Page 207 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Anybody ever tell you you’re a real asshole?” I snarled as I rushed to catch up, abandoning my food, aware Barry’s eyes were on my back.

“Your sister used to seem rather inclined to remind me regularly.”

“Far be it from me to guess why she stopped.”

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head as he led us down an alleyway—no doubt hunting for somewhere safe to jump us back to the loft. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to blow off my responsibilities to let you both drown in nostalgia?”

“Ass. Hole,” I ground out. “Barry asked.”

“Barry’s too nosy for any of our good.”

“Gods, you could’ve let me finish my sentence.”

“I have no interest in hearing your sob story,” he ground out, turning to sneer down his nose at me as my mouth fell open, my chest aching.

Was this seriously the same man I’d just spent a week nursing back to health?

“Everyone has one. Everyone I loved, aside from my cousins, is dead and gone, Briar. Barry watched his own parents get executed, and Smith was pinned down and forced to watch as his mate was beaten to death. Green endured the death of her mother and a brutal assault, and you don’t see her announcing it to the world. I’m sorry that you lost your mother, but forgive me for not entertaining the details.”

I blinked, clearing my throat—and the memory—as pieces of this endless puzzle clicked into place.

Forgive me for not entertaining the details? Gods, I’d been angry enough to spit. But part of me wondered if…

Nope. No more wondering.

Wordlessly, I zipped the body into its bag, blowing out a heavy breath as I memorized the wreckage of August’s warpath.

Close.

He had to be getting close for these soldiers to make it back to us in this condition.

I sent up a silent prayer that we would at last be free of this.

Free of this hell before I pieced together things I didn’t want to know. Or, at least, before I did it with witnesses in a hierarchy known for clairvoyant abilities.

A familiar little girl burst into the healer’s wing at a full sprint, throwing her arms around a man with auburn hair and tawny eyes. Cora. Her mother wasn’t far behind, but my throat tightened as I watched the little girl climb into the warrior’s lap. His skin was mottled with deep bruising and that telltale pattern, but we’d been fast enough this time.

The day after Bellamy’s little outburst, he’d found me on the curb outside the hospital, trying to wrap my head around the nine-year-old girl now chilling in the morgue.

A mammoth form blocked the red blur of taillights, and I numbly lifted my hazy gaze to the last person on the planet I wanted to see.

Bellamy stared down at me, expression unreadable, then stepped off the curb and folded that seven-foot frame down beside me. Neither of us said anything. He just… sat. Turned his attention to the traffic flowing by. Released a long-suffering sigh.

And we watched.

I wasn’t sure how long we sat in silence, but the streaks of red light eventually dimmed as the city buzzed to life, the endlessly tangled web of fate’s strings dancing through the world. The sun was assaulting my skin by the time he cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Briar. I don’t imagine that ever gets easier.”

My voice was hoarse with hours of suppressed grief, the ache in my chest still throbbing. “I would think you’d be anesthetized to it by now.”

“The death of a warrior? Sure.” In my periphery, he shrugged one muscled shoulder. “So long as they weren’t family. The death of a child?” He shook his head. “Some things are unnatural, and I don’t believe we ever reconcile a mother going home with empty arms, no matter how monstrous we become.”

“Monstrous,” I breathed, chuckling humorlessly. “Is that what happens?”

“You tell me.” The weight of his stare had me turning to look at him for the first time, my gaze scraping over the fatigue carved into every pinched line of his face. He looked like shit. Beautiful as always, but tragic in his exhaustion. “I owe you an apology, sunshine.”

“What the hell happened to you?”