The words have been spinning in her mind every day since the raid, sustaining her through long hours of interrogation and withdrawal from lack of sand, until her feverish thoughts couldn’t separate her dreams from her reality. She would shiver in her sleep, always imagining Ari coming to her with his hands in the pockets of his suit, his eyes warm, a small smile on his face.
Sam,he would say,here you are.
She would wake up alone, his name a whisper still on her lips. She didn’t know whether he was alive or whether he’d safely left the city. She didn’t even know if he was still in the country. Wasn’t that why she wanted to save him, knowing that it might mean letting him go forever? Shouldn’t she want this? But the thought of him no longer being nearby, that she would now go on alone, that she would plunge back into the long silence between them that had happened after they’d graduated, was so painful that she would curl back up in bed, pull the blanket over her head, and sink into the darkness again so that she could visit him in her dreams.
Ari, I still need you.
Now she sips her champagne in silence and looks out at the roses.
“I don’t know,” she replies at last.
Sebastian pops a sandwich in his mouth, then hands her a folder open to a contract. “Well,” he says, “here’s one idea for you.”
Sam finds herself looking down at a paper embossed with Belle Epoque’s crest.
“Eleanor Mien has reached out,” Sebastian says. “Now that Angel City has a new mayor who is indebted to Lumines, she is keen to fill the power vacuum left by Diamond and Will.”
Eleanor Mien. One head cut off, another head in its place. On and on it goes. Sam stares at Sebastian from over her untouched sandwiches, at this world that never changes.
“Belle Epoque knows Grand Central is deeply damaged,” he continues. “We’re bleeding valuation by the day and could use some help. So the Miens are pitching for a majority stake. Belle Epoque has come to dominate the British and European markets, and Eleanor has been following your story with interest. She’s made an offer for you: join her and Hanya in the running of what’s left of Grand Central, and they’ll give you a generous compensation package along with a hefty share of the business. Partial owner, and their right hand. Should you agree, they’ll expect you at Belle Epoque’s office in Londinium, where you’ll take up residence for part of the year.”
He taps the paper as he speaks, pointing out the line in the contract about payment. The signing bonus is ten million dollars. Sam stares at it and feels nothing in her heart. Earning money seems like the easiest thing in the world. No matter how much she gets, more just keeps coming.
“Why doesn’t she promote one of her own?” Sam asks. “What about Hanya?”
“They both think it makes sense to keep a Grand Central insider on board, someone familiar with the operations and team, who can keep things running efficiently. All in deference to the Miens, of course. The board will need to vote on it, and you’ll have others to answer to.” He nods at her. “But it’s a good offer, Mozart.”
A faint breeze caresses Sam and brings with it the perfume of jasmine and lavender. “And who’s running Lumines?”
“Rudra. It was always meant to be his, anyway, before this business with Shakespeare.”
“What about all our labs, the factories? The Winged Towers? Do we retain ownership?”
“The government is in talks to break us up. A new bill is being hawked in Congress to officially ban sand production and usage. But my guess is that it’s all for show, and ultimately won’t pass. Too many congressmen in syndicate pockets. With Mien’s help, I suspect we’ll keep enough of our operations intact to be profitable again in a few years.”
Sam listens in weary silence. Profitable again, in a few years. Diamond and Will are only a small part of a larger engine, and that engine will continue so long as enough cogs remain in place. With the right leadership, Grand Central will simply rise again, and the other syndicates will continue on with their business, and the entire show will go on. There are simply too many alchemists in the world, too many people taking sand. She would be naïve to think she could stop something that has already revolutionized the world many times over.
Changing something into something more desirable.
But has sand made the world a better place? Or just a different one?
Sam closes her eyes and imagines a multitude of alternate realities: all the different paths that she could take. What her life could be if she just turned this down and walked away. Told Edward she didn’t want to do this after all. Struck out to find Ari. Ran away with him and left the syndicates and their greed to fester on their own.
But that’s impossible, of course. So long as the syndicates stand, they will always own a part of her. Look here at Belle Epoque, reaching out to her from the other side of the world, coaxing her back in. No matter how far she runs, they will still be here, with all their cogs and wheels, churning and churning. If she leaves, she will just find her way back, over and over.
Unless she stays. It is her deal with Edward, after all. She remains in the circle. Moves her way up. Perhaps this is the only way, taking something down from within. Entangle her fist deep enough in the web, and she might be able to rip it out with one twist. It only works if they see her as one of them. If she belongs.
Belongs.The word sends an involuntary thrill through her, and she blinks, surprised by the sudden memory of Ari’s words that emerges, preserved in the amber of her mind.
Do you ever feel like you don’t belong here?
Once upon a time, she had dreamt of taking Diamond’s place in order tocreate something beautiful, that what the syndicates could offer the world was to make people better. Bring them closer to perfection. What now? What is her dream?
She’s staying because she’s working with Edward to bring them down. But there is also a part that Edward doesn’t know—she’s also staying because shewantsto stay.
“If I accept this deal,” she says, “will you work for me?”
“Listen to you, little Mozart,” Sebastian murmurs, his hand drumming idly against the table. “I remember when you were still too afraid to use a fucking gun.”
