cameras on every exit. Motion sensors. You’re safe here."

"For now," I said.

"For now," he agreed.

I lay on the couch. It was old. Lumpy. The blanket smelled like him. Soap and metal and something warm.

Across the room, Ryker sat at the desk. Back to me. Watching the screens. But I knew he was listening.

To my breathing.

"Ryker?" I whispered.

"Hm?"

"Thank you. For earlier. For... not letting go."

He didn’t turn.

"Get some sleep, Galiana," he said. "Tomorrow it gets worse."

I closed my eyes.

For the first time in three years, I didn’t sleep with one eye open.

Because he was watching.

And because for the first time, I wasn’t running.

Outside, Virel kept screaming.

But in here, in the quiet, I finally stopped hearing it.