Jackson grinned, lighting the mood for a second, before his frown returned with a vengeance. “You guys really need to work on it, and on learning to rely on each other.”
“Hard to do when he never tells me anything,” I muttered, still shocked Jackson had known all this time about Julian. “Unlike you, apparently, who got the full download on my True Bond.”
“Emma, please don’t fixate on that.” Jackson’s tone walked the line between gentle and exasperated. “Back then, anything about Julian was a sensitive topic. James was worried—really worried about you. He needed someone to vent to. And to be fair,” he added, “he turned out to be more than right.”
“Excuse me?” I bit off, as my irritation flared. “I think you’re forgetting how James became mayor of paranoid city the second Julian set foot in Cyclos.”
Jackson reached for my hand, then gave it a little squeeze. “I’m not siding with James here. I’m only trying to explain where he was coming from.”
My frustration was still simmering right below the surface.
“Plus,” Jackson continued, and lifted his hands in a small, placating gesture, “you have to admit the timing of it all was a little weird.”
I frowned. “How so?”
Jackson shrugged, and took a long sip of his drink, buying himself a moment. “I’m not saying James’s paranoia was entirely justified at the time, but when Julian’s arrival lined up within weeks of the Board’s actions—and everything that happened with your old boss—it wasn’t too far-fetched either.”
My eyes widened, then mental static buzzed beneath my skull. “My boss? What boss?”
“Bill Ferrars,” Jackson clarified before taking another sip. “You can’t blame James entirely for being on edge after what happened to him.”
I blinked a few times, then my heart started pounding in my chest. “My old boss from Boston? What the hell does he have to do with anything?”
Jackson’s expression shifted, then realization slowly dawned on him. His complexion paled, turning ghostly. “Oh fuck. James didn’t tell you?”
A riot of emotions surged inside me—bewilderment, rage, disbelief—all battling for dominance. “No,” I gritted out, my teeth clenched. “He didn’t tell me anything. What the hell happened to Bill?”
Jackson swallowed, looking like he wanted to disappear. “Emma, I’m so sorry. James told me he talked to you right after the Maumars briefed us. I assumed he did,” he whispered, looking almost ashamed.
“Tell me!” I snapped, barely holding onto my patience.
Jackson cleared his throat, obviously feeling very uncomfortable. “He was killed by Radicals last year. Tortured first, then killed. The Council thinks they did it to find out where you were.”
The world tilted. “No… No, James didn’t tell me about it,” I stammered, feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under me.
Jackson winced, his sympathy awkward and hollow. “Shit. Emma, I’m really sorry for your loss.”
Without another word, I stood from the table, the enormity of the news hitting me like a punch to the gut. I had to find James. I had to confront him about the web of secrets he’d been spinning. I needed answers—something—to make sense of this. And this time, I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
When James and I finally met up that night, it was hard to tell who was angrier.
James’s wrath was tangible, radiating off him in waves. His eyes were wild, his entire body wound tight, as though a single wrong word would make him snap. The intensity pouring off him was honed, volatile— like a fault line straining under pressure.
But if he thought I’d show up being all regretful, he was in for a surprise. Since finding out about Bill, my resentment had grown exponentially, simmering like a ticking time bomb.
So there we stood—two bulls, nostrils flaring, ready to charge.
“You look angry, my love,” I began, my tone dry and detached. “Care to elaborate on your reasons?”
He nearly exploded, his face contorting in raw indignation. “How dare you fucking talk to me like that right now? You betrayed me! You broke into my fucking loft with Sean, you shattered every bit of trust we had between us?—”
I snorted, cutting him off. “You don’t want to talk to me about trust right now, James.”
“Oh, please,” he snarled, his words dipped in venomous sarcasm. “Like you cared so much about Dale. If you knew the whole story, you’d?—”
“This isn’t about Dale,” I interrupted him again. “But let’s talk about me knowing the whole story, shall we? Now there’s an interesting concept.”
James was taken aback for a moment, his scowl giving way to brief puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”
