The sensation of Nico’s hand finally uncurling from hers barely registered, and despite Jo’s underlying guilt, evoked no response in her. She couldn’t muster the strength to comfort him when she was beginning to unravel herself; hopefully, one day, he’d be able to forgive her for it.
“I’m going to the recreation room. . . Maybe I can still do something,” he said hopelessly.
No one stopped him. Not even Jo. Her mind was too far from that room to think of anything other than the phantom fingers that ghosted over her cheeks, as if wiping away rogue tears that had yet to fall.
It would not be her.
It was a horrifying truth, and one Jo knew deep in her bones. She could feel Snow’s mouth on hers, their hungry kisses, his promises to protect her. If it was left to him, right or wrong, deserved or not, Snow would not choose her to die.
Chapter 34
Snow’s Choice
AS JO SAT, staring at nothing, Takako’s measured steps blazed a trail for the rest of them. Samson and Eslar left together. At the edge of Jo’s hearing, she could make out softly spoken words between them, diminishing like a trembling note until nothing more could be heard.
A palm on her shoulder startled her back to reality. Wayne hovered, looking down with heartbreaking sadness. He opened his mouth, but only a sigh escaped. What more was there to say? What could be said?
They were all waiting for the verdict of their fate.
He left as well, head bowed, exposing the nape of his neck for the guillotine of Snow’s decision that hung invisible over them all. Jo looked at the chairs, ears buzzing. Her eyes drifted toward the Door and the instinct to run in the opposite direction, go as far as she could anywhere else in the world, had her standing. She fantasized over the idea of opening the Door for the last time, finding the pin code that would lead to their freedom.
Her hand pressed against the cool steel, dropping to the pin pad. It hovered, quivering like a hummingbird in suspension.
With an animalistic noise of anger she punched her hand right into the steel. The skin over her knuckles split instantly and her bones vibrated into her jaw. Jo hovered, panting, leaving crimson streaks as she slumped away.
It was useless. There was nowhere she could run. She existed nowhere else. She and everyone else in the Society were chained to their mission. Perhaps it would be better to take the out of death.
Jo shook her head violently and turned away from the door.
No.
She might dream of escape. She might be the sort to nest under covers until frustration and pain subsided. She might let anger get the better of logic at times. But she would not run in that way—never in that way.
Alone, Jo made her solemn march towards the Four-Way.Snow. She had to tell him before his thoughts got too far. She had to make sure that his decision, whatever it was, was not influenced in any way bythem, whatever they were. If she was chosen or spared, it had to be because of more than their affections.
Voices slowed her steps halfway between the stairs and recreation rooms: Nico’s honeyed tones and Snow’s icy words. Jo slowed to a stop. Vaguely, she remembered Nico leaving the briefing room while muttering about the painting, though it seemed like a far-away dream now.
Jo didn’t know why she crept; she had nothing to hide from these men. She had no anger for Nico, and whatever frustrations she held toward Snow for his secrets would keep. There would be a time and place to fight for answers. But the eve of an impossible decision was neither.
Undetected, Jo shifted along the wall, leaning a few feet from the door, close enough to hear the quiet words within.
“It must be someone,” Nico said tiredly. She could envision the man she’d watched work the night before, eyes grown distant and sad by the weight of the world. “Let it be me.”
“Your magic—“
“Is far more limited than the rest of them.”
Jo would disagree with Nico here, but she kept her mouth shut for the sake of listening to the rest of the conversation. Expectedly, Snow spoke for her. “Your magic. . .is critical. Changing the hearts and minds of people is something not easily accomplished.”
“And is useless if it doesn’t work every time.” Jo’s heart ached at the sorrow in his words. The man’s guilt was apparent. “I’m tired, Snow. I’ve been at this a long time, surely you understand.”
Silence.
“I didn’t quite understand until I had her here. She sat there, in that stool, just as my Julia had.” Jo’s heart clenched, unprepared for Nico’s mention of her. It felt wrong somehow, listening to his words while knowing full well he was unaware of her audience. Still, she stayed, transfixed and curious. “My muse is gone, and her legacy is beginning to wane. Every time I return to her place of rest, I see it a little more weathered, her expression a little further worn away. With it, my inspiration, my will. . . and my magic itself.”
Jo leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. To love someone so much that your very essence, your magic, was tied to them. She glanced back toward the door, imagining Snow within. Would she, they, someday be so entwined? For all it sounded thrilling, it was also a terrifying notion, and one that seemed almost impossible to envision.
“Your magic is lessened?” Snow asked, his voice bringing her back to the present. It was Nico’s, however, that kept her there.
