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Erik.
SEVENTEEN
I CAN’T MOVE UNTIL THE FINAL PIECES of the room settle into place. Erik is real. Erik is here.
He takes a cautious step toward me.
This time I manage to say his name. “Erik?”
He races forward and unlatches my cuffs, pulling me up and into a tight hug. But before I can even enjoy it, he releases me.
I don’t know where we are or how I’ve gotten here. The chamber is silent and abnormally cold. These facts collect in my mind but they don’t add up to anything.
“Follow me.” It’s little more than a command, and for a moment I’m frozen to the spot. But when he walks out of the room, I go after him despite the shock and confusion warring within me.
I step out into an office. No, not exactly an office. More like a large meeting room dimly lit by lamps and handlights. Before I can react, Valery throws her arms around me.
“They did it,” she says in a breathless voice.
I’m not entirely sure who they are or what they did or how it happened, but I nod as she clasps my hands in her own. She looks the same, but she’s free of cosmetics and her black hair is cropped to her chin.
“Do you like it?” she asks, fluffing her bob.
“Yes. It suits you.” The whole conversation is surreal. The last time I saw Valery she’d admitted that she betrayed us on Alcatraz, but now she is here. That doesn’t exactly explain where here is, though.
“Get those off.” She points to my gloves.
It takes a moment for the suggestion to process, but when it does, I rip them from my sweaty hands and throw them to the floor.
“Thanks,” I say to her over a lump in my throat as it begins to settle in that I’m free.
A dozen people gather around a table, poring over blueprints of some sort, and when a man stands up to leave, I see them.
Dante and Jost.
They’re both here.
“Where are we?” I ask Erik, grabbing his arm. He removes my hand quickly but I don’t think I’m imagining a gentle squeeze as he does it.
“We got her,” Erik calls out, and everyone stops to stare at me. There are a few cheers. Some eye me with curiosity. Others look unimpressed. But all that matters is the gr
in that splits across Dante’s face, because for a moment I feel like I’ve come home.
He strides forward and grabs me by the shoulders. He’s still wearing the jeans and shirt he wore to Alcatraz, and he looks tired.
“You look different,” he says.
“I’ve been busy preparing to become Cormac’s little woman,” I say, but I can barely focus on what he’s saying to me. I’m too busy scanning the room, trying to process the incredible shift in my circumstances. Not even an hour ago I was on the way to my wedding, and now I’m here—wherever this is.
“But you aren’t married?” Erik asks, and I think I hear a tinge of anxiety in his tone.
“No, I’m not.”
“Thank Arras. I was worried we missed the blessed event,” Dante says.
“Were you hoping to give me away?” I ask.
“I was planning to object.”
