“Don’t worry. This train is going straight to Santiago,” Azura said. She knew many things could go wrong, but the plan was airtight. And she had to trust him, she had to.

  She had spent years hating and demonizing, but being so close to the end, she could see the bigger picture.

  The train shook as its engines picked up the pace. T-Agents run through the other Wagons, but not this one. Located at the back of the Transantarctic, it treasured the true purpose of the mission, and what Azura, on her own, had to struggle to retrieve.

  Too many lives depended on it.

  Azura turned to the man next to her. His hair was made into a knot, his makeup was flawless, just like his clothing. Days ago, Azura would blame vanity, but after the last days in New London, she knew better. The man was afraid. He had to be impeccable, because he had no other choice, powerless as he was, but still, making politics with monsters. Prince Marcelo was dangerous, but he was nothing but a scared child.

  “If you are having second thoughts now, it is too late,” Azura said.

  “What happens if we get intercepted?” Marcelo said, “If the Sagrados get even a whiff of…”

  “We won’t.”

  “Elena is on board. She is always a button away,” the Prince said.

  “She has been through enough. But yes, if push comes to shove. Have her erase everything. You included,” Azura said. Her words hurt her, agreeing with a plan that would hurt both her and one of her T-Agents.

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  “I know,” the Prince said.

  “Ah. Another thing. T4-Catalina. Make sure she keeps her memories,” Azura said. The Prince looked at the T2.

  “So, in that scenario, I get amnesia, but a random T4 gets to keep her memories?”

  “Just trust me. She is not random. She is a failsafe. I am serious, don’t push your luck. You need her alive and memories intact,” Azura said.

  The Prince raised his hands, giving up.

  “Fine. It is a plan B anyway. It won’t happen.”

  “Exactly,” Azura said, “we will reach Santiago as planned. And then you have to bring Her here and pick it up herself. No one else can get this before her, you understand. Not even lift it.”

  “Let’s see if I get to convince her to leave the tower.”

  “Get it done, Marcelo Trastamara. Otherwise, all of this is for naught,” Azura said.

  She looked at the center of the wagon, the glass case, carefully placed in the middle of a table. It was hard to believe this whole mission revolved around that: a bauble, a trinket. A bracelet, made of silver. Two words were engraved on it, carrying an ominous, albeit apocryphal warning:

  SEXTO: CASCADA

  “What do they mean?” the Prince asked.

  “I have no idea. The Weaver had never mentioned anything about the words on it. But this is it, for sure.”

  “Seems important.”

  “I guess I will ask her next time,” Azura said ironically, “if she ever shows up alive”.