A feeling of confidence, something she hadn’t had in years, lodged in between the cracks of her soul. Maybe she would finally learn what happened when her family had burned. Maybe, against everything lost, there was something left to reclaim. The past was suddenly closer than it had ever been.
“If I go into this with you,” Audrey said, “she’s mine first.”
The clock chimed.
11:52:12.
When Audrey lifted her stare from the screen, Emerson was watching her, and not as an asset anymore.
He watched her like something that had finally entered the board.
12
Emerson reached for the knife, his movements calm and intentional. He didn’t snatch it or even threaten. Instead, his hand closed around the handle with quiet authority. In a smooth motion, he flipped it closed and slid it into his pocket.
“The interrogation is over. Get your fucking coat on—now. And remember, I saw you murder someone,” he said, voice thick with warning, making it clear this was an order, not a suggestion.
Any pretense that she’d had a choice vanished. Emerson’s prior civility had been only a tool; now it was clear: she was being conscripted whether she wanted to be or not. He wanted her to help him bait Sophia out of hiding, to serve as both lure and shield. Audrey remained silent and carefully put on her coat. Each button was fastened deliberately, as if donning armor rather than wool.
“Did anything romantic happen between Ryker and my mother?” Audrey fiddled with her coat buttons, feeling awkward.
Emerson laughed darkly. “I doubt it. Your mother is laser-focused on her work, and Ryker is…different. And he’s much younger than Sophia.”
She rubbed her temples as her assumption unraveled. Another false certainty was exposed. Shame flickered—quickly fueled into anger. She refused to let either of them escape responsibility for the fire’s devastation.
“I’ve seen Ryker recently,” she announced.
“You’re mistaken,” Emerson said bluntly. “You saw Mihail. Easy mistake to make. We think they’re brothers because they look so much alike. He’s been careful to hide his presence, but he’s slipped up a few times; I noticed it—and I guess you did, too. It’s hard to hide from telepaths, which is probably why the Separatists want them. Telepathy is rare, even among our kind. There are only a few hundred known across the entire system.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you don’t believe me—that’s your mistake, not mine.”
“I rarely miscalculate,” was all he said.
“What about you then?” she asked. “Wouldn’t the Separatists be after you, too, for being a telepath? You must be half-Voírían.”
“Oh, they are—and I am,” he said, smiling without warmth. “But they know I’ll never join them. They want me for a staged execution, as an example. Of course, they want Sophia alive, and probably even you, too, since you’re a telepath. That said, they’d prefer Sophia more than anyone.”
Her throat clenched. “For what?”
“The Simas family is gifted with many abilities,” he admitted. She felt the truth of it. “Ryker believes the strongest Voíríans should stand together,” Emerson continued. “He’s been gathering them for years. Not to destroy the system, but to build something powerful enough to replace it.”
“Would my mother ever work with Ryker again? Is that why he was there the night my family died?”
“Sophia stopped believing the Voíríans could win years ago,” Emerson said. “She probably thinks people like Ryker will destroy the galaxy before they ever win freedom. She could be right.”
Audrey searched Emerson’s face, a wave of uncertainty flooding her. She probed, hoping for understanding not just of his motives but his heart. “You think power corrupts,” she guessed, her voice tight with suspicion and something like hope.
“Power destabilizes.”
She stepped closer, acutely aware of the risk. As she did, the fragile space between them was just enough to unbalance him. Her hand, trembling at first, reached up without permission. She traced the pale scar along his neck. The contact sent a current of unwelcome adrenaline through her.
He didn’t flinch. His breath shifted—barely perceptible. He caught her wrist gently, not to stop her, but to anchor her hand between them. Beneath her skin, his pulse beat steady.
Grief snagged in her throat, scraping it raw, quickly hardening into anger and disbelief. “If she hasn’t cared enough to reach out all these months,” she choked, “why would she care now?”
“She just hasn’t been able to find you. That club and the organization running it kept you well hidden,” he replied.
“You found me.”
