Sloane's Pov.
"We didn't do it!" I growl, my voice raw as I thrash against the cold, unyielding bars of the jail cell. That bastard Skye just watches me, a smug smirk plastered on his lips, enjoying the show.
"I'm actually quite disappointed, Sloane," he says, slowly stretching to his full height, making a point of looking down at us. "I really expected better from you and your sisters."
"You should get the f-ck out of here, Skye. My patience is already worn down to nothing," Sam hisses from the cell next to mine, her hands gripping the bars so tight her knuckles bleach white.
"It's General Skye to you, Samantha Floyd," he corrects, and his voice drops, turning ice cold and sharp enough to cut.
"F-ck off," Sydney curses from my other side, a low and steady sound of pure hatred.
I know it's useless to argue, but the knowledge burns in my gut. He's the one who betrayed us. It's so stark it's almost too obvious to be real. He was the one who suggested that raid in the first place, pushing us to take the assignment. He was the first to point a finger when everything went to hell. The weapons we had never seen before suddenly had our fingerprints all over them. The tabloids of plans were littered across our quarters, which was the complete opposite of how we'd left the place that morning on our way to the Gala. Everything was too neat, too perfectly staged.
The president was dead, slain by a group of people that broke into the gala last night. The same gala that was meant to celebrate me and my sisters' promotion to generals in the army. Over forty guests were slain. Cars were hijacked. Thirty people were kidnapped. And the most devastating blow of them all, the one that felt like a physical wound.
"How could you possibly think that we would kill our own father?" I hiss, the words tearing out of me. Tears I refuse to shed brim in my eyes as the memory of his dead body flashes behind my eyelids, a brutal, spasming image I can't escape.
The same nauseous feeling twists in my stomach, fresh and acidic. We didn't get to mourn him. His funeral is in a few days, but his vice president, who is unfortunately my uncle, has already taken over completely, doing his best to erase every trace of him from the public record.
"I don't think you'd kill your father, Sloane," Skye says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I know you did. You've never really liked your old man anyways, isn't that the real reason you joined the military? To get away from him?"
His words are a poison designed to infect everyone who hears them. "We made a vow to protect our country alongside our father," I snap back, my voice tight with controlled fury. "There's no record of any verbal or physical altercations. My father has been nothing but supportive of our choices from the very beginning."
"No one cares about that old history," he waves a dismissive hand. "All the public knows is that the security cameras captured you taking him to the helicopter hanger and shooting him point blank while your sisters kept the crowd busy by slicing their heads off."
"I was in the bloody bathroom, you piece of sh-t!" Sam growls, slamming a fist against the metal.
"And I was packing things up in my old room when the attack happened, you can check the logs!" Sydney argues, her voice rising.
He just scoffs, a dry, ugly sound. "The evidence says otherwise. It's all right there, plain as day."
"You mean the evidence you planted while we were away," I counter, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Try all you want, Skye. You see this?" I point at the cell bars separating us. "This is just temporary. As soon as I get vindicated at that trial, I won't mind coming back here permanently just for the chance to slice your head off."
"And his little d-ck," Sam scoffs, a vicious, humorless grin on her face.
"Little? You... you're..." He squirms, real panic flashing in his eyes for a split second before he masters himself.
"But that revenge fantasy won't happen, you know why?" I continue, pressing my advantage. "We'll all probably be dead before then."
A flicker of confusion crosses his face. "What do you mean?"
"My sisters and I met my father right before the gala to discuss an impending threat," I explain, the words coming out in a rushed, urgent stream. "There are tremors, real earth-shaking ones, and new, aggressive beast sightings being reported all over Mount Cassian. While you were gathering your little trinkets to ruin us, we were inspecting the site with our own forensics team. And that meteor that dropped three days ago? It isn't looking any good either. The readings we got are off the charts."
"We've got it all under control," he insists, though his confidence seems thinner now. "Grayson Labs already took it for testing—"
"And how long would that last before we all die, Skye?" I cut him off, my voice rising. "They'll mix politics with anything and everything. That meteor is probably already being sorted amongst the elites seeking its power for themselves. Deploy men to Mount Cassian now, while you still can. This is bigger than your coup."
He watches me, his eyes searching my face as if he's almost deliberating whether I've said the truth or not. For a single, fleeting moment, I see the soldier he used to be, the one who might have listened. Then his face hardens, switching back into something hateful and closed off.
"Shut up, Sloane."
"Don't talk to my sister like that!" Sydney and Sam chorus, their voices a unified snarl of defiance.
"It's okay, girls," I sigh, the fight draining out of me for a second, replaced by a heavy weight of frustration.
"Look around you," he laughs, a harsh, brittle sound. "You're no longer the famous SSS-Triplets anymore. You're nothing but criminals and monsters, who—"
His monologue is cut off as a subordinate officer comes skidding into the jail building, his face pale and slick with sweat. The man is followed by a heavy, concussive thud that slams through the walls, causing the ground beneath our feet to shake violently, like something enormous and incredibly heavy has just been thrown to the ground outside.
"General!" the subordinate gasps, doubling over as he tries to catch his breath. He looks up, his eyes wide with pure terror. "We're under attack."