Wump-wump, wump-ppp.
As my heart does its stupid thing again, a weird fizz accompanies the sensation. I resist the urge to thump my chest with a fist.
I have bigger worries.
I.e. François.
I have a feeling the return he’ll want for his investment isn’t going to be through my body. Oh no.
It will be paid in the only other currency I have left: pieces of my soul.
As we walk back toward the Digger block, Jensen rounds a corner, his stooped shoulders looking even more weighed down than usual. “Boss.” His voice is dry and rough. “You wanted the temperature turned down. You have to understand the fallout—it’s just not worth it.”
François performs a supercilious eyebrow quirk. “If you are saying my comfort is not worth a little scuffle or two, then you’re mistaken. This block is sweltering. Aurora doesn’t like it. Turn it down at least ten degrees.”
“I can’t just turn it down,” Jensen insists, his eyes flicking to me, his voice rising in a desperate pitch. “The sub-level vents are tied into the entire system. If I drop the heat here, the Guild blocks will be fucking freezing by midnight. There’ll be war.”
“So be it,” François drawls. “Thisl’air étouffantis something I will no longer tolerate. A cold man makes mistakes, Jensen. I don’t see a problem; I see a strategic advantage. Fix it, or I’ll findsomeone who can—then I’ll feed you to your own incinerators to make room for them.”
Asshole.
“Don’t try to make this about my needs. It’s simply a dick move, François. But I guess empathy wasn’t on the curriculum at the Conclave.”
Jensen and I meet eyes, and I take note of the mutinous look on his face. This block needs to rebel and take François down. Tally has to get well enough to take over again. We need him.
“Fine,” Jensen grunts. “But my people need to hear it from you firsthand. They won’t obey me on something like this.”
“If the Guild finds themselves shivering, they will learn that their comfort is tied to mine. But, fine. I will come talk to the minions.” François ushers me into the cell, then locks the cage door.
“Hope someone stabs you in the kidney,” I yell as he disappears into the gloom with Jensen.
As soon as he’s gone, I go straight over and kneel by Taliesin. He looks gray in the dim light, his skin slick with cold sweat. I stroke his forehead. “Please wake up, Tally. Your replacement is a psychopath who’s about to start a war. I really, really need you.”
His fingers twitch against my hand.
“Tally?”
His eyelids flicker, then open. For a second, the gold in his eyes seems to swirl before they finally lock onto mine. My heart does a soaring flip of relief.
“Tally,” I breathe. “You’re back.”
24. TALIESIN
“Tally.”
The voice pierces through the black film clinging to my brain. Blinking, the world comes rushing back in a violent wave—the smell of mold, the low hum of the cooling vents, and the scent of Aurora.
Everything is a blur. My head feels like it’s been used for target practice, and my blood is sluggish, thick sludge.
“Wha…?”
The word triggers a racking cough that feels like it’s tearing my lungs out. Aurora is there instantly, her hands steady on my shoulders as she helps me sit up. She presses a cup of water to my lips, and I drink it like a man dying of thirst.
“Take it easy,” she whispers. “Do you remember what happened?”
My brow creases. Images of the yard flash by—the darkness, the cold, the way my heart just… stopped. “Dream,” I mumble. “Crazy dreams about the woods.”
I try to shift my weight, and a groan rips out of my throat. My muscles feel atrophied, poisoned. Then there’s the immediate, pressing reality of my biology. “Fuck… gotta take a slash. Sorry, Rory.”
