Her eyes flash to mine. “Never. And never will I forget what you’ve done for me. What you have allowed.”
“Make me proud.”
Her lips flicker just south of a smile. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”
Her corporal frame dissolves before me, and I watch as her eyes are the last to leave.
“There’s that.” Sector Marshall takes a breath. “At least she’s a realist.” He takes her place in front of me. “How about extending the same mercy to another one of your daughters? Skyla would love to have a moment with you.”
“Skyla, Logan, even Gage has put in a request to darken these waters.”
“Then darken them. Give them the answers they desire.” His chest depresses with a sigh. “Give him the answers he longs to hear.”
“It’s not my place. The honor belongs to my daughter, the one born under a golden beam of light. Both you and I know there is no glory without treachery.”
“And treachery’s name is Demetri Edinger. I bid you to mind the souls you’ve set in place.”
“I bid you to mind my daughter.”
A dark chuckle expels from him. “Your daughter is well capable of minding herself.” He steps in far too close. “If you won’t mind humanity, then I’m afraid I’ll need to step outside of my delineated role. Let it be known I’ve laid my intentions bare.” He turns and heads off toward the Falls—gallant and brave like a soldier stepping onto the front lines about to meet with a certain death.
“You may not step outside the bounds set in place for you, Sector Marshall,” I call out, but he doesn’t mind me. “Did you hear me? You may not break faith with the oath you took before I sent you to Earth.” My voice comes back to me as an echo.
“I’ll break faith if I must. And I’m afraid I must.”
“You will not defy me,” I roar, and all of Ahava trembles at the sound of my voice.
Everything is upending.
Rory is a wild card.
Demetri is a devil.
Skyla’s hands are tied.
Logan—my hope, their hope.
He must make things right.
Celestra must prosper.
Or so help me God, I’ll go down there and make sure they prosper myself.
22
Skyla
The rain falls in haste over Paragon, but it can’t wash away the sickness that seems to have ensconced every facet of humanity.
Logan and I gather with the kids and my sisters as we congregate in front of the larger-than-life television set.
The world feels larger-than-life. This virus mowing people down by the droves is most certainly larger-than-life, it’s larger-than-death, it’s as if someone took the chains off of the Grim Reaper and said have at them. And that someone just so happens to be my infamous ex—Gage Oliver.
Mom grunts as she looks to the talking heads on the screen demonstrating how to best clasp a medical mask over your face.
“It won’t protect your eyes.” She scoffs. “Emily and I wore our snorkel masks this afternoon,” she says, carrying a Cost Club-size package of toilet paper into the room with a picture of a happy raccoon family emblazoned on the front.
“I didn’t wear a thing,” Tad crows while staggering to the kitchen with his arms brimming with canned goods.
