He frowned, rage boiling in him so hot that his face actually hurt. He flexed his hands before clenching them again into fists. Even though the thought of working with Nadine made him physically sick, Imara was right. Nadine had resources. She had protection. She probably even had a fucking army. There would be nowhere safer for Gemma.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But you talk to Nadine. If I go down there right now, it won’t be pretty.”
“Deal,” Imara answered. “Now calm the fuck down. You won’t be able to save Gemma if you’re a lit fuse away from exploding.”
Christian ran his hands down his face. “I know.” The grip on his temper had definitely been slipping. He needed to regain control. And he needed to do it fast.
When Imara left the room, Lysa drew him into a hug. He held his sister tight, and begged Illari to keep Gemma safe until he could get to her.
Gemma lay on her cot, one arm draped across her stomach, the other lifted so the light could catch the faint shimmer of the tattoo marking her skin. It had crept higher since leaving the temple; the violet threads now curled past the crook of her elbow. She trailed them with her fingertip, over and over, until a voice carried from just outside her cell.
“Yes, sir,” the guard said, “the cell is prepped and ready. Next to Gemma Proctor, are you sure? Yes, sir.”
Gemma’s pulse ticked higher. Had they found Nadine?
Her stomach sank. But if it was Nadine, that meant she’d be leaving soon. She’d have to say goodbye to Imara, Hawk, andChristian, and when he saw her in here and heard where she was going . . .
Her eyes filled with tears. He’d saved her from herself, had given her a reason for living when all she’d wanted was to stay in the darkness, and now she’d never see him again. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t see him one last time, if they could just remember each other the way they were before she’d gone back to the temple.
The door to the prison block buzzed before opening. Gemma sat up, holding her breath.
Two black-suited guards passed by the electroglass panel at the front of her cell. Behind them walked a taller, older officer. And flanking him were two more guards, their hands gripping the shoulders of the prisoner they led between them:
Her sister.
Gemma’s pulse ticked up as her stomach twisted. It was finally happening.
Nadine held her head high, chin lifted like she was arriving at a gala rather than a prison cell. Her dark brown hair had been tied back; her blue eyes were sharp and defiant. She wore the same white jumpsuit as Gemma, though hers was stained at the collar with a spot of blood. Her hands were bound in front of her, wrists cuffed with reinforced magnetics. Her ankles were shackled as well, though she didn’t limp—she sauntered. Every step was controlled rebellion.
Outside her cell, Nadine’s lips curled. “Well, this is charming. Do we get room service?”
The older officer’s face remained completely impassive. “Place your palm against the electroglass.”
A moment later, one of the guards shoved Nadine forward and out of sight, hidden behind the frosted panel that separated her cell from Gemma’s.
“Careful. You’ll wrinkle my outfit.”
The older officer gave a short, clipped command. “Seal it.”
Seconds later, the soldiers marched away.
Gemma’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen her sister since that night in Perileos, when Gemma had said goodbye to her sister as Nadine had left for her Trials. Now, she was five feet away, separated by one cell wall and a thousand unspoken horrors.
“You look like shit, Sis,” Nadine said.
A strangled laugh broke free. Gemma thought she’d be angry; she thought she’d want to kill her. But all Gemma wanted right now was to hug her sister and tell her how much she’d missed her.
“Hey,” Nadine continued, her voice softening, “come closer to the glass.”
Gemma wiped her face and stood, her legs shaky beneath her. She moved to the edge of the frosted electroglass pane and sat on the floor, leaning her shoulder against the panel. Nadine mirrored her position a moment later, the outline of her profile just visible.
For a long beat, neither spoke. Then softly Gemma asked, “Why?”
Nadine was quiet. Too quiet.
“Why did you make me mourn you?” Gemma’s voice broke. “You made me think you were dead.”
“I know,” Nadine said, and this time, her voice held no edge. “I hated doing that to you. But it was the only way.”
