Elena and Juno are there too, huddled close together near the window, Juno’s arm wrapped protectively around the dark-haired woman, whose face is stricken.
Off to one side, Hargen’s massive frame is somehow diminished by the heaviness in the air, his broad shoulders hunched forward as he grips the back of a chair. My mother stands apart from the others, arms crossed, her expression shielded. The temperature drops noticeably as we approach her side of the room.
All faces are turned toward the main display screen, the blue-white glow casting everyone in a ghostly light.
Viktor gestures us in, his face grave, deep lines carved around his mouth. “It’s a live feed. Encrypted, untraceable. Came through a few minutes ago.”
He activates the display with a swipe of his hand across the control panel. The screen flickers to life, static dancing across it before resolving into an image.
A face fills the frame; dirty, ash-streaked, familiar. Dark hair matted with what might be dried blood, a fresh cut along one cheekbone, but the eyes—those bright, mischievous green eyes—unmistakable.
Mara Jones.
Alive.
My knees nearly cave in. Luke’s arm comes around my waist, holding me upright as shock leaves me breathless. The room spins briefly, colors blurring, before I force myself to focus. It’slike seeing a ghost, except this ghost is grinning with that wild, feral smile that is utterly, unmistakably Mara.
Holy shit!
“Hey, kids. Miss me?” Her voice is rough, as if she’s been breathing smoke, but the cocky inflection is pure Mara.
The room erupts. Questions shout over one another, a cacophony of disbelief and hope and anger and relief. Caleb slams a hand on Viktor’s desk, making pens jump and scatter. Elena’s hand is covering her mouth. Dorian pushes away from the wall, moving closer to the screen, his eyes narrowed as if he suspects a trick.
Mara holds up a hand, commanding silence as only a recently dead person could. Even through a screen, even looking like she’s been dragged through hell, she’s impossible to ignore.
“One at a time, people. I don’t have long.” Her eyes flick to something off-screen, a brief flash of wariness crossing her features before she masks it.
Viktor takes control, stepping forward, planting himself directly in front of the display.
“Mara, where are you? Are you injured?”
“I’m fine.” She cuts him off, wincing slightly as she shifts position, belying her words. Her shoulder moves awkwardly, suggesting an injury she’s hiding. “Banged up, but fine.” Her eyes find me through the screen, and her expression softens. The camera quality isn’t great, but I swear I see her eyes glisten momentarily. “You made it out. I knew you would.”
“We thought you were dead,” I say, my voice breaking. I move closer to the screen, Luke’s hand sliding from my waist to my hand, maintaining contact. “The fall—”
Mara’s grin widens, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s something haunted in her gaze that wasn’t there before.
“Takes more than a mountain to kill me.” She winks. “Though it came close.”
“God… Mara…” It’s Elena now, tears streaming down her face. I’ve never seen her cry. “I thought… I was…” Her voice chokes. “You died. I thought… you died.”
“Chillax, babe.” Mara grins. “If I’d had a glimpse of the afterlife, I’d already be TikTokking about it.” She coughs then, a harsh sound that she tries to smother. When she pulls her hand away from her mouth, I glimpse a dark stain on her palm before she quickly wipes it on her already filthy pants.
Caleb steps forward, all business despite the emotion I can see tightening his posture. He moves to stand beside Elena, his arm around her shaking shoulder.
“What’s your location?” he barks. “We’ll send a team—”
“That’s the thing.” Mara’s expression shifts, turning serious. The camera angle changes slightly, as if she’s readjusted whatever device she’s using. Behind her, I catch a brief glimpse of what looks like rough stone walls before she blocks the view with her body. “I’m not ready to come back yet.”
Silence crashes through the room.
“What do you mean, not ready?” Viktor demands.
Mara leans closer to whatever camera she’s using, the harsh light emphasizing the hollows beneath her cheekbones, the fresh bruises blooming along her jawline.
“I’m onto something. Something big. Can’t leave until I’ve seen it through.”
“That’s not your call to make.” Caleb’s voice is firm, each word clipped and precise. A vein pulses at his temple. “You’re Craven personnel—”
