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Could something that was little more than a single second of existence have a choice?
Beau pointed at the abandoned crumbs I’d tried to feed the mote. “You showed it kindness. It decided to stay.”
Great. Now I was attracting dark remnants of life like stray kittens.
“Now it’s a part of you,” Zhenjun added. “Trauma not yours, that will remain like a thorn in your soul for as long as you exist.”
“Ever the ray of sunshine,” I muttered.
“Weaving was never meant to be only doom and gloom.” Beau told him.
Zhenjun’s lip curled. “Says the man who spends his days talking to dirt.”
“Dirt fosters life, and receives death.” Beau offered me a cookie, which I took. It looked like chocolate chip. I bit into it, surprised by the crunch and the perfect chewy sweetness. “Dirt holds the memory of every seed, every bone, every forgotten thing and new bud,” Beau added. “You weave the threads above. I tend the roots below. Both are necessary for existence to continue.” He met my gaze. “Everything you touch becomes a part of you, even if only in memory. You carry it forever. You don’t get to put it down just because it gets too heavy.” A pause, softer now. “Sometimes we simply adjust the weight and continue anyway. Understanding can lessen the weight, but it never makes it vanish.”
“Why would he choose to carry the weight of others?” Zhenjun demanded. “Why burden himself with their pain?”
“Because it makes me, me.” I met Zhenjun’s gaze. “I’m not a god. I’m not a cosmic entity. I don’t even think I’m all that special. I’m just a guy who got dealt a weird hand and decided to keep playing.” I looked at Ivan, then back at the Marshal. “Every person I’ve ever loved has left a mark on me. Angel. Ivan. Even my team. They shaped me. Made me who I am. How is this any different?”
I gestured at the mote, now a quiet hum beneath my skin.
“This pain? This fragment? It belonged to someone. Someone who got erased.” I met Zhenjun’s eyes. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to carry it forever. Maybe I’ll figure out how to let it go. But I’m not going to pretend it never existed. That’s what Erlik does. He erases. I’d rather remember. Even if it hurts.”
Ivan shifted beside me, his shoulder pressing against mine.
“Pain isn’t the end of the story. It’s just the one part of the puzzle to teach you how to read the rest.” A pause. “I’m not done learning yet.”
Zhenjun was silent for a long moment. Then he gave a curt nod. “You carry pain like a shield. You’ll need to learn how to craft it into armor.”
“Then I guess you’d better sit down and get started with the teaching. I’m running out of time.” And patience. But I left the latter unspoken.
26
ANGEL
The bodies blurred together after a while, one after another hauled out as if it were a never-ending horror ride.
I’d been staring at files for so long that names and faces stopped meaning anything. Michael Thayerson. Melody Holt. A dozen others I’d never heard of, all dead, all connected to a cult that traded children for monsters.
And Jude’s father. Unaccounted for. Maybe missing?
Dead too? I wondered. Or in hiding?
Wade found me hunched over a table in the SED command tent, surrounded by printouts and tablets and half-empty coffee cups that had gone cold hours ago. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, waiting.
I kept reading, mentally sorting information, and triple checking the growing spreadsheets.
“Angel.” His voice was quiet. “You need rest.”
“I’m fine.”
He sighed, a sound that carried more exhaustion than he’d ever admit. The shadows under his eyes were dark enough to be bruises, and his usually sharp gaze was dulled with fatigue. “We all need rest. Not just a catnap in the back of the vehicle.” He pulled the tablet out of my hands. “Every SED team in the Cities is on this. We have eyes from five divisions and the PD on it. A few hours of sleep and real food will clear your mind.” He leaned in close. “And no one on your team will rest until you do.”
Low blow.
But I couldn’t argue with the truth. He looked wrecked. We all did.
“You’re swaying on your feet.”
