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“We can come with you,” insists Adrienne, but I lay a hand on her shoulder.
“She’ll be faster without us,” I say. I have a better chance of keeping up with her speed with my half-vampire side, but there’s no way I’m leaving Adrienne here alone.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” says Anya before disappearing through the trees.
The silence feels thicker in her absence. Adrienne diligently watches the protest, her eyes flicking back and forth with every movement below.
My heart beats a little faster in my chest as I watch her. I’ve been meaning to talk to her ever since that speech of hers, but it’s never felt like the right time. Especially since we haven’t had a chance to be alone.
“Adrienne,” I blurt before I can talk myself out of it. “I’m really sorry.”
She blinks up at me in surprise. “For what?”
“The things you said in Cam’s room…”
“I—Valerie, I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to show you that I could convince Westcott—”
“I know, I know. But you were also right. I wasn’t there for you after Calla, and I should’ve been. I should’ve tried harder.”
To be honest, I don’t remember much from those first few months after it happened. Mom was AWOL, and Kirby and Monroe were trying to be all sincere and get me to talk about my feelings, which I had no interest in doing, so I latched on to Avery and her older friends. That summer was full of smoking and drinking and numbing until I didn’t have to feel like a person anymore. I can’t even recall a single conversation Adrienne and I had during that time, if there were any.
My stomach sinks as something occurs to me. No wonder she’d been so hypervigilant when I started spiraling after the attack on the tarmac. It was a side of me she was already too familiar with. The version who shuts down and forgets anyone else exists.
She doesn’t say anything for what feels like a long time, just goes back to watching the crowd below. But then quietly, she says, “We were all doing the best we could. And it’s not all your fault, Valerie. I didn’t let you be there. I needed someone to blame, and I couldn’t be mad at Calla because she was dead, so you were the next best thing. And that wasn’t fair.”
I step up beside her, my gaze trained on the protest. Cam has completely disappeared within their midst now. I take her hand in mine and squeeze.
“I won’t ever check out on you like that again. I promise.”
Her eyes are wide and vulnerable when she turns to me, but as she opens her mouth to respond, the trees behind us rustle, and then Anya reappears.
“Something’s wrong,” she says breathlessly.
Two security guards are attaching chains to the posts on the stage and yanking on them to ensure they’re strong enough.
My heart stops in my chest. Is this happening rightnow?
“We have to do something,” I say.
“I know you’re out there!” The compound door bursts open, and out flows a stream of people led by the man of the hour. Even with how far away he is, I can picture the look on Westcott’s face perfectly. The smug smile. That dark glint in his eyes when he thinks he’s won.
I suck in a sharp breath, every muscle in my body going rigid as he drags Kirby along by her hair, yanking her onto the platform and leading her to the first post. Calla is behind him, pulling Monroe. More of his guards continue the trend, bringing Daniel, Leif, Saint, Jones, Wes, Avery, Feddei, and Reid onto the structure, along with Kirby’s and Wes’s partners. I eye the remaining post.
“Oh my God,” Adrienne breathes as the door flies open a second time, and two guards drag Rosemarie Darkmore behind them.
She’s thinner than I’ve ever seen her and covered in dirt, her hair a tangled mess around her shoulders. But still, she fights. She clearly has no intention of making this easy for them as she kicks and thrashes in their arms, all the way up to the moment they chain her to the final post, then she spits on the guards’ faces before they can walk away.
“Calla,” Adrienne murmurs, her voice wobbling.
Westcott stands at the front of the platform now like he’s preparing to address the crowd, and Calla stands calmly at his side, her arms crossed in front of her body.
It’s such a stark contrast between her and the others—fresh clothes, clean skin. Very clearly not a prisoner.
Adrienne lets out a choked sob beside me as she comes to the same conclusion. “She couldn’t do it,” she whispers. “That’s not her.”
The anguish is sharp and deep. I take Adrienne’s hand in mine again, offering what little comfort I can. Because the grief is twofold. Mourning the loss of her now, and when we’ll inevitably have to kill her along with Westcott. Because if Calla hasn’t broken through now, she’s not going to. All that’s left inside is Popi.
“I know you’re out there, Valerie!” Westcott calls, but the crowd doesn’t quiet. “I hope you know you’re the reason it’s come to this.” He paces along the edge as he speaks, his movements manic and nonsensical.
