Edith approached Wren.
“You sent it after August?”
Wren hummed.
“He’s no longer any of your concern.”
Edith’s brows furrowed.
“But—”
“Unless…”Wren interjected, eyes narrowing on Edith,“…you’reworriedabout him?”
Edith flinched at the accusation.
“I’m not.”
“Because that would be most worrisome to the Soulless One,”Wren mused, relishing the way Edith squirmed beneath her gaze. She hadn’t been lying—she didn’t resent the girl for what she’d put her through—but it was still fun to return the favor.“We don’t want complications due to any pesky lingering…feelings.”
To give Edith credit, she didn’t break beneath Wren’s line of questioning. She molded her face into one of complete indifference, lips curling back into that same careful smirk. Because if there was anything Edith Hughes was good at—it was pretending.
“I can safely say, without a single doubt, thatfeelingswon’t be an issue here.” The muscles in Edith’s neck tensed as she continued. “I simply wonder if we made a mistake in letting him go. He knows things. Too much, some would say. What if the Aberration isn’t successful?”
The thought had crossed Wren’s mind, not that it mattered anymore. She’d made her decision.
“He’s too late, either way,”she muttered. It was the truth. Nobody could stop her now.“Whatever plan he has is useless. Futile. It won’t help them in the end.”
This seemed to be enough to please Edith. She approached Wren tentatively, pausing only a few feet in front of her.
“The Order is ready.” She dropped her voice lower, a gleam of excitement radiating behind her dark eyes. “All of the units are inposition. All we need is your command. If the Soulless One says it’s time…then we strike.”
Wren felt him then—the Soulless One’s delicate caress. The warmth of his breath.
I am ready.
Wren hummed.
“Good…so am I.”
Edith’s eyes raked her face, confusion furrowing her brow.
“Did the Soulless One…say something? Did he speak to you?” There was a reverent quality to her voice, an almost pathetic desperation.
Wren smiled.
“He says it’s time.”
A blazing exhilaration lit up Edith’s face. “So…what do you suggest?”
The shadows in Wren’s hands ebbed and flowed, twisting until they’d formed a pair of long, jagged swords—two gleaming onyx blades marked by a bloodred hilt. Wren wrapped her hands lazily around the handles, a stream of shadows twirling around the pointed steel. Flames snaked through the shadows—crimson and black intertwined, a vortex of searing power cascading down the swords.
“Well, you know what they say,”Wren muttered, and the shadows rose inside her—more, more, more.“When the infection spreads to the root, sometimes there’s nothing left to do but to burn the fucker to the ground.”
Edith smiled.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
40
