He writes the date, time, and address, and then he pauses again. He’s uncertain about the salutation.Love? Best wishes?
He simply writes:
Striker.
P.S. If you still prefer bare feet, I think you’ll like the floor.
My lips curve.Hmm.The last was written quickly and on impulse. I sense that he’s pleased about writing it, but he’s more pleased about the possibility that I’ll like the floor.
I pull the lid across the box again and draw it into my lap, resting my arms on top of it.
Hunter reaches across the space between us. “You should know that your friends will also be there.”
I digest this for a moment.
In all this time, even though I’ve gone out into multiple cities, ventured into the maze, and survived a primordial deity, I haven’t reconnected with the students from the Academy. It isn’t that I don’t want to, but rather, I just don’t know how to start.
“Come and see them,” Hunter prompts. “Just for one night. Then you can decide what you want to do next.”
“I abandoned them,” I whisper, speaking aloud what I acknowledged within the maze. “I left them to pick up the pieces on their own.”
“You couldn’t have helped them any more than you already did.” Hunter’s voice is suddenly fierce. “When you fought to free them from the Academy, you gave everything, Peyton. Since then, you’ve given more.”
I take a deep breath and acknowledge the darker path I could have gone down. “We could have been enemies, you and I.”
“We were.” She nods. “But only through fear and distrust, which doesn’t exist between us any longer. So trust me now…”She squeezes my hand. “Come back. See what’s being offered to you. Then decide what’s best for you.”
She doesn’t have to persuade me. My answer was already going to be yes, but there were things I needed to acknowledge first.
I chew my lip, feeling an unexpected fluttering in my stomach, but it isn’t fear.
It’s anticipation. Hope.
I speak with certainty. “Okay.”
Hunter gives me a big smile. “I’ll send the chopper for you. Remember not to levitate up to it, or you’ll freak out the pilots. As far as they know, you’re human. I made up a story that you’re stationed out here for surveillance. They’ll lower the harness for you and take you to your destination.”
When she leaves, I press my hand to my stomach, to the growing nerves, then to my heart, and my increased heartbeat.
I take a deep breath, preparing for the painting of my life to grow once more.
40. PEYTON PRICE
Ifold my hands in my lap as the helicopter soars over Maine and flies along the coastline.
We land on a helipad that sits at the top of what looks more like a glass cathedral perched at the edge of the ocean than a house.
“Ma’am?” The assassin riding in the back with me jumps out first and offers me his gloved hand, his voice carried away by the wind and the noise of the helicopter’s blades.
I shout athank you, but I doubt he hears it.
So much for my updo.
We duck our heads and race into a wide shelter at the side of the helipad. I spy an enclosed staircase off to the left before the assassin closes the door behind us and drops us into silence.
My feet are bare, as always, because it’s easier for me to levitate without shoes on. Not that I would startle this human by doing so.
I step away from him before he can take my arm. I need to avoid any human touch at all costs. It’s hard enough ignoring the barrage of their thoughts up close, and he’s removed his glove now. “Thank you, but I can find my own way.”
