The rhythmic thrum-thump of the train had become a heartbeat, a steady lulling vibration that promised safety. Inside the "Red X" container, the air was still warm from the shared heat of Ren and Jace's bodies. Ren lay with his head on Jace's chest, watching the thin slivers of moonlight dance across the steel ceiling. For the first time in ninety days, the screaming violin in his head was silent.
"We're slowing down," Ren whispered, his voice raspy.
Jace stirred, his eyes snapping open instantly. He didn't move his arms from around Ren, but his body went rigid. He checked his watch. "We shouldn't be. We're in the middle of the Mecklenburg forests. There are no stations here for another forty miles."
The grinding of the brakes started as a low squeal and escalated into a deafening, metallic scream. The cargo containers slammed into one another in a violent chain reaction. Ren was thrown against the wooden crates, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp wheeze.
"Stay down!" Jace hissed. He scrambled toward the gap in the sliding door, peering out into the darkness.
Outside, the forest was a wall of black pine trees, but the air was suddenly filled with the rhythmic thop-thop-thop of heavy blades.
"Helicopters," Jace cursed, the word tasting like poison. "Searchlights."
A blinding white light swept across the side of the train, illuminating the spray-painted Red X like a target on a shooting range. A voice boomed over a megaphone, distorted and cold, echoing off the trees.
"This is the Federal Police in coordination with Laurent Security. The train is stopped. Remain inside the containers with your hands visible. Any attempt to flee into the forest will be met with force."
Ren felt his blood turn to ice. "The tracker," he breathed, looking toward the dark corner of the container. "Sloane... she really did it."
"No," Jace said, his voice fierce as he grabbed his drum bag and Ren's hand. "Sloane didn't have the tech for a military-grade sweep. This was your father, Ren. He didn't want to find us—he wanted to trap us."
The container door was suddenly yanked open from the outside with a screech of rusted iron. A man stood there, framed by the blinding spotlight of a chopper hovering overhead. He wasn't a policeman. He wore a charcoal-grey suit that cost more than the train car they were standing in.
It was Elias Thorne, Arthur Laurent's head of security. The man who had dragged Ren out of London three months ago.
"Mr. Laurent," Elias said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "The car is waiting at the perimeter. Your father is very concerned about your... health."
He stepped into the container, two armed guards flanking him. He looked at Jace with a look of pure, concentrated disgust. "And as for the thief... Mr. Laurent has made specific arrangements with the local authorities regarding the kidnapping charges."
"I wasn't kidnapped!" Ren screamed, stepping in front of Jace, his violin-calloused fingers trembling as he balled them into fists. "I left! I'm never going back to that house!"
Elias didn't flinch. He simply checked his watch. "You have sixty seconds to walk out of this container, Ren. If you don't, the guards have orders to 'neutralize' the threat to your safety." He glanced at Jace. "The threat being the boy behind you."
"Ren, don't," Jace whispered, his hand tightening on Ren's arm. "If you go back, he'll kill your soul. We run. On three, we bolt for the trees."
"They have snipers, Jace," Ren whispered back, tears blurring his vision. "They'll hit you before you hit the grass."
Ren looked at the dark forest, then at the man in the suit, and finally at Jace—the only person who had ever heard the music inside him.
"I'll go," Ren said, his voice sounding dead. "I'll go back. Just let him go. Let him walk into the woods and don't follow him."
"Ren, no!" Jace lunged forward, but the guards were faster. One of them slammed the butt of a rifle into Jace's stomach, sending him doubling over into the sawdust.
"JACE!" Ren screamed, reaching for him, but Elias caught Ren's arm, his grip like a vice.
"A wise choice, Mr. Laurent," Elias said, pulling Ren toward the door. "Your father is waiting for you at the estate. There's a gala in forty-eight hours. You have a concerto to finish."
As Ren was dragged out of the container and into the freezing night air, he looked back one last time. He saw Jace gasping for air on the floor of the "Red X," his dark eyes filled with a shattering, agonizing defeat.
The heavy steel door was slammed shut.
The last thing Ren heard as he was pushed into the back of a black SUV was the sound of Jace screaming his name—a sound more haunting than any melody he had ever played.
The Golden Boy was back in his cage. And this time, the bars were made of blood.