It was warm enough today that I shrugged out of my leather jacket when I came to a stop next to my bike. The breeze against my arms was just this side of too cool, but I didn’t put the coat back on.
Sixty degrees out, Spring trying to force its way back into the desert air.Spring isn’t allowed to come while Lucy is stuck in there, I randomly thought. It made sense though—how can flowers bloom when the sunshine is caged?
I threw my jacket into one of the saddlebags with practiced ease and swung my leg over the seat, settling into the familiar feel of leather and metal. I was exhausted and hollowed-out from having more feelings than I’d ever experienced in my life hemorrhage out of me over the last week. But my hands found the grips, muscle memory taking over as I brought the engine roaring to life. The vibration traveled up my arms, through my chest, momentarily drowning out that bone deep tired I was feeling.
Before I pulled out of the parking lot, my gaze drifted back to the hospital. I had no idea which window was Lucy’s. Hell, it was probably on the other side of the building, considering that’s where the damn garden was located. Yet, knowing she was somewhere inside made my body tense, and my instincts scream at me to race back to her without hesitation. The distancebetween us—walls and floors and doors in the way of a reunion—felt so fucking wrong.
My fingers tightened on the handlebars until my knuckles blanched white. This protectiveness was overwhelming. And it was something I didn’t know I was desperately missing. Lucy. My Luce. Our Omega. The parts of me that had shifted, to fit around the woman who’d changed my world, could never return to their original place.
I'd been the one to find her, to dig through canvas and splintered wood with my bare hands until they bled. The sight of her limp body, her silver hair matted with dust, and her too-pale skin splattered with crimson, had unleashed something savage in me. I’d wanted to lift her out of the rubble, to carry her to safety, but then I’d seen the flagpole sticking out of her body.
That was a terror I’d never known before. That moment had nearly killed me.
The memory sent a fresh surge of rage through me. My blood felt like it was boiling beneath my skin, demanding an outlet, a target. I needed to burn something, destroy something, channel this furious energy before it consumed me from within. All week, I’d fought a constant battle between maintaining control and giving in to the violent impulses that rose whenever I thought about how close we'd come to losing her.
The debris from the tent collapse was still piled in the Cirque parking lot, waiting for the insurance adjusters to finish their final documentation before it could be hauled away. The broken poles, the shredded canvas, the twisted metal supports—all of it a physical reminder of what had nearly taken Lucy from us.From me.
I revved the engine, the motorcycle's growl matching the one building in my chest. I could picture it clearly: dousing that pile of wreckage in gasoline, watching the flame catch and spread, consuming everything that had dared to hurt her. The image wasso vivid I could almost feel the heat against my face, smell the acrid smoke, hear the satisfying crack and pop of destruction.
Yes. That's exactly what I would do. Once the Cirque was empty tonight, once everyone had gone home, I would turn that pile of wreckage to ash. A warning to the universe that anything—anything—that threatened Lucy would face my wrath.
I pulled out of the parking lot, the bike responding to the slightest pressure like an extension of my body. The wind whipped past me, doing nothing to cool the heat building inside me. The road stretched before me, a black ribbon leading away from the hospital, from Lucy, and toward the Cirque.
As the hospital disappeared in my rearview mirror, I made a silent promise. I thought it for her, for myself, and for whatever cosmic force might be listening.Anything that hurts her will burn. I’ll make sure of it.And maybe, when the flames died down and the smoke cleared, I'd understand the feelings inside me. The ones that grew stronger with each smile Lucy offered.
But first, fire.
51
LUCY & NITRO
{One week later}
LUCY.
I was going insane.
Why was it harder to accept my limitations now? The question wasn’t one I needed to ask, because I already knew the answer. Once you get a taste of life without limits, returning to restrictions was tantamount to truly dying.
Another seven days of staring at white walls, of smelling hospital sanitizer and bleach, and of hearing the constant beeping of monitors. That sound was burrowing its way into my brain. Once I left here, it would keep beeping inside my head for weeks before fading. I knew, because that’s what happened at Eros after leaving Brightfield.
How many nights had I slept in the oh-so-soft bed at the Institute before the beep… beep… beep had finally disappeared?
I shifted against the stiff sheets, familiar restlessness crawling beneath my skin. I’d already done a walk today. I was supposed to be taking it easy now, at least until dinner. Howcould I stay calm and heal when I felt so trapped again? Over twenty-three years, shuffled around to different cages, always wondering when I’d be free.
For a fleeting moment in time, I'd thought I was liberated forever, yet here I was, slipping back into that same suffocating routine that had defined my entire life before the DemonX compound. Before Nitro and the others. Before I discovered what living actually felt like.
A heavy sigh escaped me, drawing Nitro's attention momentarily from whatever he was carving. His hazel eyes flicked up, concern evident in the slight furrow of his brow before he returned to his task, the small blade in his hand scraping methodically against the pale wood.
He hadn’t said much today.
Just like last week, when he’d arrived hours after Asher left for the Cirque.
Nitro just seemed to have retreated into himself.
At least today he was doing something instead of staring off into nothingness as time ticked by. Today, he had his knife out. Today, his expression looked less tortured.
I stared up at the ceiling, counting the tiny holes in the acoustic tiles for the thousandth time. One week was nothing compared to the decades I'd spent watching the world through windows and device screens, but somehow it felt worse now. Now that I knew what freedom tasted like, each minute trapped in this hospital room felt like dying in slow motion.
