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He’s not the Cormac who picked me up on my retrieval night. That Cormac did what he thought was right for the greater good, even if his perception of what was best was warped. He’s incapable of logic or consideration. He can’t see anything but shades of gray.
And that makes him a danger to everyone.
Before I can react, a piece of the weave appears on the loom. In comparison to the protocol sirens blaring through the room, the blinking red proximity alert seems weak and inconsequential. But that doesn’t mean it’s not more dangerous.
“I’ve pulled the weave of this room onto the loom,” he says with a smile.
And there it is. We’re laid out in front of him and all it would take to destroy us is one careful sweep, if he has the talent for it. Could he have had that spliced into him or is he too arrogant to see he lacks it?
Without precision, he’ll just take out the entire room. That would end the threat of Cormac, but it wouldn’t solve our bigger problem. Arras is full of men too old and too set in their ways to change course. Another corrupt leader will simply rise in Cormac’s place—and another and another. Perhaps it won’t be any different on Earth if we evacuate, but at least we won’t face the possibility of a singularity that could wipe humankind from existence.
Cormac picks up the PTD Jax gave me and presses the com button.
“You guys okay?” Jax’s voice crackles over the speaker, and my heart sinks.
“It’s a trap!” I yell, but it’s too late. Cormac already knows where he is—now he wants to play with his prey.
“Adelice and I were visiting,” Cormac says into the PTD. “You’ve been a busy bee.”
“It’s too late,” Jax says. “I’ve locked the evacuation protocol and reopened communication channels between sectors. They know what you’ve done.”
“Do you think they’ll take the word of a rebel?” Cormac asks, practically screaming into the PTD.
“They won’t have to,” he says. “Loricel sent the communiqué.”
Cormac curses into the PTD and drops it onto the floor. “Screen,” he barks.
A wall screen bursts to life over us.
“I want you to see this,” he seethes. “I don’t know who your friend is. He must be quite bright to have breached our entire system.”
“He is,” I say, “and he’s a better man than you.”
“How touching,” Cormac says. He barks a coordinate to the screen and the security stream for that section of the guild offices projects above us. Jax is moving quickly, checking over his shoulder. I want to yell at him, but I know it doesn’t matter. He can’t hear me, and even if he could it wouldn’t matter anyway. Cormac knows where he is. Cormac has a loom.
Cormac can weave, which means Cormac can rip.
My stomach turns over and shoots bile into my throat, but I swallow it down as Cormac returns to the loom and hesitates for a moment, staring at the brilliant tapestry laid before him.
“What’s he looking at?” Dante asks. “It’s a tangled mess.”
I’m somewhat surprised Dante can’t see it clearly for himself, but the minute differences between a Spinster and a Tailor have always surprised me. “It’s here,” I say, “he has this building on the loom.”
Dante’s eyes fly to the screen and he struggles against the rope binding him to the chair. Jax is his best friend and he can do nothing to warn him.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say to Cormac. “Everyone in Arras is evacuating. Come with us. Start over on Earth.”
He ignores me, turning a gear to zoom in on the image.
“Go home,” I add softly.
“I have no home,” Cormac says, turning his attention from the loom for a moment and buying Jax a few more precious seconds. “You’ve destroyed it.”
“Arras was never a home,” I say. “It was a lie. It’s time to let it go. What’s the pass code for Protocol Three?”
“So that’s why you’ve come,” he says with a laugh. “So that Cormac Patton can betray Arras.”
“No, I came to give you a chance at redemption,” I say. “If Arras isn’t unraveled, both worlds will be erased from existence. You have the power to stop it. You can be the hero.”
