When I reached Emma’s door, I paused, letting out a slow, steadying breath that stretched my ribs tight. Then I knocked gently—once, twice—before easing the door open.
Emma sat on her bed, her posture tense and weary. Her focus was fixed intently on her arm, where the Skindo tattoo had once been—her scars now exposed in its absence.
The sight of those scars, a harsh reminder of what we had done to her, twisted the knife of guilt in my gut. I stepped into the room, trying to mask the turmoil I felt.
“Emma,” I said quietly. “We need to talk.”
She looked up, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of surprise and something deeper—pain, perhaps. She didn’t say anything, but her gaze spoke volumes.
TWENTY-NINE
EMMA
Eleven a.m.
It had been less than twenty-four hours since Caden and Sean left for Slava. Not like I missed them or anything, but considering my less-than-popular status, I had been rather reluctant to leave my room since their departure. As a result, I’d spent most of my time reading in bed.
Summoning items across Collective borders could be tricky, but thankfully, I’d encountered no issues when I summoned my books from Cyclos. I’d been too lazy to translate any shelves or bookcases, so, as usual, my prized possessions were scattered haphazardly across the floor.
I hadn’t been invited to join the others in the dining room last night. Instead, a sweet and handsome young boy, no older than sixteen, had approached me with a polite inquiry about what I’d like to eat. I initially assured him I was perfectly capable of translating my own meal, but after his gentle insistence, I had to admit he was a far better cook than I was. At least they had sent someone who made exceptionally tasty food. Jesse, as itturned his name was, came by about ten minutes ago to tell me Caden and Sean had come back already and would brief us later on today.
As I prepared to get ready, I pulled out some fresh clothes. After a quick shower, I sat on my bed, fully dressed, waiting.
A morbid curiosity took hold of me as I stared down at my arm, compelling me to peel away my Skindo tattoo. Beneath it, the angry red scars glared back, vivid reminders of the horrors from last year. The irony wasn’t lost on me—I was preparing for a meeting with the very people who had carved these scars into my flesh.
I tried to ignore the pang near my heart, tried not to relive the memory of James bursting through those doors at Coastal, ready to save me, only to find me at the center of devastation. Fake devastation, as it turned out.
Fuck. Thinking of James was too painful.
I shouldn’t have stripped away the tattoo, yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop staring at the scars. They were hideous. I had visited countless Healers, desperate to find a solution, but the tattoo was the only thing that could cover them. A tear slipped down my cheek, which I wiped away quickly. Dammit. Everything hurt. The memories of Caden, the doubts about Sean, about Enya. And most of all…
James.
James’s betrayal. How was I ever supposed to get over any of it?
"Ahem," someone cleared their throat near my door.
My eyes shot up, and I frowned when I saw Caden standing there, his gaze fixed on my arm.
No emotions.
“Come to admire your work?” I asked, my tone impatient and cutting.
For a brief moment, I could have sworn I saw something like shame or remorse flicker across his face. But when he spoke, the mask was back in place—neutral, unreadable. “There is something we need to talk about.”
I snorted. “You want to talk about what you did to me back at Coastal?”
“Not really,” he replied, his voice flat.
"Well, I’m not exactly feeling too inclined to open up to you either,” I shot back.
He looked at me for a long second, unreadable and still.
“We need you in the command center,” he announced formally before turning to leave.
“You never asked,” I blurted out, unable to stop myself.
He paused, then turned back with confusion etched on his features. “I never asked what?”
