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Chapter Seventeen
The Key
Our escape was a blur. Logan’s team had rushed us from the building so quickly, so expertly, that I hadn’t even had time to process it. They’d found Aern—reached him via cellphone where he’d been fighting with a small band of Morgan’s men—and he and Emily were unharmed, heading for the Council buildings to meet us. Logan had me wrapped in a blanket, pulled tight against him as we rode in the back of a large SUV. Neither of us cared that two of his men were in the seats ahead of us.
He squeezed my fingers in his, stroking the back of my hand with a thumb, his other arm around me. My palm was filthy, covered in dirt and rust-colored blood, but I wasn’t about to take it out of his hand. Raw, red lines marked my wrists, skin torn in bloody bands through the tattoos that marked me chosen. Unable to look at it, my gaze trailed over Logan’s strong hands, smudged and dirty in their own right. And then I realized it was his own blood.
“Logan,” I breathed, sitting up to face him, “you’re hurt.”
He shook his head, trying to pull me back to him, but I saw his face then, the scratches, the thin line of a cut running into the collar of his shirt. My stomach turned at the sight of it, but not because it was life-threatening. Because all this time, all the hours we’d spent together, I’d not protected him. My eyes found the scar at his temple, the faint line disappearing into his hair I’d noticed days ago, and I winced, brushing a finger over the wound with the barest of touch.
He saw the pain in my face and took my hand in his. “Brianna, I’m fine.”
“No,” I whispered. “Logan, I’m so sorry.”
I laid eyes on the wound on his neck and he knew my intention. He placed his palm against my cheek, turning my gaze to face him. “I’m fine, Brianna. Save your strength.”
My chest squeezed at his words, his touch. It was as if I’d forgotten to help him, to let him heal faster the way I’d done with the others. I knew why. I’d been afraid to truly be with him, to connect with him. Because he’d been the one in the vision. My one. He pulled me back down to hold me, and I allowed it, but I wouldn’t save my strength for something else, I wouldn’t risk him again. I laid my palm against his, searching for the connections to repair Logan’s power. It was the one thing I could give him.
Because of what I was.
If he noticed the tingle or the warmth in his palm, he didn’t mention it, but the change had definitely taken effect, because by the time we reached the Council buildings, both of us were completely asleep.
“Brianna,” Emily yelled from the open door of the SUV. I jolted and Logan tensed beneath me. Emily held a hand to her chest. “What is it with you people?”
A half-laugh escaped as I moved for her, hating that we’d scared her by looking so motionless, but deliriously happy to see her safe. I stumbled out of the vehicle, Emily, Logan, and two guards all reaching to steady me, and wrapped her in a hug. It was more than being glad we were okay. It was the letter.
Emily had read it, too; I could see it in her eyes, feel it in her grip. She had known that other language and Logan would have given her the only clue, the pages I’d left in his room when I went missing.
I pulled back, staring into her eyes, willing her to be okay, and she said, “Well, it’s good to finally know.”
I smiled. She hated being made to find the good in every situation. “Yes, there’s that,” I said.
Logan took my elbow. “Let’s get you inside.”
They escorted me to a room, where food and water, a clean wardrobe, and anything they could think of that I’d possibly need waited for me. However, there was one thing missing. I turned to Emily. “Is Aern hurt?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “He’ll be fine, Brianna. He’s just sleeping.”
“Was it bad?” I asked, knowing there was only one reason he’d be asleep in the middle of the morning.
She bit her lip. “It wasn’t good, exactly. But,” she glanced at Logan, back to me, “he’s healing really fast, Bri.”
I didn’t say anything. That was how it worked, wasn’t it. Just like Morgan, the powers he’d received from our mother. She’d only made the connections, they’d had to be used, strengthened. The last time he’d shown up to attack, he’d turned Division men without as much as a glance.
But it didn’t matter anymore. Because we knew what Emily could do. She had the power to break those bonds. She could shut down their gifts.
All I had to do was figure out how. To find a way, let her use it.
“And what happened at Southmont?” I asked. “Who else was hurt?”
“There was a lot of damage to the lower levels,” Logan said. “The first blast was dulled by the reinforced walls they installed a year ago. Fortunately, it served as a warning and got most of us moving before the next run of them.”
Logan had apparently been protected by one of those walls, and had returned to his room in time for the second blast, the one that had thrown me into a wall, to find six of Morgan’s men waiting for him. He’d been lucky to get out before that wing collapsed.
“And the fire,” Emily added.
“Yes,” Logan said, his gaze sliding away briefly. “The final detonation ignited the estate. But most of the Division men escaped with their lives.”
