And so he does nothing.
I freeze, my breath ragged, my chest heaving. The storm rages around us, rain pouring, thunder rolling, but I feel nothing but the sick, empty pit of grief yawning inside me. My hands tremble as I slowly climb off him, staggering back.
Modok does not rise. He does not gloat. He only watches.
I can’t bear it.
With a sharp beat of my wings, I take to the sky, leaving the island, the storm, and my grief behind.
***
After Her.The ship sways, and the creak of the wood burrows deep into my bones. Each sharp prick on my back drags me between dreaming and waking, my body caught in a haze of pain and exhaustion. My arms ache, my muscles taut, my wrists burning.
“Almost done,” Solena hisses from the darkness. “Hold him still.”
My eyes flicker open. My cheek is pressed against the smooth wood of the table, and the first thing I see is Orios, jaw clenched, teeth bared as he pulls against a leather strap with all his strength. I grunt and shift, turning my head just enough to glimpse Reon on my other side, his hands red and raw, gripping another strap as if his life depends on it. My vision clears, and the realization sets in. The straps they’re hauling on so fiercely are bound to my wrists. They're holding me down.
A fresh sting flares along my spine, and I suck in a breath. But there’s more than just the pain. A weight presses against me, a knee digging into my back. Solena must be astride me, inking the sigils.
“Morning, brother,” Zyphoro murmurs.
I lift my head against the restraints, just enough to meet her gaze. She clicks her tongue.
“You just can’t behave yourself, can you?”
My throat is dry, and the words scrape as I force them out. “I’m alive. You didn’t kill me.”
Zyphoro tips her head toward Solena. “The maid assured me she could buy us time, and I’ve recently discovered she is a female of many talents.”
“Enough, Zyph,” Solena snaps. “Just a few more.”
The glint of Zyphoro’s dagger tapping against her palm catches my eye. Her expression darkens when she asks me. “Do you feel him?”
I want to lie. Maybe to save my own skin. Maybe because I need to believe I have more time. But neither is true.
“Yes,” I mutter. “The sigils are failing.”
I brace for the cold press of her blade at my throat, but it doesn’t come. Only the judgment in her eyes.
“Then we have little time to find Amara before you lose control.”
“I can fight it,” I snarl through clenched teeth.
“I have no doubt you’ll fight to the end, Daedalus.” Her voice is calm. “But you will not win. Not until one of you is dead.”
“There,” Solena exclaims, almost to silence Zyphoro’s warning, punctuating her last stroke with a searing jab of the needle.
A hush settles over the cabin. They watch me, waiting.
Waiting to see if I am still myself.
The darkness recedes. The thousands of voices shrivel into silence. The master’s hand on my shoulder loosens its grip. But something is different.
Despite the sigils seared into my skin, I am not alone in my body.
There’s a presence inside me, distant, weak, but there all the same. A passenger, lingering in the shadows.
“Can we let go now?” Reon grumbles. “My arms are fucking killing me.”
