Page 433 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“This whole thing is fucked.”

My feet stopped short, and he turned on me rather than release my hands. Pain, acute and flaming, flickered in those bottomless blue eyes—a depthless northern lake.

“What?” he asked, more Commander than lover. I shook my head, forcing my feet forward, suddenly limp beneath my uncertain legs.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

Long and weighted, stinging my eyes like the nettles of the thicket.

“I know. But here we are, dove. I’m just trying to wrap my head around all of it.”

“All of it?”

“Finding my people. Praying he left them in one piece. Restoring the gate…” he cleared his throat, the sound bordering on tearful. “Walking away again. It almost fucking killed me the first time. And every time after.”

“Aren,” I breathed again. “I meant what I said. Losing you about killed me. I go where you go.”

But he was shaking his head. “You can’t, though.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit, Mags. As much as it pains me to say it, Reyna was right—we cannot risk you falling into their hands. Not just because I love you, but because a power like that in Moros’ control? Jesus Christ, Mags—if he’s kept his claws in Ally this whole time, we cannot afford for him to hold you too. We need all of the prophecy pieces. We need you. We need you safe and whole.” Aren tugged at the back of his neck, rolling his lip between his teeth. “If that means you stay in The Middle until I cut Moros down, so be it. When it comes to your wellbeing, I’m not above begging, but please… trust me on this one.”

EIGHTY-SEVEN

WINNIFRED

AUGUST

The base was always overwhelming in both noise and energetic signatures.

Today, it buzzed in anticipation—that same electric nervousness that sparked through Grayshell before the duel, tying my stomach in knots as I slipped through hallways, hood up, until I reached a door I hadn’t visited nearly enough.

With a lump in my throat, I took a steadying breath before rapping twice. A heartbeat passed and I eyed the long path back to the main corridor, wondering if I’d made a dire mistake in coming here.

I wasn’t sure how to do this—to show up in any semblance of normalcy while my hands still stung from scrubbing at them for well over thirty fucking minutes.

Pulling one of Jo’s pain tinctures out of my pocket, I popped the cork off between my teeth, knocking it back as laughter echoed inside, voices growing louder. I slipped the bottle away just as my mortal mother threw open the door. Her eyes went wide, mouth parting before those forest greens glossed with unshed tears.

“August?” Her voice cracked, hitting me square in the chest. I opened my mouth, still not sure what I wanted to come out of it. Lucky for me, Iris Porter had never been one to wait for someone to make their move. She threw herself across the threshold, arms looping my neck as she buried her face in my chest. A huff somewhere between relief and humor rushed from me. I hesitantly wrapped her up, pressing my lips to her dark chestnut hair as she sobbed against my shirt.

“I’m sorry.” It was a breath, a mantra for how often I said it to Ally in my mind—apparently, I was failing all of the women in my life.

“Honey?” The time-worn voice of my father trailed out over the laughter within.

“Forgive me,” she sniffed, wiping at the tear stains on my tac suit, a watery smile on her face as she leaned back. “I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart.” She cupped my face, eyes still damp as she canted her head to take me in.

The truth was that ascension had nearly wiped the Porters from my mind. It wasn’t until I held her, smelled the familiar syrupy hints of florals and sandalwood—a perfume my father had bought her when I was still in elementary school—that her absence hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

More than a year had gone by since I ascended—since I vanished from her life entirely, save for the wedding and one dinner after. As I took in the shadows in her eyes, I realized I’d saddled this wonderful woman with a different kind of grief. The grief of a child no longer within reach—another addition to my ever-growing mountain of guilt.

She patted my jaw gently, smiling through her tears. “You know your father and I are always here for you.”

I nodded, my words trapped in my chest as Bennett Porter stepped up behind her, his heavy blue eyes locking on my face like he’d seen a ghost. I truly was his spitting image, minus the eyes. Those were closer to Mom. Closer still to Ally.

“Dad,” I breathed, shoulders slumping as he stepped past her to collide with me like the linebacker he’d been, reminding me of exactly where Freya learned to hug.