Then grief bulldozes me over, more powerful than before. I grieve for abu's loss and his legacy. The operation ended today, but his legacy was strong, vibrant, and ceaseless. I hold on to that reassurance as we chart our course into a new life.
Chapter 43
Conin
The mask of night swallows an endless landscape hours later when I wake up. There’s a weight on my shoulder—Ezra fast asleep, head resting between my chin and clavicle. I’m tired, tense, and sore, but his body relying on mine releases a flock of birds from my stomach. He’s radiating even as he sleeps. His breath caressing my arm lights my heart aglow, igniting a frisson of chills.
Dubiously, I wonder if this is a dream. I’ll wake up and things will return to how they were before the attack in Eureka. Ezra’s confession, my confession, all of it a hoax. But it’s the throbbing, ebbing pain reminding me this is real. I’m awake and his head really is resting against me. He’s here. This is happening.
We’re very alive.
A half hour later, Ambrosia stops to put gas in the vehicle. She and Matt press down on the emblems attached to their chests. The armor detracts, dematerializing before my very eyes, fading from existence until all that’s left is the winged emblem stitchedto the fabric of their shirts. Uniformly, they remove the emblems and hide them in the glove compartment. Ambrosia exits the vehicle to fill it up while Matt detours to the convenience store. Ezra stirs and lifts his head, blinking away the grogginess. I smile at him when he looks at me with bleary eyes.
“Hello sleepyhead,” I coo.
I want this to be our new normal.
His smile is genuine but weak. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Where are we?” he asks.
“Filling up on gas. You can go back to sleep.”
He nuzzles into me and my heart implodes. This is too good to be true.
When we’re back on the road, the rumbling noise from the van lulls me into a restless sleep.
It’s very early once I regain consciousness. Every inch of my body aches, but the pain is another reminder I’m alive. The weight from before is no longer on my shoulders. Ezra’s awake, grinning softly when he notices I’m up. Mafu’s silence is loud next to Atlas. The metal-wielder studies the road ahead. Atlas, however, has his gaze cast down on the vehicle floor. Periodically, he’ll blink as someone should, but his eyes are soulless—his face blank and steeled. A part of me hurts for him. The pain of leaving family behind is no easy task.
Matt’s at the wheel while Ambrosia navigates with a touchscreen display mounted to the vehicle’s dashboard. A green sign on the highway’s ledge grows larger. As we pass it, I notice the infamousWelcome to Las Vegasprinted on the metal.
It comes and goes, but at the pit of my stomach is an endless dread.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
The blinding, twinkling Vegas lights surround us, interspersed by rays of dappled sunlight. Buildings climb, and a crowd of vehicles appears. We idle alongside them as early morning traffic hinders us from reaching our destination, wherever that is. Ambrosia soaks me in, expression wry.
“The Excelsior. Esther’s father owns it. We’ll be safe there,” she says.
The GPS mumbles something inaudible. Ambrosia redirects her attention to the screen and tells Matt to exit an off-ramp. We descend to the bustling streets of Las Vegas’s strip as people begin their day. But all I can think about is the Excelsior—the many people there and our likelihood of being caught. Why aren’t we heading directly to Proctus? Aren’t we more exposed this way?
“Why are you taking us to the Excelsior?”
Mafu’s disgruntled disposition sets me on edge. A defensive flare lodges itself in my chest, ready to fight if the predicament arises.
“Standard procedure. The Excelsior is technically a safe house. It runs like a resort, people are constantly coming and going, and if it stays this way, no one has any reason to expect the owner’s housing powered individuals waiting to be transferred.
“We were supposed to meet Leeanne and her crew here for a transfer anyway, but it seems they’ve encountered a hindrance on their latest recruitment mission. So, in the meantime, we’ll keep on the down low here,” says Ambrosia.
“Is there a reason you can’t take us to Proctus?” I ask. I have no intention of pushing any buttons, but I require answers. Mafu exhales a guttural sigh.
“Again. Standard procedure.”
“Well,” Matt says, trying to shatter the tension, “we can’t go to Proctus. Our jurisdiction is Utah and Utah only. We’re notproperly equipped for a trip to California, so this is as far as we go.”
“To Vegas?” I say it sarcastically.
“The situation called for it.”
