Free Murder on the Disoriented Express by Emily Lloyd-Jones Page B

vaccine that causes 0.003% of its recipients to develop some kind of superhuman ability.
    And here’s the thing about having the world’s most coveted weapon hidden in a person’s brain: it makes everything else irrelevant.
    Alan has known what he is since his aunt sat him down and explained. He alone carries the knowledge of how to create superpowered soldiers.
    When Brenton Fiacre created the vaccine, he had no idea what the consequences would be: the rounding up of American citizens, the founding of the UAI, the realization that humanity would never be able to look at itself the same way.
    And that was before a war broke out.
    So, yes. Alan knows exactly the dangers of the Praevenir vaccine. He knows what governments would do with it; he has seen the files that TATE managed to hack out of government servers—the scores of dauthus forcibly recruited into the military, the mentalists driven into the TSA, the illusionists that use their talents to spy on other nations.
    America uses such individuals because it is convinced that the rest of the nations are also using them as weapons. And they probably are. Alan’s father did his best to repair the damage; he destroyed the vaccine, its formula, and himself.
    Alan has very little of his family: a bracelet his mother owned, a wedding ring, the journal his aunt kept, and numbers and letters seared into his brain. And for a very long time, those were all that mattered. Keeping the memories safe, staying on the run, his father’s legacy secret and guarded.
    But that was before he met Ciere, before her crew of white-collar thieves stumbled upon him. Before she used her immunity to effectively fake his death and hide him from the very authorities that would see him truly dead. To keep Alan safe, she promised to serve these mobsters for six months. Ciere, being an illusionist, has the power to make people see what she wants—and it’s a valuable talent. But these days, it’s dangerous to be talented. And if the Syndicate were to ever decide that they wanted to keep her on a more permanent basis…
    Alan doesn’t let himself think about that.
    He tells himself it’s the least he can do, being here for her.
      
    The train between New York City and Miami will take about twenty-eight hours. Even so, Alan doesn’t pack anything but the basics—a change of clothes, his burner phone, and his few possessions. He keeps it all in a worn leather backpack. There’s no need to bring anything else.
    “You know Guntram first nabbed me here?” says Ciere. Alan blinks and looks up at the Penn Station sign. Guntram dropped them off and went to find parking, leaving the two teenagers on the bustling sidewalk.
    “Did he?” asks Alan, interested. He’s only heard bits and pieces of this story—a robbed bank, some forty thousand dollars, and a Hello Kitty bobblehead.
    Ciere nods. “I was taking one of the public trains down to Philadelphia. He found me, threatened me, put the tracking bracelet on me.” Her hand goes to her wrist, to the heavy silver bracelet. “It was all very civilized.”
    “And now we’re working for him,” says Alan.
    Ciere shrugs. “To be honest, this is the kind of job I was trained to do. Doesn’t matter who’s paying me to do it.” Her mouth twists into a bitter smile. “Although it would be nice to actually get paid.”
    Guntram finds them after ten minutes. He has his phone in hand, as if finished making a call. “The rest of your party is already here.”
    Ciere brightens. “Is it Henry? Because that would actually make this trip pretty fun.”
    Guntram doesn’t reply and Ciere grins. She strides into the train station, unconcerned with the mobster at her back. Alan falls into step behind both of them. The train station isn’t overly busy, but there are still plenty of people to keep an eye on.
    One of the Gyr Syndicate mobsters waits for them. It isn’t Henry.
    “Oh, him ,” says Ciere, making no attempt to hide her annoyance.
    The man’s