“Then you condemn her.” Creed’s voice is matter-of-fact. “And you betray everything you believe in. Everything you’ve worked for.”
Believe in. Worked for.
As if I know what that is.
“We will give you time,” Vex says. “To consider. To think about what matters. But know this—” His eyes flare. “You will stand with us. Because you are what we are. Because the blood calls to blood. Because you know—even if you pretend otherwise—that we are right.”
The door closes.
Lock engages with finality.
And I sit alone in white silence, their words echoing in the space they left behind.
Stand with us. Lead us. You know we are right.
I don’t know who they think I am.
But I know what they want.
They want me to help them conquer the world.
And they believe—with absolute, unshakeable certainty—that I will.
Chapter 19
Mara
I wake to pain. Not the sharp kind. The dull, grinding variety that’s colonized my bones since the helicopter crash. Except now it’s worse. Deeper. Like someone’s pressing on bruises that go all the way to the marrow.
My hand goes to my chest automatically. The place where K healed me.
Except he’s not here anymore.
The memory slams in—armored operatives dragging him away while I screamed his name from the dirt. My voice going hoarse. His eyes locked on mine until they shoved him into the transport and disappeared down the mountain. The way he didn’t fight. Didn’t transform. Just let them take him because they’d threatened me.
My throat tightens.
No. Not doing this. Not breaking down again.
I push myself upright and immediately regret it. The dwelling tips sideways. I catch myself against the wall, breathing through the nausea until the world steadies.
The fire’s burned down to embers. Dawn light filters through the single window. I make myself stand. Make myself walk to the water basin. Splash my face even though my hands shake.
I feel like hell, and my reflection confirms it. Dark circles. Bruising along my jaw from where I hit the ground. And something else—a grayish tinge to my skin that wasn’t there yesterday.
I look sick.
“You’re fine,” I mutter to my reflection. “Totally fine. This is just… exhaustion. Dehydration. Probably mild hypothermia because it’s fucking freezing in these mountains without—”
I stop myself.
Because that’s the problem, isn’t it?
I didn’t just sleep alone. I slept without K’s warmth beside me. Without his fire wrapping around me like it has every single night since the crash.
Without whatever connection he’d created when he pulled me back from death.
My hand goes to my chest again. That hollow feeling expanding.
