Marcus:
She’s gone from the Archives, but I’m not letting her move back in with you.
Carter:
Why not?
Marcus:
Because she’s spiraling, and fighting is the last thing she needs right now. Leave her alone for a while.
Carter:
You can’t tell me to stay away from my mate.
Marcus:
I fucking can and I fucking am. She’s my friend. As far as I’m concerned, you wanted her as far away from you as you possibly could for weeks. If you wanted to change your mind, you had a whole week where you could have come and grabbed her from the damn Archives.
Carter:
Whatever. Don’t come haunting me when I’ll kill you for not being able to control yourself near her pheromones.
Fucking moron.
I slid my phone in my back pocket with a muttered curse and pushed on the Archive’s door handle that had been locked for me for the whole past week.
It opened.
That ghost was unbelievable.
“Seriously?” I asked as I closed it behind me and walked inside the spacious room. “You were deliberately keeping me away from her?”
Not sure why I expected her to, but Maggie didn’t grace me with an answer.
“Whatever.”
I made my way to the farthest shelves, the ones no one except Arc or I visited. The ones he hid his visions and prophecies in.
From a young age, he was taught to write every vision down to ensure he would not forget. After all, he sometimes saw things years or decades before it happened.
Centuries, even.
Maybe there was something that could help me understand what the fuck happened. Why heforbadeus to come after them? Who was the strange Warlock who called him by his full name? Because what I saw? It didn’t make sense.
Arc had stood by and watched as they all attacked Dimitri. He remained unthreatened, and it felt like heknewthat he himself wasn’t going to get harmed. And this whole event led to an explanation I didn’t want to believe.
My whole body locked and vision darkened as my hand touched the first storage box.
Fuck, no, not again.
The room was dark, only lit by a flickering white neon light overhead that illuminated a dirty dark green tile covering the walls and the floors. I—Arc—was sitting on a chair in a corner. Once again, there was no sign he even realized I was there and I could not feel or hear what was happening in his mind or if he was hurt in any way.
I hated being pulled in his head when I was able to, but this was even worse. It felt like I was merely a bystander, only here to listen and see, to try and make out what was really happening without all the facts.
Arc’s head turned to the side, to where Dimitri was sitting in his own corner, hands bound at his back and battered head falling forward.
Red stained his clothes and his face was covered in dark purple bruises and cuts.
