Her breath catches in her throat. “I went to meet a student. He turned in a painting. His final project, I think. I can’t quite see it. I remember thinking it was beautiful in an eerie sort of way. But I didn’t understand what I was looking at. I think it was a painting…of the ceremony. Of…me.”
Fuck.
Parker whistles softly. “We need to find that painting. And whoever turned it in.”
Zephyr takes down everything Grace has remembered so far. A man calling himself Prophet. Forcing Grace to give up her name and become Nova. Men dressing in dark gray pants and lighter gray shirts. The lanterns, hammered metal with thick, faceted glass and an oleander leaf etched on the bottom. How cold it was the night Prophet tried to kill her. Snowflakes falling and stinging her cheeks. The poison working its way through her veins. A painting so beautiful, she couldn’t look away.
I don’t want her to relive any of it. But she’s proven, time and time again, that she might panic, she might stumble, she might even fall, but she won’t break. She won’t back down. She’ll survive.
And she’ll give me hell when I deserve it. Like now.
“AJ, I won’t spend every minute until my surgery locked away in this house. If those paintings are still somewhere at the school, I’m the one who has the best chance of finding them.” A hint of color tinges her cheeks. “If we go now, we’ll be back before the nurse gets here at six. Parker and Nate can meet us there. If it turns out I’m wrong, fine. At least I’ll know I tried. That I didn’t just sit here waiting for the inevitable.”
I let out a rough breath. She’s flushed, alive with purpose for the first time since the art store, and I can’t—I won’t—smother her. Not with surgery hanging over our heads like an axe about to fall.
“All right, darlin’. We’ll go.” I tuck a lock of hair behind her right ear, and let my thumb linger at the curve of her jaw. “But the second you so much as sway on your feet, we’re done. No arguments. You’re worth more to me than answers ever could be.”
Belle trots over to us, the mobility harness held carefully between her teeth. Fuck. She knows what I’m just startin’ to figure out. Grace needs to be an active member of this team. And I have to let her.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Grace
The parking lot is mostly empty when we arrive. “Wednesdays were always early days,” AJ says, his hand at the small of my back as we make our way to the art building.
I don’t remember my car. Or coming here day after day. But the rain slicked leaves are vaguely familiar. They have a scent I used to savor. Fresh and green and teeming with possibilities.
Parker tells AJ to watch our backs, then replaces him on my left side. She doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to give me a pep talk. She just…is. And that’s enough to keep me moving forward.
“You doin’ okay?” she finally asks. There’s no pity in her voice. Just a hint of concern. Along with a quiet resignation that makes me think she’s asked this question before. Another person. Another time. Someone she cared for.
“Not really,” I admit, the honesty shocking even to me. I tuck my left hand into the pocket of my jeans. “I can’t stop thinking about the surgery. About what I could lose.”
Parker angles her shoulder just enough it brushes mine. The contact grounds me. “You won’t lose anything, hon. And I’ll be there the whole time. Before, during, and after. You want chick flicks? Queso? Popcorn? I’ll bring ‘em by the truckload.”
“What if I can’t stand up without falling over?” I ask, my voice not much above a whisper.
“Then I’ll have AJ bring your favorite pajamas, and I’ll perform my civic duty once again. Just don’t ask me to braid your hair this time. It’s too short now.” She cracks a smile, then winks at me. “But once you’ve healed up, I still need to even out those ends for you.”
The knot in my chest had been getting tighter and tighter since Dr. VanHorn told us about the bone fragment. But with just a few words from Parker, it fades away.
Behind us, Nate gives a low whistle. “You two are walking like you’re about to storm the castle. Which, for the record, is not in my contract. I was promised a short field trip with minimal cult activity and maximum climate control.”
I glance back at him, his lanky frame an odd mix of sharp angles and slouching curves. He looks more like a student lost on his first day than an armed escort into the land of my nightmares. Yet, his eyes never stop moving, sweeping from side to side, and pausing on every car, at every voice—no matter how far away.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “If anything goes wrong, you can distract them with your perfectly organized calendar and Parker’s motor pool audits.”
“Finally, someone recognizes my true calling,” Nate deadpans. “Weaponized spreadsheets.”
Parker snorts, the corners of her mouth quirking briefly before she touches the butt of her gun. Like she needs to reassure herself it’s still there.
Belle trots along at my side, and after a moment, I realize I’m smiling. I’m still terrified of Saturday’s surgery. Still absolutely positive the cult will find a way to get to me. To finish what they started. But right now, I’m walking under my own power, surrounded by my husband, the first real friend I made as the person I am now, and her partner, who slips jokes into the conversation so easily, I forget to panic—and start to laugh.
I’m not broken. I’m the closest to whole I’ve been in three years. And I won’t stop fighting until I get there.
AJ unlocks the door to what used to be my classroom, but Parker steps over the threshold before I can move. She scans the room, her gaze seeking out any shadows hiding in dark corners. After a moment, she nods, then turns to AJ. “Hang back a little. Grace needs to do this on her own.”
His eyes lock on me, searching, quietly asking if this is truly what I want.
