Ambrosia makes eye contact with me after materializing from an adjacent hallway. The look she gives me sends my heart racing. Is this what Ezra’s anxiety feels like? It’s bullshit. My palms are clammy, I sweat along my hairline, the small of my back, and feel the world around me muddle into nothingness. I can’t take it anymore. Ambrosia plods over, dropping her voice an octave so only Atlas and I can hear.
“The council is discussing our plan to get out of here. From what I understand, Esther’s mobilizing what forces she has left to come rescue us. We’re stretched thin as it is, so who knows when that will be.”
“Have they any idea how the Barclay Network knew where to find Proctus?” I ask.
“Benji was murdered, and by Callum, no less. It’s safe to say he watched over us for months. We thought he was incapacitated—”
A child sobs somewhere nearby. The sound of their distress chips away a little more of my remaining composure. Ambrosia stares blankly into space. Her cheeks are wet and there’s a small quiver in her bottom lip.
“Are you okay?”
It’s such a horrible, stupid question that I instantly regret saying it. I wish I could take it back. She blinks, squints, and comes to. Teardrops begin to slide down again, staining the concrete below.
“I will be,” she answers, then, “but right now, it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad.”
I glance at Atlas. We break away and I go in to embrace Ambrosia. I wait, gauging if this is okay with her, and she nods. Her arms remain limp at her sides.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve saved him. Matt was . . . he was an amazing guy,” I say.
She doesn’t speak. Not at first. Her tears fall—I try to absorb her shivers, hold her still, make it right. But there isn’t anything that can make this right.
“They’re going to have to pay . . . for what they did to him,” she mumbles.
I don’t entertain her thoughts, but I agree. The Barclay Network will pay.
“Earlier,” I say, treading carefully, “you said you couldn’t . . . feel him.”
We detach. Her gaze is fixated somewhere on the floor.
“Atlas and Ezra probably told you . . . Powered individuals can, more often than not, feel the presence of someone like themselves . . . someone who also possesses abilities. When . . . when you bond with another, like Matt and I did, it amplifies. You feel them . . . all the time. It’s intoxicating, at moments.”
“Ezra said he couldn’t feel others, not until Atlas. Do you know why?”
“Some people just can’t. There’s no apt explanation for any of it,” Ambrosia says. Atlas joins us now that our discussion has veered elsewhere. He gives her unarmored shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“His presence was so strong in Eureka. I’ve felt others’ before, but nothing like his. It was like Ambrosia said. Now that I think back on it, it always felt like an innate bond. I still feel it. It’s not as strong, but it’s there. Ezra’s alive,” he says.
He leans in for a kiss, his lips slick with sweat and perspiration. They linger until he pulls away gently to study me. Tears freckle his soft flesh and I run a finger over them, cupping his cheek. I wipe one away with my dirtied thumb.
“I love you. So much,” Atlas tells me. “I admire your resilience, Co, but it’s okay.”
“I can’t. Ican’t.”
If I break, there will be no coming back. Instead, I press my lips to his forehead. They’re salty and taste a smidge of ash, but Atlas is here. He’s alive, in the flesh—in front of me.
Six rapidpopstear behind the steel entrance. Angelics swivel their heads to see what’s happening. Others gasp or scream, while that lone child wails and wails. Another muffled bang follows and then complete, utter silence. Ambrosia armors up. Two Angelics geared with their suits follow her carefully to the doors. She types in the code. I raise the HK, training it where the door splits through the center, each side returning to its designated spot. I hold my breath.
A skull-masked mercenary stands on the other side, hands raised in the air for surrender. Soldiers surround Mara, their guns and bodies in heaps on the floor. Blood cascades from the freshly deceased. It’s a harrowing sight.
“Hold it,” someone says.
Mara’s figure starts to warp and bump, shrink and grow taller. Out emerges Ezra Gray, alive and well.
Chapter 78
Conin
Ifall to my knees.
