“Then they receive additional guidance until they understand why change is necessary,” Cass said, pleased he remembered everything correctly. “It’s all very supportive. No one is forced to do anything they don’t want to do, they just receive help understanding what they should want.”
Riot’s expression was unreadable. “That’s... quite a philosophy.”
“It works,” Cass said, though his voice wavered. “I mean, it’s supposed to work. I just haven’t been very good at explaining it. I keep using the wrong words or forgetting the important parts.”
“What if the people you’re trying to help don’t want to be fixed?”
“But everyone wants to be happy,” Cass said. “Brother Matthias says sometimes they just don’t know how to get there. That’s why we help them understand.”
“And you think Elysian knows how to make people happy?”
“Of course. Community harmony creates individual fulfillment. When everyone works together toward collective harmony, suffering diminishes and joy increases.” The words came out rehearsed and mechanical, but he hoped that Riot wouldn’t notice.
“That sounds nice,” Riot said, something wistful in his voice. “What happens to people who can’t achieve transcendence?”
“Everyone can achieve it,” Cass said firmly. “It just takes different amounts of time and support. That’s why there are guidance programs and spiritual counseling and intensive development opportunities for people who need extra help.”
“Intensive development,” Riot repeated.
“For people with more resistance to growth,” Cass explained, the words stilted like a half-remembered lesson. “Some individuals need focused attention to overcome their barriers to authentic self-expression.”
He finished wrapping Cass’s arm and took a step back, and Cass felt an unexpected pang of loss. The Berserker was the first person in months who’d let him help without getting angry, even if he seemed upset about the Elysian thing for reasons Cass couldn’t understand.
“Will I see you again?” Cass asked, then felt embarrassed for sounding so hopeful. Heat crept up his neck at his own desperation.
Riot looked down at him, and Cass felt small under that intense gaze…but not in a bad way? “You’re trying to recruit people into a system that...” He stopped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he seemed to swallow his words. “It’s probably better for both of us if this was a one-time thing.”
“Oh.” Cass tried to hide his disappointment. Of course the Berserker didn’t want to see him again. Why would he?
Riot stared at him, then groaned. “You really don’t understand, do you?”
“Understand what?” Cass’s lower lip began to quiver. “Did I do something wrong? I know I’m not good at explaining things, but I was trying to help, and you seemed hurt, and—”
“Jesus Christ,” Riot muttered, running a hand through his copper hair. “No, princess. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
And then he was walking away, disappearing into the gathering darkness. Cass stood alone on the cracked pavement, tears flowing freely as he watched the place where the Berserker had vanished, his chest aching with something deeper than disappointment.
Maybe Riot would change his mind. Maybe if Cass approached him again, explained things better, used the right words... Brother Matthias always said persistence was a virtue, and Riot had been kind when no one else had been. That had to mean something.
Cass gathered his supplies and headed back the way he came, hoping to find the main road back to his lodgings, already planning how he might accidentally encounter the strawberry-scented Berserker again.
Chapter two
Supply Chain Complications
Riot
Therationalthingtodo would have been to head straight to the pharmacy, collect his suppressant order, and pretend yesterday’s encounter with the Elysian missionary never happened.
Riot had never been particularly good at rational.
He’d made it five blocks in the wrong direction before he caught himself, standing at an intersection with his nose lifted like a bloodhound and absolutely no memory of deciding toturn north. The kid’s scent was still in his head, caramel and cinnamon and something warm like sunlight through glass, and apparently his hindbrain had decided that tracking it down was more important than minor concerns like medication or self-preservation.
Get it together.
He forced himself to turn east, toward the industrial district where machinery noise and chemical fumes would help clear his head. The pharmacy could wait another hour. What he needed right now was distance and perspective, neither of which he was going to find by chasing an Omega’s scent trail through the Neutral Zone like some rut-drunk Alpha who’d never learned self-control.
Because that’s what this was. Simple biology, simple explanation. He’d been splitting his suppressant doses with Stave and Prepper for weeks now, running on pharmaceutical fumes while his two fellow Endeavor survivors struggled with their own supply shortages. Seven months of stability at the settlement, surrounded by Nulls whose lack of designation made them soothing rather than stimulating, and he’d let himself forget what it felt like to encounter a compatible Omega while his chemistry was compromised.
