“But you hated Dr. Vans more. I know. I received your message loud and clear. And you’re not sorry. Not really. Words without actions mean nothing. You wouldn’t change the outcome, even if you could.”
She trembles and wraps her arms around her middle. A position of defeat. What doesn’t she do? Refute my claim.
“Tell me. Did Myriad live up to their end of your unholy bargain?” I ask. “Did they deliver Dr. Vans?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “He lives in a cage in my apartment.”
He’d been Unsigned. He should have gone to Many Ends.
More proof Myriad has access into the third realm.
“Where is your satisfaction?” I demand. “Where is your happiness?”
Sniffle, sniffle. “I don’t know. I’ve hurt him, again and again, the way he hurt us, but I can’t...nothing I do fixes this.” She thumps a fist above her heart.
If she’s faking her turmoil, she’s the best actress in the Everlife. Her shame and guilt are almost tangible.
My anger begins to deflate. In that moment, I understand her distress, and part of me pities her.
There was a time I hated my parents more than I loved myself. They locked me in Prynne. They paid to have me tortured. Later, my dad paid to have me killed, thinking he could use Jeremy as a contractual substitute.
Hate never kept me warm at night. Never held me when I cried. Never patched me up when I was injured.
Like bitterness, hate is poison. It hurt me, not the ones I despised. Worse, hating my parents had made me exactly like them. I was doing to them what they’d done to me. Had I continued down that road, I would have had to deal with guilt and remorse the rest of my life.
I much prefer love.
Still. I don’t feel like letting go of my resentment; I do it, anyway, imagining it floating away like a balloon. “I hope you find peace,” I say, and I mean those words from the bottom of my heart.
My number brands tingle and throb, the sensations too strong to ignore. I know I’ve done the right thing, and the Grid is pleased.
Sloan blinks with confusion, fat tears raining down her cheeks. Is it possible my compassion is doing what my anger never could and...changing her?
“I don’t trust you,” I tell her gently. “But I want peace between our realms.” One by one... “Let it start here, with us. I’ll stay out of your way, and you’ll stay out of mine.” I offer her my hand, intending to shake. “Deal?”
Killian steps between us. “You’re right, Ten.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, making me shiver all over again. “You can’t trust her.”
What is he—
Comprehension dawns. Now he’s playing a part.
“Can I trust you?” I say to him for Sloan’s benefit. “You’ll need to prove your good intentions and return Gingerbread to Dior.”
The corners of his mouth quirk up. He reaches out to pinch a strand of my hair, the darkness perfectly contrasting with the flawless bronzed beauty of his Shell. “I knew you’d demand the dog’s return, which is why I’ve already made arrangements.”
Sweet Killian. I barely contain the urge to throw myself back in his arms.
Stiffening, Sloan swivels around to inspect the line of trees. “I think someone’s coming.” She closes her eyes, her expression taut as she concentrates. “Six MLs. I sense they’re angry and heavily armed.”
She’s that connected to Myriad’s version of the Grid? Zero! She’s a step ahead of me.
Killian curses and unsheathes a gun—a gun he aims at me.
I frown, certain I’m misreading the situation. “Hey. What are you—”
“You can’t stay here. I’m sorry, lass, but this might sting a bit.” He squeezes the trigger, nailing me between the eyes.
chapter eleven
* * *
“Mercy and correction forever walk hand in hand.”
—Troika
Zero!
He did it. He actually did it. Killian Flynn shot me.
Yes, you can shoot a Shell in a specific spot, destroying the outer casing while ejecting the spirit, unharmed. The spirit returns home in a split second. There are also ways to destroy the Shell while injuring the spirit, as well as ways to trap a spirit inside a Shell, causing the spirit to hemorrhage to death.
Killian went with option A.
My Shell explodes, every nerve in my body hit with a sudden blast of heat. For a moment, I’m in limbo, Shell-less but trapped in a vacuum of air I can’t escape.
My mind whirls. In the past, Killian did everything in his power to protect me, and that kind of vigilance can give a girl certain expectations. Like, he wants to kiss me and not he wants to blow me to smithereens.
I know, I know. By shooting me, he prevented a battle between me and the MLs headed our way. He protected the image he’s worked so hard to cultivate: a dedicated Myriadian willing to turn on me whenever necessary.
I can’t throw a hissy fit over this, can I? On the flip side, I might have to award him a gold star of excellence.
The vacuum tightens until I feel as if I’m being expelled from a birth canal, sliding into the welcome arms of...the Veil of Wings.
I rush through the crimson water and, to my absolute delight, the fires cool and every lingering ache leaves me. I intend to find Meredith or Levi. Someone to send me back.
I have to go back. Not for Killian, not this time, but for Dior. I promised to deliver Gingerbread, and I will.
She trembles and wraps her arms around her middle. A position of defeat. What doesn’t she do? Refute my claim.
“Tell me. Did Myriad live up to their end of your unholy bargain?” I ask. “Did they deliver Dr. Vans?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “He lives in a cage in my apartment.”
He’d been Unsigned. He should have gone to Many Ends.
More proof Myriad has access into the third realm.
“Where is your satisfaction?” I demand. “Where is your happiness?”
Sniffle, sniffle. “I don’t know. I’ve hurt him, again and again, the way he hurt us, but I can’t...nothing I do fixes this.” She thumps a fist above her heart.
If she’s faking her turmoil, she’s the best actress in the Everlife. Her shame and guilt are almost tangible.
My anger begins to deflate. In that moment, I understand her distress, and part of me pities her.
There was a time I hated my parents more than I loved myself. They locked me in Prynne. They paid to have me tortured. Later, my dad paid to have me killed, thinking he could use Jeremy as a contractual substitute.
Hate never kept me warm at night. Never held me when I cried. Never patched me up when I was injured.
Like bitterness, hate is poison. It hurt me, not the ones I despised. Worse, hating my parents had made me exactly like them. I was doing to them what they’d done to me. Had I continued down that road, I would have had to deal with guilt and remorse the rest of my life.
I much prefer love.
Still. I don’t feel like letting go of my resentment; I do it, anyway, imagining it floating away like a balloon. “I hope you find peace,” I say, and I mean those words from the bottom of my heart.
My number brands tingle and throb, the sensations too strong to ignore. I know I’ve done the right thing, and the Grid is pleased.
Sloan blinks with confusion, fat tears raining down her cheeks. Is it possible my compassion is doing what my anger never could and...changing her?
“I don’t trust you,” I tell her gently. “But I want peace between our realms.” One by one... “Let it start here, with us. I’ll stay out of your way, and you’ll stay out of mine.” I offer her my hand, intending to shake. “Deal?”
Killian steps between us. “You’re right, Ten.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, making me shiver all over again. “You can’t trust her.”
What is he—
Comprehension dawns. Now he’s playing a part.
“Can I trust you?” I say to him for Sloan’s benefit. “You’ll need to prove your good intentions and return Gingerbread to Dior.”
The corners of his mouth quirk up. He reaches out to pinch a strand of my hair, the darkness perfectly contrasting with the flawless bronzed beauty of his Shell. “I knew you’d demand the dog’s return, which is why I’ve already made arrangements.”
Sweet Killian. I barely contain the urge to throw myself back in his arms.
Stiffening, Sloan swivels around to inspect the line of trees. “I think someone’s coming.” She closes her eyes, her expression taut as she concentrates. “Six MLs. I sense they’re angry and heavily armed.”
She’s that connected to Myriad’s version of the Grid? Zero! She’s a step ahead of me.
Killian curses and unsheathes a gun—a gun he aims at me.
I frown, certain I’m misreading the situation. “Hey. What are you—”
“You can’t stay here. I’m sorry, lass, but this might sting a bit.” He squeezes the trigger, nailing me between the eyes.
chapter eleven
* * *
“Mercy and correction forever walk hand in hand.”
—Troika
Zero!
He did it. He actually did it. Killian Flynn shot me.
Yes, you can shoot a Shell in a specific spot, destroying the outer casing while ejecting the spirit, unharmed. The spirit returns home in a split second. There are also ways to destroy the Shell while injuring the spirit, as well as ways to trap a spirit inside a Shell, causing the spirit to hemorrhage to death.
Killian went with option A.
My Shell explodes, every nerve in my body hit with a sudden blast of heat. For a moment, I’m in limbo, Shell-less but trapped in a vacuum of air I can’t escape.
My mind whirls. In the past, Killian did everything in his power to protect me, and that kind of vigilance can give a girl certain expectations. Like, he wants to kiss me and not he wants to blow me to smithereens.
I know, I know. By shooting me, he prevented a battle between me and the MLs headed our way. He protected the image he’s worked so hard to cultivate: a dedicated Myriadian willing to turn on me whenever necessary.
I can’t throw a hissy fit over this, can I? On the flip side, I might have to award him a gold star of excellence.
The vacuum tightens until I feel as if I’m being expelled from a birth canal, sliding into the welcome arms of...the Veil of Wings.
I rush through the crimson water and, to my absolute delight, the fires cool and every lingering ache leaves me. I intend to find Meredith or Levi. Someone to send me back.
I have to go back. Not for Killian, not this time, but for Dior. I promised to deliver Gingerbread, and I will.
