But there was no denying the evidence of his own senses. Cass was here. At this hotel. The same cheap anonymous hotel that Riot had chosen at random out of a dozen identical options.
He watched Cass disappear through the entrance, and a few minutes later, watched a light come on in the window three doors down from his own room.
Three doors. Close enough that Riot could hear him if he cried out in the night. Close enough that his scent would seep through the thin walls, like a constant low-level torment for the next two days.
The universe is fucking with me, Riot thought.That’s the only explanation. Some cosmic entity looked at my life and decided it wasn’t hard enough.
He should leave. He should pack his shit, find another hotel, and put as much distance as possible between himself and the temptation three doors down. That was the smart move. The responsible move. The move that a decent person would make.
Riot stood at the window and watched the light in Cass’s room, and didn’t move.
Just tonight, he told himself.I’ll make sure he’s okay tonight—from a distance, without him knowing—and then tomorrow I’ll leave. I’ll find somewhere else to wait out the suppressant shortage. Somewhere I can’t smell him every time the wind shifts.
It was a terrible plan. It was barely even a plan at all. But it was the only thing standing between Riot and the overwhelming urge to knock on that door and offer the princess exactly the kind of protection he had no business providing.
He didn’t sleep that night. Just stood at the window, watching that square of light, and tried not to think about what Cass looked like when he dreamed.
He failed at that too.
Chapter three
Facility Overlap
Cass
Thehotelroomceilinghad a water stain that looked like a rabbit if Cass squinted just right.
He’d been staring at it for hours, watching it change shape as tears blurred his vision, then cleared, then blurred again. The rabbit had become a turtle, then something that might have been a deformed pineapple, and was now settling back into rabbit territory as morning light crept through the grimy window.
His eyes felt puffy and raw. Crying for hours would do that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this much—maybe when he was eight and broke his arm falling from the community climbing structure, or when he was sixteen and the Elders separated him from Honey for preliminary partnership preparation.
The thought of Honey sent a stab of guilt through his chest. She was waiting for him to prove himself worthy, to show that he could overcome his spiritual deficiencies and become the partner she deserved. And here he was, months into his mission with nothing to show for it except a knife wound and more rejection than he knew what to do with.
I should be thinking about her more, he thought, twisting the thin braid near his temple.A good partner would be thinking about her constantly.
But his thoughts kept drifting to other things. Copper hair. Green eyes. The way bandages felt when someone else wrapped them around his wounds.
He was also, he realized as he shifted under the thin blanket, uncomfortably warm.
Not just warm—hot. His skin felt strange, like it didn’t quite fit right, and there was a dull ache in his joints that hadn’t been there yesterday. When he swallowed, his throat felt thick and odd.
No. Cass pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to gauge his temperature.Please, no.
The flu was rare in Elysian territories, the communities were carefully managed to prevent disease transmission, but he’d heard stories. People died from flu in the outer territories. People died from flu in the Neutral Zone all the time, where medical care cost more than most could afford and nobody checked whether the water supply was properly sanitized.
He couldn’t be getting sick. Not now. Not with two weeks to prove himself and no money for doctors and no one who would care if he just... stopped showing up one day.
You’re fine,he told himself firmly.It’s just stress. Brother Matthias said stress can manifest as physical symptoms when you’re away from the community’s harmonious energy field.
He sat up slowly, and the room tilted. Just a little. Just enough to make him grip the edge of the mattress until the world decided to stay in one place.
Fine. He was fine.
His fingers found a clay bead in his hair. The familiar motion helped, a little. Smooth and rough, smooth and rough, around and around.
“Community creates clarity,” he recited, one of the morning affirmations. “Trans-send-dance transforms trauma. Unity uplifts...” He frowned, the words slipping away like water through cupped hands. “Unity uplifts... something. Universal... understanding?”
He could never remember that one. His head hurt too much to try harder.
