The memory lands like a bruise. Fence posts split. Lightning crawling the ground like veins. The artifact.
She softens slightly. “This isn’t suppression, Ash. This is synchronization. It’s a part of who you are—who you were always meant to be.”
The words make my stomach drop. “That’s not possible. It goes against everything you and the others taught.”
“Maybe we were wrong.”
I step backward, inhaling sharply. “Not possible.”
“Isn’t it?”
The Grange door opens behind us. Clay steps out, pausing.
His gaze shifts between Mags and me. Then beyond us. Toward the road. I follow his line of sight, throat tightening.
Feeling before I see.
Josephine stands at the edge of the lot. Notebook clutched against her chest. Watching.
Did she follow me?
Her eyes move from me to Mags. Then, back again. Recognition flickers. Not understanding. Shock.
Josephine takes one hesitant step forward. “Everything okay?” she calls.
That softens something in my chest.
I shake my head, still not understanding. “Did you tail me here?”
Josephine looks small and timid. Not something I’m used to from her.
She motions over her shoulder, mouth working without words. “I um… followed you into town. Not on purpose. Butthere’s only one way to the museum.” She stops, staring at Mags again. Her chin quivers almost imperceptibly.
Mags’ voice shifts instantly, town-friendly and neutral. “Storm’s forming quicker than expected,” she says smoothly. “Might want to get where you’re going.”
Josephine’s eyes narrow slightly. She looks back at me.
And this time, she isn’t studying stone. She’s studying us. My eyes narrow, jaw clenching. We’re nothing to her but curiosities. Something to awaken her scientific mind.
And if she ever knew the truth? If that scientific mind of hers kicked in?
I already know what she’d do, Martin’s granddaughter or not. Categorize and dissect. Cold. Calculated. Efficient.
“Mags is right. Better move along,” I grumble, staring doubly hard at the distant darkening horizon.
Her gaze hits me hard for one long moment. Right when I’m certain I’ve butted up against her stubborn side again—the one that does the opposite of what I say—she surprises. Face paling, she murmurs, “Better go.”
Thank God.
The wind shifts again. Harder. Closer.
Then she’s gone. All the breath leaves my lungs, and I realize I was holding it.
I shake my head, pacing in front of Mags. “She has to go. Or I have to. This isn’t?—”
“No, Ash,” she cuts in. “Don’t you get it? Containment might not be the answer. It might be the problem.”
The words land wrong. Like a gut punch, because I don’t know what to do with them. What to do with the strange biological sensations still pulsing through me from Josephine’s proximity.
