And I've come too far, already lost too much. I owe it to everyone who the Sanctum has taken from this world to follow through.
His small, round face flashes into my head, the memories of him always arriving and tearing me to shreds at the most inopportune moments. His tiny body littered with bruises and gashes, leaving him alive just long enough to cause the most devastation when I felt his sparkling, bright soul leave this plane just before I could reach him.
"Fuck," I run a palm down my face as if I could wipe away the memories, smear them from where they're plastered behind my eyes for all eternity. I won't let Arthur's death be in vain.
I won't.
One way or another, The Sanctum's reach stagnates now. They'll never stop, but I can prevent them from getting theirhands on Isla and using her to fuel their weapons. And if, by some miracle, I can use their desperate, sloppy attempts to find her against them, I'll do that, too.
In the back of my mind, I know that retaliating and trying to find their breeding ground will only enflame them further to track down Isla, almost ensuring she's forced to stay with me longer. But I really can't bring myself to give a fuck. Isla's life is essential, yes. But the quality of it... less so in the face of countless others' lives being lost.
If she tries, I know she can be happy here. Hell, I'd build an entire extra floor for the Vegas trio of idiots if she asked me to. How hard could it be to purchase a private jet? We would have no need for a landing dock; the land outside is so flat and barren. Fritz could easily persuade a pilot to overlook the trips, ensuring safety and anonymity.
In the summer, we could even go exploring. Fritz would probably love a trip out here, away from the constant barrage of everyone else's emotions.
Caspian could do some fishing and take it back to the restaurant for a seasonal special.
Bel... well, Bel would have time with Isla, which is really all she would come here for anyway. We could go exploring if the weather permits, and they can see the wild birds that have made a home here, Buntings, and Sandpipers that almost no human has seen before.
My mind wanders, considering it for a while before I shut the fantasy down. Bel would take one look at Isla's current state, her dull, pale skin, dark purple under eyes, and clothes nearly falling off with the weight she's lost, and she'd stop at nothing to get Isla out of here, a fight none of us want.
Maybe after she adjusts to her new normal and stops trying to drown herself in liquor, something could be arranged. But fornow, she's too volatile and too consequential to allow even a slip in the careful protection I've built around her.
But I can hold in my mind the hope of a future where this isn't all necessary and pray to whatever merciless fuck is up there watching us to let me one day find it.
Is That a Mace in Your Pocket, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?
Isla
A knock on my door stirs me out of the strange half-slumber I've been in all night, once again dreaming about my too-close encounter with Eamon a few days—weeks? ago, I don't know; it's impossible to keep track down here.
Part of me is thrilled at the easy way I can rile him up. It's so fun watching his eyes bleed red from the corners and his teeth grind together.
But he's also a terrifying beast of a man, even in his mortal form. He's been nice enough not to go all demonic in my presence since we first met, but remembering the monster beneath his tan skin is enough to make my mouth dry out. With fear. Definitely just fear, not some other feeling I'm trying to avoid.
Wait, why am I awake right now?
The knock sounds again, and I shout an undignified, "What?"
His quiet chuckle travels through the door before he responds, "Get up. I have something to show you."
Curiosity and exhaustion war within me. But I've done nothing but sleep and work for the past however many weeks since we arrived, and if Eamon has something to show me, there's a good chance it's more interesting than the inside of my eyelids.
"I'm coming," I groan, rolling out of bed and throwing a robe on over my pajamas.
When the door swings open between us, the first thing I notice is the steaming hot cup of coffee. The second is the wall of man holding it.
I've tried and tried not to notice how hot he is, but it's fucking impossible. And Ihateit.
But there he is in all his glory, gray joggers and a t-shirt that is definitely a size too small, threatening to rip across his chest and shoulders. And his biceps. Those stupid, giant biceps. His big green eyes glitter down at me, a smile pulling at one side of his lips, giving him the air of an overexcited boy, not a monster waiting in the dark to harm orkidnapsomeone.
"Coffee?" I raise a brow. "I've been drinking that nonstop since I got here."
With a roll of his eyes, he laughs. "No. Follow me."
Since I called him a coward whenever that was, there's been a very delicate sort of truce between us. He doesn't come into my room and piss me off, and I don't call him names. And neither of us rubs body parts against the other, purposefully or inadvertently.
I'm being a very cooperative abductee, eating my rations and staying out of his way other than the times I absolutely have to leave the sanctuary I've created in my room. I have a system, so my showers never take longer than the absolutely necessary 10 minutes.
