“Vox…” she signs.
“You really wanna do this thing?” She nods again, and there’s no fear in it. All I see is her determination gripping her heart. “Okay,” I breathe, “but we'll do it my way. So I'm sure you’re safe.” She nods without argument and that alone tells me how much this matters to her. We walk the rest of the distance in silence before arriving at the waffle place. My gaze browsing the crowd outside, as if a man wearing odd black hats and a womanwith braids could pop up from anywhere and take her away from me. I need to calm down. We’re far away from this shitshow. Instead of rummaging, I focus on my girl. Even if I always look like an elephant in a china shop here, the way she lights up every time we walk through the door makes it worth it.
“I’ll contact the newspaper,” I tell her. “Set it up somewhere we own.”
She lifts my hand and kisses it softly. “Thank you.” And that’s all it takes. I’m done for. Later, we go back home. Rose gets started on dinner, while I lock myself in my office and get to work. Calls after calls. Every favor pulled. When the newspaper ignores me, I move to Plan B: Pat, the private detective I rely on. He’s discreet, fast, and most importantly, doesn’t ask questions. An hour later, he sends me an address and a phone number.
Carolina Becket. 16 years old.
Live in Portland with her aunt.
(503) 555-7824
It’s three to four hours away. Close enough for us to reach. Far enough that she’s truly out. I stare at the number for a second, thinking about what it means for Rose to dig up ghosts that should perhaps remain underground. Maybe that’s the only thing I wouldn’t be ready to do for her. If only she hadn’t asked me to do this. Nevertheless, I dial the number.
“Hello?” a young voice answers. I clear my throat, explain who I am and why I’m calling. A soft sound pulls my attention and I glance behind my shoulder. Rose stands in the doorway, head resting on the frame, gratitude shining in her eyes, a quiet smile lifting her lips.
Nah. I take it back.
There isn’t a single thing in this world I wouldn’t do for my angel.
Chapter 4
Rose
I sometimes forgetthe quiet little bubble Vox crafted my life into. A world padded and softened, protected from his line of work and the harsh realities waiting outside our door. Some days, I could almost pretend he comes home from a normal job. But then I notice dried blood beneath his nails and the illusion cracks. Still, he chose this restaurant for me, to make this whole meeting feel normal, despite the five club members I already spotted guarding the entrance and the corner of the street.
It should terrify me, but instead, my heart beats harder. Because the man I’m going to marry will protect me at any cost, even when it pushes him right to the edge of reason. We offered to pay for her plane ticket, but she refused, terrified to fly, which I understand. My first flight to Knoxville nearly sent me spiraling. She insisted her aunt would drive her, and I pray the woman she’s living with is kind. I often wonder how I would have survived on my own if I had escaped without Vox. The thought twists something inside me. Carolina is alone, but at least she found a relative willing to take her in.
The restaurant is small and cozy. Checkered red-and-white tablecloths, rustic chairs, and wildflowers tucked into little mismatched vases. French-inspired, I think. I can’t imagine why Vox never brought me here before, unless he only uses it for meetings like these. The neighborhood is rougher than ours, the kind of place I wouldn’t walk alone after dark. I sit at a table in the center of the room, the place emptied of customers. Only a round, soft-spoken man in a white apron moves behind the counter. He brought me tea and biscuits without saying a word, then vanished into the back. Probably used to hosting Vox’s private business.
My navy sweater keeps me warm as I fidget with the pen and notebook in front of me. I forgot them at home, too nervous to think straight, but Vox had one tucked in his jacket like he always does. He stands behind me, eyes locked on the entrance. I know his gun is tucked at his back. I felt it earlier when I kissed him. I don’t know why he’s so paranoid. No Faithful Lamb member would dare wander into a city like this one. We were sheep, afraid of the outside world. Fear kept us penned in. But Vox is trying to protect me, and I guess he’s not all wrong. Zero risk doesn’t exist. Curiosity holds me tight. What happened to the Faithful Lamb after I left? This question still rattles through me at night. A small silhouette appears behind the fogged glass door. I stand, the old wooden floor creaking beneath me.
“Give me a sec, angel,” Vox murmurs. His voice is different, morphed for business. Tattoos shift over the veins in his hands as he steps forward, one palm brushing my waist before settling near his gun. He exchanges a few quiet words outside, too low for me to catch, then nods to his men before guiding the girl in.
“You can sit here,” he says, gesturing to the chair opposite mine. “Like we talked on the phone. This is Rose.” He points to a spot three meters away, leaning against the wall like a guardian angel carved from stone. “I'll be right here.” His tone is distantand cold as ice, a version of him most people see, but I rarely do. A part of me wants to roll my eyes at his territorial instincts, yet another part melts at the devotion behind it. I refocus on the girl and offer her my hand across the table. She hesitates, then takes it weakly. Her knuckles are like mine, scarred. My heart aches for her. We really went through a nightmare. She’s thin, her long brown hair dull and lifeless, her skin pale with blue shadows beneath her eyes. Yet she moves delicately, reminding me of a ballerina, as if any wrong breath might make her disappear.Was I like this, too?She doesn’t meet my gaze, looking down at the wooden floor. I reach for my notebook, but she lifts her chin and speaks first, her voice trembling yet stronger than I expected.
“You’re the reason I escaped.”
Vox
Of all the places we own, this one was the least scary, and hell, I still didn’t want her in this neighborhood or anywhere near club business. But I needed backup in case this was a trap to drag my girl back into the cult. You can never be too careful. Oli, the owner, is well accustomed to our way of doing things and never one to ask too many questions. He’s seen me finish meetings in… Well, how to put this… Ways that make most people rethink their life choices. My eyes stay on my angel, my shoulders tense. I don’t like this. Whoever this girl is, she could trigger my Rose, and we’d be in for a whole new set of nightmares and panic attacks. Rose made real progress these last months, and if this girl… I just… I don’t want my girl hurt again by those freaks. I try not to listen, but they’re too close not to hear, and Rose didn’t tell me to step out, so I stay where I am, tunnel vision locked on my wife. Well, fiancée, but it’s all the same to me.
“You’re the reason I escaped,” Carolina says, and Rose’s lips part. She scribbles something fast on paper, then stops, wincing. Her eyes meet mine and she signs.
“Can you please translate? I’m—I…” Frustration paints her face, and I know how her anxiety slices into her patience when writing slows her down. No need to ask me twice. I push myself off the wall with one foot and snag the back of a chair, sliding it next to Rose, sitting backward on it.
“Can you ask her if she’s alright with you translating?” I nod and ask the question to the frail girl.
“I don’t know…” the brown-haired girl mutters, probably still anchored in that rule about not speaking to men. “No, wait. Yes. It’s okay.” She rolls her eyes at herself, and my guard drops a notch. This Carolina isn’t harmful. She’s afraid, tired, and I’m guessing she doesn’t have much strength left in her anymore.
Rose signs, “Please ask her if she’s safe and fed, why she left, and what happened since the Shepherd died. Tell her I remember her, that I saw her once in the hall of the Institute.” I oblige, and the girl starts talking, her trembling lips wobbling, her fragile face meeting Rose’s.
“I know you too. I…I was sitting in the rows at the Chapel during your wedding ceremony.” Rose flinches but regains composure quickly. “Watching you, like at all those wedding ceremonies… It always made me sick to my stomach,” Carolina continues. “I guess I knew, even back then, that it was wrong. No one should ever be forced to do that at the risk of their life. When your husband, whenyou,” she motions her chin at me, “came to save her and shot the Shepherd, everything turned into madness. People running everywhere, others held the Shepherd and tried to revive him, some praying, and a few men…” She turns her head aside for a moment. “A few men…took their own lives that day, to join him in the Ascension.”
Rose absorbs every word with strength, pausing for a minute before signing again, “What happened to you then? Did you escape after that?”
“No, not right after. As you’ve read in the article, I’ve only been in the outside, I mean, the real world, for a month.”
