Page 465 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘No. This is something your biology has created. Wildwanes do not craft pack bonds this way. We do not establish connections through reciprocal bites. Presence and scenting have always been enough.’

‘Not for my body, apparently.’

‘You’ve forged something new. I don’t know what it may become, but I’ll help you understand it and find a way to break it.’

‘Yeah.’ He blinks and looks away. He doesn’t believe for a second that his body will let go, but he doesn’t really care either. ‘Thanks.’

✴

Riley takes stock of the damage personally.

He starts at the lowest accessible level and works his way upwards, refusing every offer to send someone else. He needs to see it. Needs his own eyes on every breached entrance, collapsed wall and blackened corridor. Needs to see every single body.

The basement is lost beneath the lake water that has yet to recede. Both tunnels are destroyed. The training area is decimated. Stores survived with superficial damage, as did the Council Room. The old service stairwell is unstable. He’s been told that the Watch has taken a serious hit, but he has yet to see it with his own eyes.

They recovered more than three hundred enemy bodies. Resets lie among uniformed mercenaries from at least four PMCs, many of whom killed one another around Riley last night.

Iron Star lost twenty-two, four of whom were Tower Crew.

The Front lost twenty-six.

Last Light lost two.

The count may rise before the day is done.

He visits each place where bodies have been laid in lieu of the flooded Cold Room. The former mess hall holds Iron Star. The Front have claimed one of the barracks for their own. Last Light’s dead rest beneath clean sheets in the old briefing room, placed close together despite the space available.

Riley looks at every face the way he knows Kade used to.

Only then does he go to Medical.

The doors remain intact, as does the reinforced corridor beyond them. The triage area is overcrowded but functional. Every bed is occupied, and the floor between them has been converted into additional treatment space. Bloodied mattresses are laid out wherever there’s room. Savannah’s medics work among Noah’s people without argument, their unfamiliar uniforms already stained with Iron Star blood. Backup power keeps the monitors alive. The air filtration system still labours. The clean, electrical rhythm of machinery threads through dozens of hearts Riley can hear individually, some strong, some fluttering, some struggling through ominous pauses.

Medical held, and somewhere inside is Luca.

Riley has been dreading seeing him.

Luca is in one of the deeper treatment rooms, sitting upright despite the bed being adjusted for him to lie down.

Riley’s heart gives a weak flutter of relief.

The catastrophic swelling around Luca’s lower face has receded. New flesh closes the path the bullet took through his left cheek, across his mouth and out through the right side of his face. The damage has healed into seams, one pulling at the corner of his mouth and another disappearing beneath a clean dressing along his jaw.

It looks like six months’ worth of healing.

Lachlan’s blood did one final good thing before he became whatever he is now. Noah stands beside Luca, replacing an empty IV bag.

He looks Riley over once. ‘You should be resting.’

Riley rolls his eyes. ‘Later. I, uh, wanted to come and check in on you,’ he says to Luca, helplessly awkward. He’d often envied the easy friendship Kade and Luca had, the nicknames and the ribbing. He glances at Noah. ‘You told him?’

‘I know,’ Luca says very quietly, his tongue thick and swollen but functional. His heartsong is rapid, moving at a pace that speaks of bad things. ‘Kade is gone.’

Riley runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat.

‘I wanted to say how sorry I am for…’

‘For what?’