Page 396 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“All men are products of their associations, their circumstances, and the books they read.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“What is it, exactly, you want me to say, sunspot?”

“This war…” I shook my head. “Your role with us?”

“Only a fool divulges information that could condemn him.”

“To me or to Moros?”

“Does it matter?”

“How could it not?”

I flicked off the faucet, turning to find his arm already waiting. Reluctantly, I accepted the offering. Voice solemn, he announced, “Mankind has fallen.”

I scowled. “So, we’re to fall with them?”

Only the soft pad of our footsteps over the flooring filled the space, my labored breathing growing more haggard by the time he lowered me back onto his bed.

“It seems even the best intentions do little to shape plans when prophecy is at stake.”

“What does that mean?” I whined, not even ashamed as my head drooped onto the pillow.

“There were alternate threads, but Agamemnon cut them short.”

“Threads that you wanted?”

“A merciful man would’ve.”

“You are the most infuriating creature!” I snapped, eyes flying wide to find him smirking where he leaned against the arm of the chair beside his bed. “Can you cut the shit, please? I don’t believe you.”

“In what regard?”

“You are not your brother.”

“I’ve never claimed to be.”

“But you act it—you act as though this is all divine. You treat me like trash in front of your people, and like… like…”

“Bellamy,” he finished. “Behind closed doors.”

“Yes!” I screeched. “And it hurts. If your goal is to torment me, you’ve fucking accomplished it.”

“That was never my goal, Blythe.”

“Then talk to me.”

“I am.”

“Honestly!”

“That definition may vary from one soul to another.”

“God, I want to throttle you.”

“You’re not alone in that.”