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This much blood should make the place look like a crime scene. Instead, it’s been used for art, and somehow that’s a thousand times more sinister.
A choked sound comes from Silas, and I spin to face him, realizing he must have just put it all together.
Except, Silas is no longer next to me. He’s in the fucking middle of the basement—I can barely make out his form in the shadows. The glow from the blood is fucking with my vision, causing everything toward the middle of the room to look even darker than normal.
“Vae. Get the fuck over here.”
I zone in, forcing all the shit from the last hour behind me to focus on the here and now. I creep silently across the room, following the sound of Silas’s voice. My hand falls to my dagger at my side, and while I know nothing’s down here lying in wait, I keep my senses on high alert for noises from above.
When Silas’s features come into focus a few feet in front of me, I hurry over to him, eating up the remaining distance between us.
“What is it?”
“I—I—” Silas stutters, like the words are stuck in his throat, then raises his arm, pointing toward a large stone slab in the shape of a fucking altar in front of us.
Apprehension washes over me, but I keep moving. Inching closer to what my mind refuses to accept is a fucking person—no, a female—lying on top of what looks like an altar because it is a Fatesdamned altar.
As I get closer, her features become easier to make out. The stone is covered in the same symbols as the rest of the room, and, as before, the glowing increases the closer I get.
Her skin is deathly pale, but not lifeless. There’s no grey pallor or waxy appearance. It glows—just faintly—with life, in the light from the symbols—her hair’s pale blonde, with golden undertones.
Most promising of all is the way her chest moves with each shallow breath. I watch for long moments, waiting for that next breath, noticing the way the skin around her eyes tightens and her lips blanch, like she’s fighting for each lungful of air.
“I’ll call Gav,” Silas murmurs, but I wave him off, unable to look away from the female. There’s something here… I can feel it. Something I’m missing. Something I should have already put together but haven’t.
It’s just a strange feeling, like someone pulling on a strand of my hair over and over. I find myself drawn to the subtle wave of the female’s hair, my eyes tracing the delicate way one of the loose strands flutters against the apple of her cheek.
A memory flashes behind my eyes. Delicate, thin, pale fingers, gently flicking back a strand of white hair just for it to fall forward and rest against her cheek. Her hand lifts, and she tucks it behind one ear, the whole time completely unaware of the monster sitting three feet away, unable to force his eyes from her.
Brushing away the memory doesn’t work. Not when the likeness is so uncanny. Sure, this woman is much older than Idril, and her hair is more of a golden blonde, but the pale skin and thin, malnourished figure….
The female frowns, a furrow appearing between her brows that makes my hands twitch as once again another memory resurfaces. One of Idril in her chair, scribing tirelessly while Dax and Riven argue over folklore and I pretend like I’m reading and not obsessing over the little Omega.
Fates, it’s uncanny the way their expressions mirror each other.
I basically spiral from here, picking apart each and every one of this unknown woman’s features until I’m halfway to a panic attack or a fucking breakdown or something. I keep searching for something—anything—that will make this make sense, but I can’t. It’s all the same. The delicate line of their jaws, the way their noses turn up just the smallest bit, the shape of their brows. Even their fucking cheekbones are almost identical.
Bile surges up my throat at the near certainty staring me in the face. The resemblance is almost perfect. They could be sisters if not—
“Holy fuck,” Silas exclaims, stepping up beside me. His eyes are wide. Wild. He turns to me, and I mentally beg him not to fucking say it, even as he asks, “Is that—”
I shake my head, denying the possibility before he can speak it into existence. She’s dead. Idril said she was dead. We found a death certificate and articles in the fucking paper.
But all my prayers go up in a blaze of fiery death when the female’s lashes flutter open and—like she already knew we were here—her eyes fall on us.
My breath stops in my chest. My lungs won’t work. They simply stop fucking working. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t. I can’t because those fucking eyes are looking into my soul, and I know—I know before she says a single word—I know because those eyes—bright, blue, just a shade darker than the color of sapphires in sunlight—are the only proof I need.
Then the Omega’s lip curves into a gentle smile I don’t fucking deserve. I reach for Silas, fingers twisting in the fabric of his jacket because I’m afraid if I don’t hold onto something, I’m going to collapse. I want to run and keep running before this woman discovers—
“I’d like to see my daughter,” Annalise Varenthrall requests with a dignity and grace that no one could ever take away. Her voice is barely more than a broken whisper as she adds, “Please… please bring Idril to me.”
It takes me three tries before I can finally speak. My order carries its own weight. Of a truth, spoken out loud. An impossibility—one I have no Fatesdamned idea how to navigate.
There are a thousand reasons why I should wait. Talk it through with Dax, Caelan, or even Silas. Run through all the possible potential shit shows. Someone else should decide this. Someone with more experience should handle it.
Yet even as all the same old arguments cycle loudly through my head, it’s never been easier to ignore them. There are a thousand and one reasons why telling anyone about this—especially Idril—is a terrible idea. There are a million reasons why I should at least let Gav decide what to do next.
But there’s one brave, strong, beautiful Omega back at HQ that matters more than all my fears combined. That, combined with the absolute certainty in my soul that what I’m about to do is what’s best for her, is what has me turning to Silas and issuing my first official command in centuries.
