“Maybe you’re right. But I don’t know her well enough to trust in that. She could still kill me.”
“Not if you don’t give her a reason. She would’ve already done it if she thought you needed killing. That’s what I’m saying.”
“I think she needs information from me,” I reply. “That’s why I’m still alive.”
“See? Hope. So give her what you know and don’t be an asshole about it, and then”—she dusts off her hands—“it's a win-win for everyone.”
This girl.
“I wish it were that simple. But I’m a Horseman, like you said. My purpose is set. Whether I care for Eri or not, I’m bound to see it through.”
She studies me for a long moment.
“So you’re still planning on eradicating the human race, then? That's what you’re saying?”
“No,” I tell her. “That’s not my purpose. It’s much more complicated than that.”
She leaves the bars and disappears for a moment. When she returns, she’s carrying a folding camp chair, which she props beside the bars before dropping into it cross-legged.
“Then uncomplicate it for me,” she says. “Give me the rundown. What’s the grand plan, Horseman?”
A quiet chuckle slips out of me. I move to the wall where I can still see her and lower myself to the floor, my back resting against the cool stone. I prop one arm on my knee.
And for reasons I can’t quite explain, I talk.
I’m honest. I tell her as much as I’m able—what God sent me here to do, what the balance requires, what judgment means, and why the souls matter.
She stops me halfway through to grab a snack, but she’s back within minutes. She listens with such focus that she absentmindedly scarfs down an entire bag of pretzels, only glancing down when she reaches back into the bag and finds it empty.
Another is retrieved from somewhere inside her cell as she’s back at it. Stuffing them in her mouth, which causes her cheeks to puff out as she chews.
She’s curious in a way that feels genuine, peppering me with questions that force me to clarify things even for myself.
The next day looks much the same.
So does the one after that.
Except this time, Eridessa delivers a cardboard box filled with food and basic supplies meant to last me several days. She tells Lila she’s heading out for more. When I ask where she’s going, she offers only a vague answer and shares a knowing look with Lila.
She doesn’t trust me.
Something I’ll need to change if I’m ever to leave this place.
But I can’t begin to work on that until she returns.
So while she’s gone, I think. About my strategy. About my truth. About how to earn faith from a woman who learned long ago not to give it freely.
Lila, meanwhile, is generous with advice.
And, frustratingly, she isn’t wrong.
Be honest. Tell her what you know. Don’t try to double-cross her. Maybe think about how you can work together. It doesn’t sound like your paths are that different. Your methods might be, but maybe there’s a middle ground. Or at least a way to help each other see things more clearly.
I don’t tell her that for a teenager, she’s remarkably perceptive.
I don’t need to.
She seems to know.
