I arch my eyebrows at her. “What am I?”
“Rogue,” she says.
When I give her a quizzical look, she glances pointedly at the empty cabin. “You’ve separated from your sisters.” She quickly lifts her hand in a placating gesture. “Not rejected them. They’re still your family. But you’ve forged a path separate from theirs. You’ve created your own purpose.”
Not untrue.
“Does this purpose involve annihilating the governing body?” I ask, although at the same time, I ask myself another question. “Why am I hesitating?”
Hunter gives me a small smile. “I don’t know. I’m surprised. I thought you would have grabbed your whip and soared out of here by now.”
I guess I know the answer deep in my heart. This heart that feels things again.
I know the answer because I heard it and witnessed it…
I force myself to speak the truth that defies my nature. “Striker wouldn’t want this for me.”
With striking clarity, I remember the brief conversation I had with him at the White Wing Tavern. I was surprised when he talked of peace and said to me, “It’s the only way I can protect the people I care about.”
Including you.
“He wanted peace for me, too,” I say.
For a long moment, I close my eyes because peace is out of my reach and also beyond my nature, but I have control of my choices, and now… my choice in this regard is made.
“Take them out,” I say. “Carry out the assassinations. Do it cleanly and quietly. When you’re done, tell Zara to buy out whatever businesses those supernaturals controlled to the extent that she possibly can. I’m certain Striker will approve.” I take a deep breath. “When he wakes up.”
Hunter’s surprise is palpable, but it settles.
“Okay, then,” she says, rising to her feet and brushing off her backside. With a quick press of the call button on the radio she’s carrying at her waist, she summons the helicopter back.
Before she can head down the steps to wait for it, I snag her attention. “Is Striker…?”
Damn. It’s hard to ask about him when the answer is so important to me.
“Is he still at the Legion? Is he peaceful?”
“No,” she says, then quickly corrects herself. “I mean, yes, he’s peaceful. But no, he’s not at the Legion. He’s on Saber Lane. Tansy wanted to keep watch over him, and we have an excellent apothecary.” She hesitates. “You’re welcome to visit if you’d like?”
Before self-doubt can get the better of me, I say, “I’d like that. Thank you.”
She gives me a quiet nod. “Whenever you’re ready, you’re welcome.”
Okay, then. With that, a weight lifts from my heart.
Soon after Hunter leaves, I head out to New York City, landing on a shadowed rooftop opposite the Draven Industries building.
For long minutes I wait, while the supernaturals reclining around a large oval table on the floor opposite me pour drinks for each other—no doubt elixirs, but in one case, a liquid that is clearly blood.
Then, suddenly, the lights go out.
There’s a nearly imperceptible flash of energy, followed by another.
A mere five minutes later, when the lights come on again, every one of those supernaturals is gone.
The room is clean. There are no bodies. There’s no blood.
Only the drinks remain as evidence that they were ever there.
