“It’s all right, I guess.”
“All right?” Wayne gaped at her, which only made her smirk grow into a full-fledged grin. With an over-dramatic flourish of his own glass, Wayne said, “I’ll have you know this single malt was aged for twenty years in Aristonian oak and anotherfifteenin Brulithian wine casks, and that’s not even taking into account the . . . Wait. You’re just razzin’ me, aren’t you, dollface?”
Jo finally gave in to the bubble of laughter she’d only just held at bay during his tirade.
“You got me,” she said, holding her glass out for a toast. “It’s amazing, Wayne, even if I don’t understand half of what you just said. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
With an exasperated sigh that was only half-feigned, Wayne shook his head, eventually smiling softly in return and clinking the edge of his glass against hers. “Pleasure’s all mine, doll. When you’re given a second shot at life, you learn not to get hung up on formality. What’s the point of having nice things if you aren’t going to enjoy them?”
“Sure, Mr. Twenty Years in Aristonian barrels.” Jo rolled her eyes, but even she could hear the amusement in her voice.
“What can I say? If you’re going tohavenice things, you’ve also got to knowwhythey’re nice, don’t you think?”
Jo took another small swig of the nice thing in question and hummed her approval. She braced herself. “Wayne, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” The man likely knew exactly what she was trying to say, but . . .
“For how I handled everything in those final weeks, maybe even months, of the Society.” Jo passed her glass from hand to hand, eyes locked within as if trying to find the right words shining true in the sheen of the city lights off the amber liquor. “For keeping my powers a secret and endangering everyone.
“I had reasons,” she added hastily. Then sighed. “But they’re all just excuses . . . I think. I should’ve trusted the team more. I should’ve just put everything out in the open.” Jo dared to look Wayne in the eye then. His face was passive, expressionless; there was nothing for her to read in his visage. “I should’ve trusted you more.” A beat passed, enough for Jo to grow nervous, and then—
“Doll.” Wayne leaned further back in his chair, looking at the city skyline, a deep furrow in his brow. “I know you had your reasons and I trusted them without explanation. But I think I can speak for all of us when I say I’m looking forward to finding out what those reasons are.”
“More than fair.”
“Plus, it seems like you learned your lesson.” He looked back at her, a small smile on his lips. Jo hoped he was referring to her instinct to get the Society back together, her plan to tell them everything.
“I think I have. So . . . are we good?”
“Yeah, we’re good.” Wayne hoisted his glass and Jo did the same. They both leaned over their chairs and, for a brief moment, she was reminded of another balcony they’d once shared after a night of satisfying bliss.
Their glasses made another softclinkingsound, and they both drank.
After that, a comfortable silence fell, both of them staring out past the glass railing of the balcony and into the shimmering city night. Even with the threat of the unknown hanging over all of them, it felt oddly peaceful—like if Jo closed her eyes, she could convince herself that the world wasn’t in danger. If she pretended hard enough, she could imagine that this was a world without Pan, without any dangers at all outside of the ones that come with any normal, human (humanish?) life.
She could imagine that Snow was there, wrapping her up in his loving embrace, enjoying this moment of temporary peace, too.
At the thought of him, of how much he’d sacrificed to give her this chance, Jo felt the cocoon of that faux-peace begin to unravel, a weight settling firmly back over her shoulders. She had no idea what position Snow was even in right now, if he was hurt or being tortured by Pan, or worse. And here she was drinking fancy scotch and pretending everything was going to work out just fine. Guilt churned low in her gut as she pulled her eyes from the city and into the reflective pool of liquor in her glass.
Had she always looked so tired?
Wayne seemed to notice her shift in mood too; a soft sigh escaped him.
“You’re worried about him.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m worried about a lot of things.” It wasn’t an answer.
“Whatever it is that we have to do, we’ll do it,” Wayne offered after another brief pause, and though the words were meant to be a comfort, they only left Jo feeling oddly heavier. “We’ve been through hell before and made it out alive, haven’t we?”
Jo swallowed thickly. “Most of us anyway.”
“Nico, he—” Wayne paused, running a hand over his face, suddenly looking as tired as Jo felt. “In a way, he gave us this chance too, you know? He’s part of the reason we’re here at all right now.”
“And I’m the reason he’s not.” It was painful, to bring Wayne’s old words back out, but this time, unexpectedly, Wayne only shook his head.
“We all could have done something different for Nico. We all could have tried harder. But in the end, he did what any of us would have done. He gave us his time to keep fighting and surviving. So all we can do is take that sacrifice and keep doing exactly that. Fighting and surviving. Even if it means going up against Pan one more time to end this for good.” A moment of quiet, and then Wayne asked, softer but with just as much seriousness, “Thatiswhat we’re going to have to do, isn’t it? All of this about danger still lurking . . . You need us to find a way to snuff her out?”
Jo wasn’t surewhatthey were going to have to do, but Wayne definitely had the right idea. Pan was the only threat left. If they—and the whole world—wanted any hope of actual peace, it would mean making sure she was dealt with. And quickly. Jo wasn’t sure what Pan was planning, or if she even knew that Jo had finally arrived in this new age, but Jo couldn’t shake the feeling that they were running out of time.
