She twisted her neck, around and from side to side, kneading what sore muscles she could, while just stretching the others. She stood up slowly—of her own accord—and started walking, trailing in the wake of the means of her execution, and trailed by her two captors.
***
Scott sat quietly in the corner of the gloomy room, his hand guiding a whetstone over his blade methodically. Praetor could make out the occasional gleam of the sword as light squeezing in through the boarded-up windows caught it. Whylan paced by the wall opposite Scott. Neither of them uttered a word, but they had been consistent with these two actions; sharpening the blade and pacing from wall to wall.
Praetor, however, sat by what used to be a window, peering through the slats between the boards out at Dillan Lane; a packed street situated on the block preceding Damij Headquarters. Man after woman after child trudged up the street, headed for Aliyah's execution, but she only had eyes out for two men who were running late.
Scott, surprisingly, broke the silence in his soft voice, "We've got thirty minutes left."
Praet knew just how short on time they were. The crowd outside was thinning already with most of them having been admitted into the headquarters.
Her MiraLink dinged. She glanced at it. "They're here," she said, glancing back out to the street. Sure enough, two burly hooded men appeared at the beginning of the street. Alone they would have been conspicuous, but amidst the throng of people, they were just another pair of heads jutting above the mean height of the population.
Whylan stopped dead in his tracks. Scott's hand froze in its motions.
It was time.
Praetor still paid attention to Gringe and Jebba's guard as the both of them took the next left turn instead of advancing up Dillan Lane with the rest of the crowd. That was the signal. Praetor pulled herself from the boarded-up windows and turned to her partners.
Whylan and Scott stood ready, with not even the slightest hint of wit or jest that they usually carried into battle. Scott's expression was restful, but the dark glint in his eyes probably communicated his deeper feelings. Whylan's face was as if it had been cut from stone.
They had only known Aliyah for a short period. But they had known Gringe for a long time—perhaps the longest of anyone else involved in this mission—and they could see how much the girl meant to him. Wilda Damij had no clue what was coming her way.
"Let's go, boys," Praet said, heading to the door and opening it to a sunny, humid day.
***
In all her two decades-and-six years of existence, Aliyah had never considered that she would die by execution. And now—standing in wait before a pair of giant doors, herded from behind by Wilda Damij and Haylen—she cursed her naivety. Not that expecting to be executed would have saved her from her current situation. But the fact that it never crossed her mind that the world was a terrible place capable of spawning the most unexpected, undeserved terrors made her feel stupid.
And Gringe. At the risk of overestimating her worth, she knew with a decent level of certainty that he would try to save her. She had no idea how that was going to be possible, considering they were deep in the heart of enemy territory, but she knew she had to be ready for when he would come. If there was any hope of leaving here with her life, she had to be ready.
"You're awfully quiet," Wilda called snidely from behind. "Your dear boss has agreed to my terms, it would seem," she added brightly. "The Ministry is completely evacuated from—" A ring from a MiraLink interrupted her, to which Wilda answered. "Yes, Oryn. What's the report?" Silence followed. Then Wilda spoke again, this time with a tone of concern, "Find them, Oryn. Else this girl's head won't be the only one to roll!" Another spate of silence followed, broken only by Wilda's enraged breathing.
Aliyah could not help but let loose a grin. Gringe was here. She knew it, and with the knowledge came a wave of calm that swept through her. "Who's awfully quiet now?" she said, the grin still spread across her face.
A heavy blow came crashing against her cheek, her vision bursting into stars. The blow sent her staggering a few steps to the left. A low groan escaped her lips. The sharp metallic tang of blood coated her tongue. She struggled to gather herself but managed to do so, standing back up with a bloody, toothy grin.
Wilda's eyes were mad with fury, the hand with which she had clattered Aliyah still outraised. "Take her out!" she commanded.
Laughter bubbled in Aliyah's throat as Haylen grabbed her by the arm. The guard wrapped her knuckles against one of the double doors, prompting them to be drawn open.
The first thing Aliyah noticed was the sun. It was nearly directly overhead, beginning as a line of light first as the doors opened and widening till it basked over her entirely. The next thing she noticed was the platform beyond the doors. Made of clear glass, it overhung the face of the headquarters building some hundred feet in the air, stretching all the way on either side like a ramp till it connected to the top of the walls surrounding the headquarters.
And lastly, she noticed the crowd, visible through the floor ahead that was the glass platform. They packed the large compound of the headquarters in their hundreds, teeming like a horde of ants desperate for grains of sugar to be offered to them. Haylen nudged Aliyah out into the sun, out onto the platform. At first, there was no change in the reaction of the crowd. Then after a few seconds, gasps and shouts issued from a small section to her left.