Page 13 of Hybrid Heroics

“I think we all felt like that,” I admitted.

Novak pinched his thumb and index finger together. “Just a little bit.”

Stone sighed wistfully. “I thought she looked hot.”

“You would,” Briggs rumbled through his laughter.

“You don’t have any room to talk,” the demon popped back.

“And now we’re here.” Palmer spread his arms wide as he rolled his eyes. “With no idea what we’re doing or what to expect. Anything could happen, and she’s left us in over our heads without her guidance or determination or knowhow.”

York nodded slowly. “It’s different when she’s here.”

“She’s right there.” Thatcher pointed to Sloane, limp and cradled against Briggs’ chest. “You act like she’s dead.”

“It’s different when she’s awake,” the wolf corrected.

“We’ve had her through this entire journey,” Novak said seriously. “But we don’t have her right now. And we don’t know when she’s coming back or if she can come back.”

The druid hung his head for a moment. “Funny how that feeling has become a mirrored concept between the two of us. Her kind of humor. Not mine.”

Murphy frowned. “She’ll be back before you know it.”

“How do we navigate this without her, though?” Stone inquired.

“We’ll handle this like we handled everything before we met her,” Briggs told him.

“And how do we make that happen?” I asked. “Who makes the decisions? Who has the input? What makes the most logical sense here? Because nothing is making much sense to me anymore.”

“Before we met Sloane,” Briggs began, shaking his head as he gazed down at her. “We put more effort in… Into who we were individually and as a group, how our personalities complimented the situation. One of us thought through all the details, at any given time, from dinner to how we sat at a table to how we interacted outside of our group.”

Stone tucked his hands around the straps of his backpack as he scowled. “We’re not that same group anymore.”

“No. We’ve all changed,” I acknowledged. “Grown in some way we weren’t expecting.”

“We’ve not had to make big decisions since we’ve met Sloane,” Palmer affirmed. “She’s blazed through everything, regardless of any plans we made with her.”

“We’ve made decisions,” Novak argued.

“Not really. Not collectively.” I stared ahead of us as I straightened out my jumbled thoughts. “Individually, yes. We’ve all done things we thought were right, or made calls that helped sway the outcome. But that was it. There was no group plan without her input. This is a lot different from planning a trip to a bar or sitting down for dinner.”

Briggs cursed under his breath before he huffed. “Okay. So, what the fuck are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I responded truthfully. “I’m still trying to process everything that happened over the last few days.”

“You’re still power high?” Novak guessed.

“A little.” I tipped my head in acquiescence. “Yes.”

The conversation continued, but only between Murphy and Thatcher. I let their words fall away as I thought about everything I needed to process. Really thought about it. Not in some superficial sort of capacity, either.

My sisters were safe, and my parents were alive. I was happy about that, but it didn’t take away the years of mourning I’d done on behalf of my father. Or the bullshit Alania put us through as she pretended to be our mother.

How does one get over that kind of trauma?

I didn’t think I could. Not so soon, anyway.

Alania was dead, and I could breathe easier knowing that was true, knowing it was my hand that delivered the killing strike. But it didn’t erase the attempts she’d made on my life while wearing a mask of my mother’s face. We had slaughtered too many fae because of her petty agenda against me.