Eventually, the tension in his arms increased and then lessened. Whether he had been asleep until now or just mindlessly drifting in a similar twilight haze, Jo didn’t know. But he shifted now, alerting to his consciousness, accepting—however reluctantly—the passage of time. The deadline of some unforeseen consequence loomed overhead like a guillotine. Wordlessly, he pulled away, enough to look at her and enough for Jo to breathe. She searched his face, waiting for whatever he had to say next.
“We should return to them,” Snow whispered, punctuating it with a long press of his lips to her temple. “They need you now.”
“They need you as well,” Jo insisted. “They need their leader, Snow.”
“I’m not one for support. . .” He wavered, tipping his head to nuzzle her cheek with his nose. “I’ve always kept my distance, I’ve had to.”
“Not with me.”
“You’re different.”
“Why?” The question flew from her lips like an arrow from the bow. Pointed, poignant, fired to kill. It struck true; Snow stiffened a moment.
“You just are.” He sighed softly and curled into her once more.
Jo wanted to tell him it wasn’t good enough. She needed more from him. She needed a better explanation. She needed answers to something,anything.
But there were no more arrows in her quiver. Jo merely closed her eyes and leaned into him as well, savoring the last moments before Snow pulled away; she’d seen it coming, felt the rift before it had even begun to grow, but awareness made it hurt no less. He shifted to the edge of the bed, his agonizingly perfect, chiseled back to her, his head hung.
She sat as well, then was the first to stand and start scooping up her clothes. Jo was completely dressed and Snow still hadn’t moved. She held a brief debate with his back, before saying, “Come with me.”
It wasn’t a command but not quite a request either. A strong suggestion, perhaps, one that had Snow rising to full height. Jo kept her eyes locked on his face, chin set.
“Come with me, Snow,” she repeated. And then, far more lightly, “Samson makes a great breakfast, you know.”
“I do know.” Snow looked around his room and Jo wondered if he saw a safe-haven or a tomb. “And it has been far too long since I’ve enjoyed it.”
Jo felt her face relax into a smile, her shoulders sink toward the floor as relief tugged happily on her palms. Snow finally stood, strolling over to a wide wardrobe, carefully picking out an outfit. His selection process gave Jo an opportunity to wander the room, her curiosity nothing more than an excuse to hide her shameless glances at him. That was, until something caught her eye.
Jo paused at a low table just beneath a window, one she’d overlooked on her first assessment of the room. It was obsidian, the only bit of furniture that wasn’t made of wood. At its center stood a small box, crafted of gold and silver. The ornate designs, patterns of no particular logic, glinted in the sunlight. The whole of her attention was on it and, as if in a trance, Jo reached out a hand.
Snow’s fingers wrapped around hers, stopping her before her skin could make contact with the box. Jo’s gaze flew to his and they locked eyes for several long moments. His face was passive, void of expression.
“Do you know what it is?” he asked softly.
She shouldn’t. “I recognize it.”Why?
“From where?” His voice was little more than a husky whisper. But it was not sensuality that put the gravel under his words. It was. . . fear? Had she read that flash of emotion correctly?
Jo looked back at the box, trying to place it. “The room you took me to.” She remembered suddenly. “Where you grant the wishes. You had it there. Inside is the magic you use to destroy worlds.”
His fingers tensed on hers, drawing Jo’s eyes back to him. Snow’s brow furrowed. His lips pursed. Whatever internal battle was raging, he wasn’t about to give it voice.
“Yes.” His tone had changed again to something gentler, more tender. He brought her hand, still encapsulated in his, to his lips and planted a soft kiss on her fingertips. “Do not touch it, Josephina.”
“Why?” It should be obvious: the power to destroy worlds was inside. But something in the way he said it—
“That is a great power, Destruction. One that should not meet with you.” And with that, Snow walked away, fussing with a cufflink.
Jo took one more look at the box, turned to stare back at him, then followed. She would allow him this secret without a fight. She was too tired for fighting and, even if she wasn’t, this was his secret to keep. It was his magic, after all.
“Should we stagger ourselves?” she asked, thinking of Wayne’s warning.
“No point. I’ve no doubt they already have surmised the situation.” He adjusted the collar of his shirt, looking positively regal.Well, he was a royal demigod at one point, after all. For as much as she wasn’t exactly surprised, it was still a realization that floored her.
“I guess you’re right,” she admitted to herself as much as him, and led the way toward the common room.
Most of the rest of the team was there. Samson stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking at the oven as if willing it to cook something for him so that he would not have to put forth the effort. Eslar sat at the chess table with a book, though it didn’t seem he was reading or playing. Wayne and Takako were at the couch, silently staring at the blank screen of the television.
