I feel his stare on me, steady and searching.
When I meet his gaze again, his expression tells me he already understands more than I want him to.
I grab a lantern and take his elbow again. “Show-and-tell is over. Come.”
I guide him toward the doorway on the far side of the room. The space beyond used to be a large wine cellar. I relocated the barrels and bottles long ago to make room for something else.
I unlock the first door. Then we pass through a short hallway for a second. Soft light spills out as I open it. Orán stops short.
Rows of barred cells stretch away from us, evenly spaced, extending farther than the lantern light reaches.
“Eridessa.” His voice lowers. “This isn’t necessary. I’m not going to try to escape or run. I told you?—”
He cuts himself off as a soft rustling carries through the corridor.
Another voice follows, thin but hopeful. “Eri, thank God. It’s been ages since you came to visit me.”
White fingers curl around the bars.
A face appears between them.
She’s young, eighteen, and very beautiful. She peers back at us with eyes now a pale brown color. Her hair has turned ashen, and her skin, though not as pale as mine, has lost most of its true color.
Orán’s face drains as well.
His gaze flicks from the girl to me, and in that single glance, I see everything. The judgment he so readily casts upon humanity is now focused entirely on me.
“Eri,” he says quietly. “What have you done?”
“What none of you would,” I reply. “Saved her.”
My heart burns with the certainty that, with time and effort, I’ll solve the flaw in the elixir. I’ll fix us both. Then I’ll find more innocent people worthy of surviving Judgment Day so that when this ends, there will be those left who can truly rebuild what was destroyed.
Orán tears free of my hold.
He turns on me in a heartbeat and slams me back against the wall hard enough to rattle the lantern, and I nearly drop it.
“You can’t fucking play God,” he snaps. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies.”
“Yes,” I fire back, breath burning in my chest. “I damn well do. That is why I’m here. That’s why I was chosen. Because after you and your brothers finish tearing apart what’s left of this world, someone has to remain to bring it back to life. Humanity doesn’t end with your judgment. It may fall, but it will rise again.”
He cups my face, his touch urgent, his eyes searching mine like he’s trying to pull me back from an edge. “That isn’t God’s plan. Eri. Please. See reason.”
I knock his hand away. “Not His plan,” I snarl. “No. I don’t suppose it is. But it’s mine.” I shove his chest. He stumbles back a step. I push him again until he’s the one against the wall now, my hands flat against his sternum, my body trembling as anger and righteous conviction settle over me.
“Because even if we believe in Him,” I continue, voice shaky, “He still has His faults. He can’t make us and then discard us. He can’t wipe us from the face of existence and call it just.”
My fingers curl into his shirt.
“It’s wrong,” I whisper fiercely. “And I was spared to set it right—with or without His fucking help.”
Orán’s face falls. His head dips slightly.
“Eliora. See reason. This is wrong.”
“Maybe in time you’ll see that it’s not.” I meet his gaze without flinching. “Because though you may think you hold all the answers. You don’t know humanity as I do. So, Horseman, it appears we both have a lot to learn from each other, and in time we’ll see which one of us bends.”
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes tracing my features as if committing them to memory. Then his shoulders sink, and he shakes his head once.
