Page 88 of Fallacies

Callan exhales, eyes dipping to my chest. To where my silver necklace hangs between us. “Your heart is good.”

Something about the simplicity in the statement makes me smile. A real smile.

A screen door slams shut and I flinch.

“Boss,” Devon calls out, heavy footsteps echoing through the cabin as he makes his way down the hall. When Callan doesn’t answer, there’s a firm knock on the bedroom door. “Cal,” he says again.

Gathering the sheets to my chest, I roll out of Callan’s grip and reach for one of his shirts, sliding it over my head while Callan hurries into a pair of pants.

I’m trying to get my fingers through my tangled curls when he pulls the door open, and the second I see Devon’s grim expression, I know something is wrong.

“Is she awake?” Callan asks, and a pit opens in my stomach. We’ve been so blissfully in our own bubble for the last however many hours that I’d almost forgotten about Ceres’s…comatose state. Almost.

Devon shakes his head, dark eyes shifting from me to the Captain. “She’s not going to wake up.”

My jaw slackens.

“What do you mean?” Callan seems equally as shocked as I am, quickly reaching for a shirt and his discarded boots.

“She used an Eldral that didn’t belong to her,” Devon explains. “Her body is failing, but Gemma has managed to keep her brain active.” His gaze hardens on Callan then. “If we want answers, you’ll have to get them.”

A beat of silence passes, and then Callan curses, scrubbing a hand down his face.

My attention darts between the two of them, a bit lost as to what’s happening but too stunned at the news to voice my confusion.

Devon turns to leave, expression still vacant. “We’ll meet you outside,” he calls over his shoulder.

Watching Callan hastily get dressed, my mind goes to Pax. I know he hates his mother, but there’s no way he doesn’t feel a fraction of hurt from the news that she won’t be waking up. She’s the last of his biological family members—not that he needs them when he has us. But still, he can’t be satisfied with this news. How could anyone be?

Pulling on some jeans, I match the hurried pace Callan makes around the room, waiting until he’s finished lacing his boots to ask, “If she’s not waking up, then how are you supposed to get answers?”

“Gemma is keeping her brain alive,” Callan explains, letting out a deep sigh. “And as long as her mind is still active, I can access⁠—”

It dawns on me then, with brutal clarity. “Her memories.”

Those who attended the initiation have done well at keeping the horrific events of the night contained, but I get the feeling that all of that is about to change as we approach the Infirmary.

Devon goes in first, holding the door open for Callan, who in turn holds it open for me, guiding me into the waiting room with a hand at my back.

It’s not that different from the first time I came here, having just been found washed up on a beach. I’m just as unsure now of what I’m walking to, and I feel the same reluctance to speak. The quiet is heavy, and I don’t want to be the one to break it.

The Mender at the front desk keeps her head down as we pass, the hallway empty. Devon takes us all the way down, pushing open the door at the far end.

As soon as we enter, I make eye contact with Gemma first, relief shaking out some of my concern when I see that she’s perfectly intact. Maybe not mentally, but physically.

She scans my body head to toe, a soft tilt to her lips when she catalogs the same information about me.

“Kimber?” I mouth to her.

Gemma nods. “Good.”

More relief soothes my tense muscles as I move cautiously into the room, taking note of everyone in it.

Delia and Laverna stand rigid off to the right, the latter wringing out her hands beneath the yellow fabric of her robes. Phoenix, Easton, and Hunter linger by the door with blank expressions, gazes cast to Pax, who stands in the opposite corner from everyone else.

His dead stare is distant, pointed at the bed in the center of the room.

Ceres looks ghastly. She’s pale and lifeless beneath the covers, her body still, and her wrists cuffed to the bedrail. The shackles are familiar—a magic-suppressing metal, if I had to guess.