He’d spent his war funds building and renovating the perfect, quaint home for them, far away from the reaches of the politics of wartime’s end. The night they moved in, Izsak danced with Elizabeta across the rocky landscape, marveling with her at the beauty of a smokeless sky.
“I am sorry”—this time Jericho’s words were not to those who currently stood before him but those who had once stood before him and his conductor. “I am sorry.”
As soon as he blew out the smoke, he felt it. He felt awake. Sharp. Alert. More so than he had felt before. A drop of vitae for this sort of feeling. Incredible.
“See. I told you.”
The colonel took back the v-cig, his lips pulling up into a smile.
There it was. That sound that rang out in her dreams. That sound that had only become louder and louder since she’d overridden Werner in the capital of Capricorn. A calling.
The bells.
“Two children,” Jericho replied, “one boulder.”
“Wha—it’s ‘two birds, one stone,’” Olive corrected, doing a double-take. “Jericho, where… did you even hear that version from? It sounds like the headline for a morbid breaking news article…”
Jericho had seemed to think on it.
Scorpio smiles at this and turns on his heels. “Well, it’s a good thing that you’re on our side then, isn’t it?” He waves a tired hand. “Take care of yourself, Leo. You know what they say about shining stars.”
In exchange for the loss of control, however, he had gained things he held close and things he would never relinquish: his pride in Olive and Cadence, the companionship he found in Atienna and Jericho, and the ease he found in Maria. Regardless, the slipping feeling remained.
She countered it with —What of them? She would simply pound them into submission, conquer them, or make them her own. She could do this because she was strong. This world was hers, and she had absolute control of it. Yes.
Nico tilted Werner’s chin up slightly as he leaned in even closer—but his eyes were not trained on the tattoo. Rather, they were trained on Werner’s own eyes.
“Even if something is burnt to the ground, it still can be rebuilt as long as there’s at least one person willing to rebuild it.” Izsak pulled away from the railings and reached for him. “Let’s just say I recognize that look in your eye.”
Leona regarded him. “But rest assured. Afterwards, you will still be you.”
That last bit was surely a lie. But it sounded like she believed it wholeheartedly.
But it being an impossible fix wasn’t possible, Maria had thought then and even now—because she could do anything. Impossible was something to be broken by the strong. So… why could she not yet been able to conquer this pain that they felt?
Was it then?
The Conta who had returned to the ship on that day they were to depart from the Twin Cities all those weeks ago—had that not been her Conta?
No, no. Maria would’ve noticed if it wasn’t her Conta. She would’ve.
Why hadn’t she noticed?
“Although you’ve left ELPIS, you’re still after us—still with us—because you’re unable to find anything beyond us. Nothing afterwards. Because you know we’re right. I’m sure you’ve already realized that even without dying, you’re already close to becoming nothingness.”
Even now, she didn’t see a monster, a deity beyond her comprehension, a monument to be worshipped and feared, nor a harbinger. All she saw was Wtorek Csilla. Csilla. Her and Izsak’s little star. It was all she had left.
“Yes, that’s not so bad. There’s hope in that. And hope is all that is needed. For them. Perhaps not in your viewpoint but in ours—rather, mine. But still that seems too easy…”
“What the hell is he talkin’ about,” Carl whispered beside him.
No more Otto. No more ELPIS. No more Scorpio. No protect, protect, protect. The weight of the pocket watch hanging at his chest was gone too. Nothing existed here except absolute, wonderful, controlled silence.