Page 150 of Wings of Destruction

“How much wrong can one person do in the name of good… before they become the monster?” Kieran asks.

Something strange is happening. Something just outside my grasp, although the awareness tickles my mind. Finally, the pieces fit together, and I jolt.

Ether take me.

Kieran is my mysterious correspondent. The boy who killed my family is the same one who’s been sharing philosophical debates about morality.

And I’ve just handed him my treasonous thoughts.

Thirty-One

Kieran

Morgan is even more beautiful when she’s tempted to kill me.

Despair turns her features into an achingly sweet masterpiece, but she is at her best when she’s violent and vicious.

Slowly, I lift my hand and with a flick of my fingers, hold the letter out to her.

She stares at me, glaring. My message is unmistakable. I’ve got her in a collar, and it’s choking her.

I wait for her to speak but she turns away instead. Rather than face me, she bends to grab the book. It slips through her trembling fingers.

“You’ve made a few great points in your notes, princess,” I say finally, my voice rough. “I’ve read through it often. You can’t imagine how many times.”

Her chest hitches. She poured every last bit of her treasonous thoughts onto paper.

“You have some keen insights for someone who has never been part of a legion before,” I add.

“It doesn’t matter.” She won’t meet my eyes.

It matters more than she knows. The air thickens with tension. I can see her processing that the ally she thought she’d found is nothing but a lie.

“You’re wrong. It matters a great deal.”

“Are you trying to convince yourself or me?” she asks hollowly.

“I’m already convinced.” I scoff and shake my head. “I’ve underestimated you. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

My eyes never leave hers as I swivel the note between my fingers, rolling it like a trick coin, as I take a step closer. The dying light plays over the angles of her face.

“No, you overestimated me if you think I’m going to dance to your tune.” Is it fear that has her lashing out?

Her lips press so tightly together and she holds her ground, refusing to inch backwards despite the panic I can see in her eyes.

I blink. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You think convincing the headmistress to give me a chance is going to make me fall to pieces in your hands. You’ll mold me into whatever picture you want. I’m not a toy, or a tool. I’m not something for you to create.” Her eyes burn with unshed tears.

The rawness in her voice cuts deeper than I expected.

“So, what are you?” Nothing about my tone is friendly.

“I’m nothing and nobody.” Her pulse jumps frantically in her throat.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

She straightens, steel entering her spine. “I don’t understand your interest in me but it’s inconvenient.”