Part Four

CHAPTER 51

Tarrah

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Alarms ripped her consciousness from the vision. The sound reverberated through her ears, rattling her brittle brain. Her head pounded with the screech, her temples threatening to crack. The room's lights were off, or maybe out, but a piercing flash of light pulsed from a ceiling console. The same kind of light joined in from outside her obscured internal window. Her outside window was obscured by snow.

Shadows darted across the blinds—people rushing by. Was the building on fire? She couldn't smell smoke. The machines still reported her vitals, and she still had her IV in. The sound wailed and she kept her fingers jammed into her ears. The sound was so jarring she kicked off her blanket and swung her legs over the edge of her bed, ready to find someone and beg them to make the noise stop. It had only been an hour since she was last awake, and less importantly, present. Then she remembered the last flashes of her vision. John calling his wife—the woman who experimented on people like their friend, Azami—Mrs. Benson. Doctor Benson.

Shit. She had to get out of here. It didn't matter what her role was in all of this, she wasn't going to oppose John and the others by letting Dr. Benson have her way. She ripped off the nodes and IV, reaching over to silence the machine as it rang out an alert. Not that anyone could hear it over the intermittent wail of the alarms.

The world spun as she tested her weight on her legs, staring at the door like it might come to her instead of the other way around. Come on body, work with me here. She leaned against the bed, letting her equilibrium reset. Two steps towards the door and her breathing labored. She reached the door handle and darkness encroached around the edges of her sight.

No, no, no. She couldn't pass out, not here. She had to get out of here. She stumbled back. If she could warn Emerson and the others it would give her life a glimmer of meaning. It would make up for being the cause of their problems. For enabling her monster of a doctor to continue her work. It was okay if she didn't live, she'd made a kind of peace with that. But she wouldn't harm others. She couldn't.

As she knocked into the rolling desk, her body turned curiously light. The fatigue disappeared, as did the ache in her muscles. Endorphins trickled down her spine in pleasurable tingles. Shit. Seriously?

The floor hit her. No wait, she'd fallen. Warmth pressed down until she was only vaguely aware of the cool tile against her side and cheek. She was a bit hungry, which was an odd thought to have while her vision swam out of focus.

Someone called her name. Well, she'd tried to do the right thing. At this rate, her only true escape would be death.

Bugger it all.

CHAPTER 52

John

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John kept his composure, his mask in hand—no point trying to hide anymore. He strode off stage with the same swagger he’d entered with, pretending that he couldn't hear the spreading wildfire of whispers erupting across the masked crowd. Aubrey followed him out of the light and off the stage to where Henry stood nearby, arms crossed, and a glower stuck on his face.

This would have happened one way or another. He needed to control how the information broke and how it would be perceived as best he could. But knowing that this was the right move and making it were two horribly different things. The churning in his stomach only increased as he stood with Aubrey in the shadows. His palms felt slick and cold, and he wanted to sit down.

Licia had soaked him in emotions before, but he'd known they weren't his. That tiny bit of awareness kept him going, making his own choices, agreeing away his freedom. These emotions weren't like that. The panic and pain he felt were wholly his—and he deserved them.

Still, he could use this, spin it to make him appear more sympathetic, draw more fans. Even curiosities have an audience. Or he'd become a target. He didn’t want a repeat of his final show and more bruises like the one deepening on his shoulder.

“That wasn't exactly as I'd hoped, but it's acceptable.” Aubrey squared her thin shoulders and presented him the divorce papers rolled up like she was about to swat a fly. John opened them, double checking the signatures, then tucked them back into his costume. It was a small win, but one he hoped would have a big impact with Emerson. If he could prove that he was more than a self-obsessed sex addict, he might have a chance at redemption. Part of him knew that was foolish, though.

Aubrey licked her lips, though not suggestively. “We'll need to meet with our lawyers to divide our assets before we can schedule a hearing. I believe I'm entitled to some of the persona I helped you to build, Jayden.”

He cringed at his old name. The desire to shoulder past her, knocking her back and out of his life for good, was so tempting, but he wasn't done with her just because she signed his petition.

She seemed to read a response from his silence and said, “I have an opening on Tuesday. We can finish the paperwork and discuss your role with the patients. You can see for yourself what we're doing. Hell, test the Jammers on yourself. See how it feels to know someone is attracted to you and not your pheromones.”

A sad smile touched his lips. He already knew what that was like, and he'd taken him for granted. All he could do was keep moving forward, keep proving he wasn't a lost cause to the other Ferly by saving that girl.

“Tuesday should be fine.” It was time to finish this. Not just their marriage, but her work and UHP.

Aubrey's eyebrows rose in either surprise or interest, it was hard to tell with her. “Here's my card. Text me a time, and I'll text you a place.”

He slid it from her fingers, careful not to touch her. Last thing he needed was Aubrey remembering the direct taste of his vibe. He distanced himself from her immediately, rushing by Henry at the partition. The cluster of people beyond noticed him and backed up. Their masks hid expressions, but not their body language. They turned away. Moved away. The rejection was a blade between his ribs, aiming for his heart. Beyond the staring crowd there was a human shadow who didn't slink away. Instead, she drew up close.

“Let's get out of here,” John said, not looking at Licia or Henry. He briefly introduced them to each other, though they only nodded in acknowledgement. He could imagine Henry’s anger and perhaps his disgust. Licia didn’t say anything but matched John’s step as they aimed for the nearest exit with Henry close behind. A familiar fluid movement caught his eye.

“What the fuck.” Prisha was suddenly in front of him, seeming to coalesce into existence rather than slip into his path. Shit. He'd forgotten all about her. She’d heard... everything. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her to—he wasn't exactly sure what. Forgive him? Accept him?

“Prish, I—”

She jabbed his shoulders back, the light push knocking him entirely off balance. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Henry reached out, but John caught himself and waved him off, then he cowered from Prisha’s wrath. “Can we talk about this later? Or at least outside?”

“You bet your ass we're going to talk about this. I'm your best friend. You're supposed to tell me this kind of shit. But fine.” She took his arm and led him towards the exit. She noticed Licia following. “Who's your masked sidekick?” Prisha, willowy, strong, and six feet tall, seemed like a giant goddess next to Licia's five-foot-three wiry stature.

John wanted to be anywhere but here and kept walking. “That's Licia.”

“Cheers.” Prisha nodded at her quick in recognition, then said, “I knew you were insatiable, but you could have told me your just-a-friend wanted in on this.” Prisha’s voice held concealed resentment beneath her humor.

“I brought myself.” Licia answered. “Just keep moving.”

The people they neared stepped back, creating a path in the crowd. Security hovered, tailing them across the room, but Henry kept a buffer. All heads turned their way. All eyes trained on John as he kept his shoulders back and head up.

They left the grand ballroom through a side door and into a glamorous hallway paneled in wood. This was nothing; he'd get a handle on this and spin it. Damnit, but he'd need help from his PR team—if they could accept what he was.

Getting through the hotel wasn't a problem but getting outside was. Paparazzi and press swarmed the building like raptors, testing the entrances for weakness. Inside the lobby, a camera clicked repeatedly. John spotted the half-hidden paparazzo: a young woman with bright pink hair hiding behind a ficus tree—not the best for covert photography. The hair or the tree.

“Shit.” John nodded towards her for Prisha's benefit, as did Henry. Prisha lurched towards the girl, her body a blur of movement, but before she reached her, the pink-haired woman sank to the ground with a vacant stare.

“I've got this. You two get out.” Licia nodded at them. Prisha stared at Licia, her brow scrunched as she struggled to make the connection between Licia and the girl's reaction.

“Like we're leaving you behind,” Prisha scoffed and shook herself. “They'll crush your tiny bones. We’ll get my car and get out of here.”

“The Plaza's parking is off site.” John reminded her.

“Shit. Right. Henry—”

“On it.” He charged off at full speed.

She pulled out her phone and started typing while moving towards the north exit. John and Licia struggled to keep up with her long legs. A crowd clustered outside on 59th. More cameras. So many cameras. Another time he’d have been thrilled, but not tonight. Prisha changed directions without missing a beat. “I messaged Henry to bring my car to the entrance off Grand Army Plaza. Come on.”

Prisha seemed to know where she was going, so John kept with her, and Licia kept with him. They transitioned from the hotel maze to a series of high-end shops. John felt totally exposed, but none of the shoppers did more than compliment their costumes. Beside him, Licia focused ahead, a strand of her disinterest touching him, but not forcing him to look away. Her gaze didn’t wander from the end goal of the doors. The three of them spilled outside.

A crowd of paparazzi and press spotted them. Licia took a sharp breath.

He brushed her sleeve with his hand. “It's okay. This was bound to happen. Stay close.” He let Prisha lead them through the cluster.

“Mr. Beechum! Is it true? What are your powers?”

“John, John! How long have you been Abnormal?”

“Ms. Devi, are you and John dating? What's it like to sleep with an Abnormal?”

Prisha skirted through the crowd, knocking into cameras with too much precision to be accidental. John tried to keep up. He lost track of Licia as she lagged.

The crowd pressed in. Someone banged into his bruised shoulder and sent him off balance. He hissed against the pain. Voices blended into a din of unrecognizable noise. Unwashed bodies and his own nervous sweat filled his nose. Where was Licia? He couldn't see Prisha anymore, either. Fucking hell, this was all going wrong.

“Licia! Prish!” John shouted but doubted either of them could hear him. People pressed in on all sides even as he pressed forward towards the street. He couldn't believe he’d missed being the center of this kind of madness, though he'd never wanted to be in the tabloids for something like this.

The noise level dimmed to his right, and a couple people cried out to his left. He followed the cries. Prisha! She maneuvered back through the crowd, conveniently tripping and nudging photographers out of her way like toppling dominoes. From the right, everyone stepped back and away as Licia walked straight through what had been chaos moments before. She rubbed her temple with a half squint, waving John on towards Prisha. The crowd continued to back away as Licia followed. Prisha took John's arm and dragged him off towards the red Porsche pulling up.

“Pick up the pace, shorty!” Prisha lobbed back at Licia with teasing urgency.

“Please don't antagonize her,” John said, slightly out of breath. If there was ever a time for Prisha to be less Prisha, this might have been it.

Prisha snagged the key from Henry as he stepped out from the driver’s seat and ducked into the back.  

“Get the fuck in ass-chaser,” Prisha said to John.

John lurched the front seat forward and all but shoved Licia in the back with Henry, ignoring his usual caution touching her. Then he jumped in as Prisha turned the engine and hit the gas.

“Where to?” Prisha asked.

“My place.”

“They’ll be expecting that,” Henry cautioned.

“Stay with me,” Prisha offered as she slowed to avoid a pedestrian crossing the street towards the fountain.

“Can't. Others are staying with me. I have to get to them.” John checked the rear-view mirror and saw Licia curl her knees into her chest and rub her temples.

Prisha seemed to chew on her words. “It's true then? You're really one of them?” She merged onto the street, jumping the curb and swearing.

“Yeah, it's true.”

“Fuck. You should have told me.” Unlike earlier, there was no frustration and anger in her voice, just sadness.

John checked back on Licia. She'd said she loved him. He loved her, too. Then there was Prisha behind the wheel and he had this overwhelming need to have her look at him. To be seen. If he could beg for her acceptance, he would. The why of it didn't matter. It didn't make sense, but he needed her in a different way than he needed anyone else. “I was afraid I'd lose you, too.”

Prisha swore and slowed to a stop at a red light. “You are a short-sighted owl just slamming into windows all over the place. For Shift’s sake you asshole, I'm your best gods-damned friend. You aren't going to lose me over this. Plus, the sex is too good to give you up. What were you thinking, though? Why would you out yourself to the world at a stupid gala you didn’t even want to attend in the first place?” The light turned green and Prisha sank her foot on the gas, lurching them onward.

John took off his vest and fluffed his hair out from the wig now that they were through with the gala, knowing he must look ridiculous but not caring. “UHP already knew. I couldn't let them blackmail me. Just drop us off. Don't contact me. Don't support the Abnormals, not yet. Keep your head low. Promise me.”

“They saw me run out with you.”

“Say you were confused, you thought it was a stunt—throw me under the bus. Whatever it takes.”

“John, wait. I have to—”

“Promise me.”

Prisha waited for the gate to scan her entry code, then pulled into the parking structure of his condo. “I don't think I can make that promise.” Her expression turned pensive as she parked.

John got out and pulled the seat forward so Licia could clamber out. He ducked halfway back into the car so Prisha could see how serious he was.

“Promise me,” he repeated. “I have to know you're safe. I don't know how this will play out. Please don't cut your feet walking through my shattered reputation.”

She closed her mouth into a thin, petulant line and nodded. “Promise,” she whispered.

“Glad you think the sex is good.”

“Oh, shove off.” She revved the engine and pulled away.

CHAPTER 53

John

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There was a stillness inside the condo that pressed in on John until his ribs squeezed. He could practically feel their held breaths as he and Licia walked through the foyer doorway. Azami huddled on the couch, her face pale and devoid of expression. Glen steepled his fingers with a calculated intelligence behind his eyes, and Emerson...

“Where's Emerson?”

“He left,” Licia answered beside him.

Em left? But John had asked him to watch over Licia. Of course, if she wanted something there were very few things that could actually stop her, but he hadn't expected Emerson to just leave.

The TV flickered silently in the background. He caught his own face on the screen with a scrolling text bar that said: John Beechum announces he's Abnormal.

That's right. He’d announced it, no one else. That was his and he'd own it.

Glen stood and stepped past Azami, leaving her in her tortured bubble. Then he faced John eye to, well, chin since he was shorter, and said, “You should have told us that was part of your plan.”

John shook his head. “It wasn't.”

“They'll hunt me again.” Azami's words were hollow.

“Because they need you, at least that's the impression I got.” Glen's words were clipped.

John couldn't break through Azami's empty stare, but Licia crossed the living room and sat next to her, taking her hand and squeezing. Azami leaned into her shoulder. John had grown up alone, no siblings to fight with or love, but those two were like sisters. Completely different, unrelated, but perfectly suited and unbreakable. Glen seemed to chew on his tongue as he watched the two being close.

He could never let Glen know what Licia had admitted at the gala. None of them needed to know.

“I'm sorry it went down like this, but I needed to take control of the situation. Aubrey was ready to blackmail me. I had to take that option away.” Sort of, he mentally added. “And I had to let the others like us know that I chose this.”

“Not the best time to be noble.” Glen crossed his arms, his attention still on Licia.

“What's done is done,” Licia said, catching Glen's eye in challenge. Was she sticking up for John? He reeled knowing how she felt, except if she'd acted this way for who knows how long to keep him from knowing, then how would she act now?

“I wish you hadn't done this. They'll examine every relationship you have. They'll figure out why people are staying with you.” Glen shook his head like John was a child misbehaving. His phone rang then, the tune an old theme song from a cartoon John recognized but couldn't remember the name of. “Hello?” Glen answered, then sat down at Emerson's laptop and popped it open. He pinched the phone between his shoulder and ear and started typing. He paused and looked up at John, his expression unreadable.

Licia said, “Get cleaned up. You look ridiculous and you taste like salami about to turn.”

He made a face at that but realized his blend of emotions wasn't helping the situation. A moment to calm down would be good.

He washed his face and stripped out of the costume, donning the sweats and a day-old t-shirt from earlier. It took him less than ten minutes to change, but it was long enough that when he came back to the living room Licia was on her feet with Glen, and Azami had moved to the far corner of the couch.

“We have a problem,” Glen said.

“I'm aware.”

“No, a new one.” Licia stepped ahead and John paused a few feet back. Something in her stance made him feel on edge. Was she protecting the others from him?

“Arissa called.” Glen still held his phone in a tight grip. “I know you don't know much about her, but she works as a liaison between the D.C. headquarters and several local branches. She, uh, overheard a situation unfolding. They lost a patient.”

“Tarrah’s dead?” John twitched forward, but Licia blocked him. They were too late. Aubrey had gone too far, and he hadn't been able to stop her. It was his fault. Shit.

“No, sorry. Not like that, it seems UHP has a program operating out of one of Columbia University's locations, and it looks like Emerson has been seeing a doctor there for the past year. It wasn’t Aubrey, but I found her listed at the hospital under a pseudonym.”

Licia swore. “I knew I should have checked out the teaching program up there, but all this bullshit got in the way.” She kept swearing at herself.

John paled as buzzing filled his ears. Emerson had transferred doctors when they moved because of his thyroid condition. All he was doing was getting check-ups and adjustments to his meds. Every time he went, he came back with the tape on his arm and a complaint of new tests. They were taking his blood.

They knew what he was.

Cold earthworms wriggled in his belly. As confused as he was towards Licia, he glanced at her for strength. Licking tendrils latched onto his heart, quelling something ugly and painful as it clawed up his throat. He swallowed, waiting for the kicked nest of wasps in his head to settle.

“He's the other source for the Jammers,” Glen cleared his throat. “But he seems to have run out on his doctor with his files.”

“Do you think he—” he couldn't say it. Betrayed us.

Licia shook her head. “I haven’t tasted that level of deception from him. He's trying to bury some emotions, and they slip occasionally, but I don’t think they’re about this.”

He swallowed, realized his fist was so tight his arm shook, and then said, “We need to move on this before things get worse. My place isn't safe for any of you anymore. If you're seen with me there will be speculation.”

His declaration was met with silence, except everything inside him was too loud. The beating of his heart was a punch to the chest, knocking the breath from him, and all his thoughts were half-finished conspiracy theories. UHP. Emerson. Aubrey. Tarrah. He ran his hands over his face and hair.

Wherever Aubrey was, that’s where Tarrah would be. Now they finally knew where that was. They even had someone who knew the layout inside. All John had to do was get his friends somewhere safe, then he could free Tarrah and end this.

He was ready and suddenly so very tired.

“John.” Licia said his name so gently he almost didn't recognize it. It drew Glen's attention back to John as well, a touch of irritation to his expression. He was not in the mood for Glen's possessiveness.

The elevator dinged, the sound soft and cheery and enough to make the bottom drop out of John's belly as he spun.

Emerson didn't look up at them as he stepped through the foyer and into the living room. His gaze stuck miles away, much like Azami's.

Emerson glanced up and jumped to see everyone on their feet staring at him.

John's head became white noise. His heart was tired of this and ready to give up. Licia's coil around him slipped. He surged forward, moving without thought and grabbed Emerson's shirt collar. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to kiss him. He was all mixed up and so fucking lost.

CHAPTER 54

Emerson

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Emerson jumped when he noticed the room staring at him. Did they know he'd been feeding UHP exactly what it needed for the better part of a year?

He’d done this to them.

The entire ride home, all Emerson could think about were the people harmed because he'd been too stupid to realize his doctor was shady as fuck. He was to blame for the success of the pills, which led to UHP openly admitting that Abnormals existed. There was no seeking forgiveness for that, but he’d brought the proof they needed to build a case against UHP. He grabbed every bit of paper he could get out of there with, including most of his file. But now he could see the pain he'd caused them all. Betrayal laced their expressions.

He dared look at John, who's lips were a thin line, his body tight and electric.

John rushed forward, his hand harsh as he ripped at Emerson's collar, their faces close enough that Emerson could see every line of uncertainty around his mouth and eyes. Yes, he thought, hit me. Punish me... kiss me.

Then his training instinct took over and he side-stepped, twisting John's hold so he was forced to release him and then trapped his wrists. Emerson held tight, not so hard to bruise, but not soft enough for him to break free. John didn't try to escape, not really. He struggled against his hold, exhausting his stamina, but Emerson's muscles only strengthened as he accidentally drank from John's vital energy.

Then, because he was already one of the monsters, Emerson opened the hollow intentionally, taking from John until he stopped fighting. John's breathing settled. Emerson released his hold.

Now that he wasn't focused on John, he saw that everyone in the room had tensed with knowing in their eyes.

“You’re already aware, then,” Emerson said to the room, rather than anyone specific. John bent over with his hands on his knees. He shook a little. Perhaps Emerson had drained too much from him.

“Did you know?” John's rasping voice scraped through the quiet room. “Is this why you have so many blood draws? You're sending UHP what they need?”

He recoiled. “I didn't know they were using me. They took my blood a lot, but I thought... I'm sorry. I didn't know my doctor was working for them.”

“Whether you knew or not, your lack of judgement has screwed us.” Licia slid to the front of Glen and Azami, a whip of anger seeming to lash at Emerson’s raw chest. John spun between them, touching Licia's shoulder and forcing her to look at him.

Licia stilled, her eyes defrosting enough to flicker across John's face, searching for something that Emerson couldn't decipher. Then the weight of her anger eased back until Emerson felt like he was seeing clearly. Her power over him, even if he supposedly negated abilities, was terrifying. There were limits, probably, to what the hollow would eat, but her empathy was beyond him.

“I'm not going to doubt Em.”

A spark of hope lifted the dark fog from Emerson's heart. After everything, after doubting John for so long, accusing him of lies and betrayal... he was willing to believe Emerson just like that?

It took John a heavy moment to release Licia, then he turned to face him. “It would be so easy to play me. You could be working with Aubrey against me, but I don't believe that. For one, you're not that great of an actor. I would know.” John slid him a sly little smile, something soft and private between them.

Emerson's heart beat a strange pattern, one that nearly had him reaching out to John, but he stopped himself.

“I'm not playing you. Any of you.” It was hard to swallow, and his eyes stung, but he kept his composure. Now wasn't the time to crumble. He and John were the same. Linked by the horrors they never meant to start. Emerson's head hurt, his heart ached, and all he wanted was to hold John and apologize for everything. Everything.

John slid his fingers through his hair, letting go of a deep breath. “I want everyone”—John's attention hit Emerson then flitted away—”to find somewhere safe to hole up outside of the condo until we know what tonight will trigger.”

“Sounds like something happened at the gala?” Emerson pressed his mouth shut when they all looked at him like a kid in the corner eating paste.

“I'll fill you in, but first, I have a plan. We're going to break Tarrah out—on Tuesday.”

CHAPTER 55

Licia

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Licia shoved her black wad of clothes into the duffel, including her threadbare hoodie. It was supposed to snow soon, and it wouldn’t be enough to keep her warm. Her toiletries were piled in the corner of John's bathroom counter. She swept them up and dumped them in the remaining space at the top of the bag. She was done with this place.

Everyone was going to follow her to her new shop and crash. She'd only gotten the keys on Friday and now they were all moving in? The place was filthy, and she hadn't even set up the utilities in her other name yet. The first order of tea was on its way, but the construction crew wasn't due to start until Wednesday to install the counter and sinks. Unlike in Boston, there was no convenient studio above the shop. She'd planned to convert the back office into a living quarters of sorts, but none of that was ready.

She wasn't ready for this. For them. For John to go out and make stupid proclamations about being some ridiculous Ferly—that term was absurd—and expect her to roll with it. The only reason he kept his cool at all was because she held him in check. Now she was expected to follow along with his plans like an infatuated fool. Clearly, she'd have to remake the boundaries between them.

Why did she have to go and admit how she felt? They were both better off pretending nothing was between them.

The bedroom door whooshed open and she stilled. John filled the doorway, watching as she stopped mid-shove to force the bag to zip closed.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his eyes cast low. “I couldn't let Aubrey be in control.”

“That's what you're sorry about? You shouldn't have let her manipulate you like that,” Licia half-growled the words.

“What?” John pushed off the door jamb and shut the door. The others were likewise packing their things, getting ready for a mass exodus to her damn place instead. She shouldn't have taken a lease. She should have packed up and tried a different country altogether.

Licia forced the zipper closed with a yank that nearly took her shoulder out. “You came out because she wanted you to. You always cave to her and I'll never understand it.”

John's eyes went wide. “No. No! That's not it at all. If this information is released from another source, I'll never be credible to the other Ferly.”

“That's a stupid name for us,” Licia snapped back, not interested in his excuses. She swung her bag over her shoulder and pushed towards the door, but he blocked her.

“Wait. Licia, I'm sorry that's what you thought was happening, but I couldn't let her have you.”

“This isn't about me.”

John raised a hand to her cheek. She looked away but didn't stop his touch. The rush of warmth and excitement at his direct contact made her both thrilled and frustrated beyond belief. She knew better than to let him get this close. Boundaries. Yet, even after proving he didn't trust her, she still couldn't block out her feelings.

“After we free Tarrah, stay with us.”

Licia crossed her arms and stuck out her hip, moving enough to break their contact. She kept her walls up so he wouldn't get a taste of her horrible longing. “What for?”

“Because we... I... you know how I feel about you.” He tipped his head a little, a smile ghosting his lips.

“But you aren't in love with me now,” she said, and it felt like a bee stung her at the words. Stupid. She could taste that his feelings for her weren't what they used to be, not now that John was in love with Emerson and in something with Prisha. She’d known it since that night in the park when he’d yelled at Emerson that he didn’t love her. John may have thought he’d been lying that night, but she knew it wasn’t the same as before. She was wasting her time with this.

“I...” he hesitated. “Things are different, but I do still love you.”

“I don't want to love you.” Her voice was quieter than she intended.

John let out a loud breath. “I don't know what's going to happen with all of this. I don't know if Emerson and I are going to be okay. I don't know if I'm going to be pressured into some kind of deal with Aubrey that forces me to cut all my ties with everyone here but fuck your emotional avoidance. You feel what you feel. I feel what I feel. We can work with it.”

Licia tasted his sickly-sweet sincerity. “You and I will never be together.”

“If you approach it like that, then yeah. But if you just—”

“No, not because of how we feel.” It was time to get this out of her, to dissect her heart and remove the cancer that was John. “You break all my rules. I do things for you I'd never do for other people. I let you influence me and my choices and it’s bullshit. We're bad for each other. You have this reputation of being a lady-killer, a playboy, a sex god. There's no reality where you can be seen with a literal murderer. I run gangs, I sell drugs, I take people out, I launder the fuck out of money like you wouldn't believe. We. Don't. Work.” The extraction felt bittersweet with a touch of relief, and a lot of defeat.

John staggered a step back, like her words had been a physical blow.

As she watched his brow crease and his shoulders sag, she tasted his astonishment, his rejection, and even the slight hint of rubbing alcohol at his shame. Despite it all, she couldn't leave him with that being the final words they shared.

“John, I—” Fuck, words were hard. Fine, just once, she wouldn't use them.

She ditched her bag on his bed, then took his hands. He was so tall, so far out of her reach in more ways than one, so she tugged. He bent down, echoes of his hurt still bleeding into her. When she could reach, she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him down to her lips. She tempered the rush of arousal with a self-inflicted taste of shame. It was an honest emotion, anyway. This was the last thing she needed, his lips on hers, his hands wrapping around her back. She leaned into him and noticed their height difference wasn't the problem she imagined.

Soon their bodies were aligned, sealed together just like their lips. The soft pressure, the give and take between their mouths was at once the most elating and deflating moment in all of existence. For years she'd wanted to feel him like this, to cross that invisible barrier she'd kept between them, but now that she'd crossed it, she knew it was over.

She couldn't pull away. Didn't want to. His tongue brushed her lips, asking silently for permission. She granted it. His breathing increased, finding depth she naturally matched. Still, part of her buried the old barrier, then destroyed the part of John she'd extracted from her heart. She couldn't love him, so she wouldn't.

The kiss eased as John broke away to catch his breath. Licia let their foreheads rest together and licked the taste of him away.

“Goodbye.” She stepped back, grabbed her bag, and walked past him without looking back.

CHAPTER 56

John

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The condo was empty and silent. He'd never spent much time in here alone, but even in those rare hours, it had never felt as empty as it did now.

After Licia had kissed him, he’d been so shocked that he’d fucked up his goodbye to Emerson. After begging Emerson to protect the others, John had tried to tell him everything that was in his heart, but it had come out all jumbled up.

“It’s okay,” Emerson had said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We will?”

“Just... stop making unexpected decisions, okay?” Emerson had almost smiled.

John had been too stunned to think clearly. “We both know that’s not possible.”

And then Em had left. Instead of telling him everything John had realized about how shitty he’d been, about how keeping secrets hadn’t been the answer, or how he should have come clean the day he’d realized Emerson was like him—he’d made a joke and let him leave.

Now the condo was as silent as a void.

A sensation flooded over his body as the memory of Licia holding his neck—kissing him deeply—flashed in his mind. He was lost in the kitchen, his mind rocking through stormy waves while his waking body refused to move.

But that kiss hadn't been a beginning. It was an ending, and his eyes watered as he thought of what he'd just lost in her and what that might mean. After they freed Tarrah and any other Ferly on site, Licia would disappear for good. He didn't know why he knew it, but he did. If only she'd let him in all those years ago. Things might be so different now.

After hours of little sleep and lots of churning thoughts, John called Emerson as early as was socially acceptable.

“Hey,” John said lamely, but even hearing Emerson breathe made him feel better. “How's the shop?”

“Dusty, and there's only one bathroom. Do we really have to stay here? I'd feel better protecting you.”

Just like him to want to come back to work, rather than come home. Part of him hoped Em wanted to be near him for other reasons. “No. They need you more. I called Henry. He’s going to keep an eye on the condo. Paparazzi have staked it out, but he can handle them. I know you don’t need my protection, but the less you’re seen around me the better. We just have to wait this out. Come Tuesday, we'll be able to reassess.”

“I don't like this.”

He desperately wanted to ask why. He wanted there to be a reason beyond Ferly and security and have there be something to soothe the ache in his chest where Licia used to be. Maybe it wasn't fair to want to lean on Emerson after everything, but he was still the one he couldn't pull away from. “Did you find a way to get inside without being recognized?”

“Yes, Glen’s going to arrange a surprise operations audit at the hospital used by Columbia. We'll follow him in and hole up in whatever office they stick him into. From there we'll wait.”

“I’ll message you as soon as I find her. Comb the files for anything on Aubrey's research.”

“I know. Don't do anything stupid this time, okay?” Em's voice had that mix of light tease and seriousness that John missed.

“Have you met me?” He wasn’t sure, but he might have heard a breathy laugh.

“I'll call if anything happens over here. Sounds like Licia is going to make us clean as payment for staying.”

Hearing her name made his heart thud, which strangely made him miss Em more. I miss you. He should say it, let him know they wouldn’t have to be like before. He'd just become the first person in the States—and potentially the world—to publicly be out as Ferly. Loving a man seemed so small in comparison.

Emerson made a soft sound, then said, “I've got to go. We'll talk later.” Then he was gone, and the condo was back to being too quiet and too big.

John spent the rest of the morning on the phone with Chloe doing damage control. His social media accounts were blowing up, online tabloids were swimming with pictures of his inelegant escape from the gala, and speculations ranged from secret societies to aliens, all with John as either the fulcrum or the catalyst.

Most sites used photos of him being assaulted after his last performance, and then the exodus last night side by side, the martyr and fool rolled into one tall blond.

It was too much, and no matter how many statements he made or fires he put out with humor and compassion, the public had formed a flash opinion: John Beechum was a freak and shouldn't be supported.

By three in the afternoon he uncorked a bottle of wine and drank it all, letting his vibe uncork as well. Sure, the neighbors would get a rush, but right now he didn't care. Right now, he just wanted to drink and forget forbidden lips and lost nerves.

That night, he received another call from Chloe.

“How are the numbers looking?” John finished rinsing toothpaste from his mouth, his head pounding across his thoughts with each beat of his heart.

“Not good. Your popularity is diving fast, but your notoriety is skyrocketing. People know who you are, that's for damn sure. Problem is, they know you as a dangerous fraud. The recent theories are that you only have your fame and fortune by using whatever ability you supposedly have.”

It wasn't an entirely untrue assessment, but how different was it from using any other unique skill to get somewhere in life? Fuck those people. Maybe literally.

“Okay, have you hired on a new social media manager?”

“I'm interviewing this afternoon, but John, I'm afraid we have a bigger problem.”

“Don't we always,” he joked and regretted it as his head threatened to crack open.

“They recast the Eshield role.”

He sat on the bathroom floor in a rush. “What? But the contracts were signed.”

Chloe's voice broke. She cleared her throat. “I know. I’m sorry. We’ll find you something else.”

They’d voided his contract because of what he was. “I killed my career.”

“No... not really. More like your rep, but we'll get you through this.”

John nodded, though Chloe couldn't see him. They finished talking details, then John ended the call with a vast emptiness filling his mind.

Fuck. He'd really done it. Thrown his dreams and career away to keep the Ferly safe. He'd sacrificed Emerson and Licia. Gotten Azami exposed. They might push him to lead, but couldn't they see he was wretched at this?

He was lost and crushed and absolutely ruined. But... at the same time, it was a little freeing to let go of the him he'd once been. He'd done it before, years ago when Jayden Benson needed to be buried under John Beechum. It hadn’t felt like this, though. Nothing had ever felt like this. But it was over. He was over, and all he could do was begin again.

An idea sparked in the back of his mind, building into a sensation that jolted through his body and cleared his headache, but his thoughts didn't make sense. Reputation. Why was his ruined reputation getting him excited? It took a full minute to process even the fringes of the idea, to hold it into one place and let it shape into something usable.

“You're lucky you've found someone who puts up with your rep.” Prisha had said. Because reputations were everything to public perception. He bolted upright. UHP had a reputation too—a really fucking good one, but he'd just been given a great lesson in how to ruin those.

All he'd have to do—ouch. His headache returned with double the force, pressing against his eyes until it felt like they'd pop out of his head. Then the tile in the bathroom seemed to zoom up to John's face at the same time the counter seemed to shrink away. The dimensions flattened and then the white tile grew even whiter, until his body stilled, and his vision scattered to a distant memory.

––––––––

He recognized the exhaustion from the night of Aubrey's arrest. The hours of questioning, of watching her slowly sober after the emotional injection. He'd returned to Glen's looking for Licia. His mind sank in, becoming one with the vision just like in a dream.

“Licia?” The house was dark, but he found her borrowed bedroom and cracked the door, calling again. She bolted up in a rush, making incoherent, startled sounds. “Hey, easy, it's me.” He let himself in and shut the door behind him. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the dark and he stretched out his hands to find the bed. His shin found it first.

“What's happening? You were gone all night.” Licia cleared her throat.

“It's done. Aubrey's in custody. There will be a trial. It will be a while before this is all over.” He rubbed his eyes. The dim light was finally enough to see Licia by, as well as Azami stretched out beside her, asleep. “I'm going to bury this as much as I can. I don't want others to get the idea that we're lab rats in the making.”

Licia's silhouette in the dark was all angles as she fidgeted. “I don't think anyone should know what we are, what we can do.”

“But there are others of us out there. We need to warn them, protect them. If Azami had known, then maybe she could have—”

“No, I think kids will always suffer the most with this.” Licia was quiet, then said, “She's finally asleep. She wouldn't let go of me for a long time.”

“Poor thing is terrified. Who knows when she last felt safe?”

“Exactly. We're going to do whatever we have to, to keep our kind safe. We can't let this go public; we have to keep them—us—hidden. Otherwise, we'll be hunted.”

John rested his hand on her thigh, the connection dulled through what felt like sweatpants.

“Deal.” He'd live a secret life if it meant never letting another child endure the torment Azami did. Even if it meant burying pieces of himself forever.

They sat in the silence for a long time as a thread of fate seemed to connect between them.

––––––––

The vision let up and he was momentarily aware of being in the bathroom, but then his sight wiped clean for the second time before he could move.

––––––––

This time he was with Emerson. They lay in bed, facing each other, naked. John traced Emerson's face with his fingers, feeling an overwhelming rush of attachment to the man before him, and not just because they'd finally had sex. There was something about Emerson that felt right.

“If I'm not careful you're going to steal my heart,” John quoted from his character. John had had to deliver the line twenty times before Emerson's ex, Markus, was satisfied. John had been so frustrated, but now he knew it was because he'd never really felt that sliver of fear at knowing someone held the most fragile piece of him.

“Would that be so bad?” Emerson quoted back. John broke into one of those grins that felt like it was splitting his cheeks in half.

“Can I ask you a question?” He traced over Emerson’s knuckles.

“Anything.”

John had suspected for a while, maybe only convincing himself it was real. He wanted Emerson to be like him, to share the one aspect of his life he couldn't let others into. “Do you remember the day of The Shift?”

Emerson laughed. “Not where I thought this was going, but yeah. I do. I was home with my family, then the lights went out and my dad passed out and mom puked. It freaked us all out.”

“And what did you do?”

“It didn't affect me at all, far as I can tell.”

He waited, hoping that wasn’t all he’d say. Even like this he could push a little vibe into him and get no response, well, other than a soft smile. “Have you heard the rumors about the kids born after it? How they're a little... different?” John's attempts to lead the conversation were going terribly. He should ask him directly, but it left him too open.

“Sure, but that's all a bunch of hearsay. There's no proof The Shift really affected anyone.” Emerson adjusted his position, pulling out of John’s touch. He hoped that hadn’t been intentional.

“But what if it did? What if it affected the world? Affected us.”

Em propped himself up on an elbow, his shoulder and bicep rounding like a loaf of bread in the oven. “What are you talking about?”

There was a funny glint in Emerson's eyes. Maybe, just maybe, John's lover was a better actor than he led on. “What if I was someone like that. What if you were someone like that, too?”

Emerson laughed, plopping down on the pillow and grinning. “You telling me you have superpowers? Because I already know where your talents lie.” Emerson's hand found John's thigh and stroked against the hair, making him shiver. He scooted closer, their bodies aligning.

“You're more right than you know.” John tried to keep his mind distracted from where his skin connected with Emerson's but failed. His grin turned feral and his hand stroked in a new way. Before he could lose his nerve, John told him.

“I make people feel aroused.” The words tumbled out.

Emerson rested his hand on John's hip. “Obviously,” he said. When John let silence stretch between them, Emerson continued. “So, I'm always hard as a bat around you because you're making me?” He raised an eyebrow.

John shook his head. “That's the best part. I don't seem to affect you. I think it's because you're like me.”

Emerson pursed his lips. “I'm nothing like that, though,” he said. John perked up. Emerson let his hand wander down John's hip crease. His anxiety mixed with anticipation, his body tightening. “You probably can't affect me because I'm taking everything you give. That's what I do, I drain life from everyone around me.”

It took John a second to get his brain to reconnect with this mouth. “Since The Shift?”

Emerson shook his head and looked up at John through his thick eyelashes. “Since I was a teenager.”

John shivered as Emerson's hand trailed along his aching shaft, distracted by his thoughts and also losing himself to the desire.

Emerson leaned in and kissed him, then said, “Do you still want me, knowing I'll just take from you the whole time?”

Even more so. “Fuck yes. Take it all.” John arched into his touch. “I can't stop giving anyway.” They were alike. He’d found someone else as weird and wonderful as him. He didn’t have to be alone.

Emerson chuckled, then pulled away, fumbling with the bedside table. He came back with his hand wet with lube. John let his vibe completely uncork, something that would usually affect a whole block, but with Emerson there to take it from him, he wasn't afraid. He could just be himself. All of himself.

He kissed him, tipping to the side to better sweep his tongue against Emerson's. Without fear there was a curious sense of freedom. John let go of his worries, his expectations, his hang-ups. He wasn't afraid of being with Emerson, of challenging who he had been. He gave Emerson everything.

Everything.

––––––––

John's vision returned. He thought back fondly on the memory of him and Emerson, while the one of him and Licia came with a mixed sadness and anxiety—they were connected. All of the visions were.

Licia had been right, they were reminding John of who he used to be, and who he'd need to become to stop what he'd started with UHP.

When he'd hidden with Licia and kept their promise, it had only gained them a brief safety. Coming clean with Emerson had given him freedom. Now that the Ferly, specifically his Ferly, had been exposed, it was time to stop hiding. And not just him. It was time to force UHP's skeletons out of the closet, too.

CHAPTER 57

John

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Tuesday arrived, and with it came John’s tight throat and spiraling thoughts. He'd made the appointment with Aubrey and her lawyers. He'd given Emerson a time. They even had a meet up point when—if—he got Tarrah, but none of the plans addressed how he'd get through this. His lawyer, Rachel, would be at the meeting to review the terms of his divorce paperwork, and he hoped there'd be a way to slip free and search the facility, but his charm could only carry him so far. Especially with Aubrey expecting him to head up some kind of liaison position. He’d have to find a way around and out of it. Somehow.

John checked his pocket for his phone before heading down to catch his car service. When the car arrived, he ducked outside and risked the inevitable flash of cameras. It was the first time he'd left the condo since the gala, and the first time he'd let the public see his face, but he wasn't an amateur. This was his game to play, so he tilted his head just right, ducking into the collar of his high-necked woolen jacket, and made sure his winter hat covered all but his eyes, which were hidden behind dark shades. They could speculate all they wanted, but the best he could hope for was a new, bigger story to distract the media.

The first snow showed up on time and the streets were showing a soft white covering by the time they got close. The Columbia University Medical Center was not unlike any hospital John had seen. The outside was a stark reach of brick and evenly spaced windows staring out like a many-eyed beast. There was something oppressive about the rigid angles and uniform tan-gray of the weathered exterior.

Inside, however, was organized and functional with clean linoleum floors and bright LED lights. Regardless of the pressure GANF had put on the public to go natural, the hospital gleamed with modern materials and technology, which made John's hands shake as he noticed the cameras in every corner. He patted his phone again, just in case, then got directions from the information desk and followed a carpeted hall to a series of elevators.

When he'd messaged Aubrey, they'd agreed to meet in her office on the sixth floor, but he doubted he'd find Tarrah up there with her. As the elevator doors slid open, John's heart gave a lurch. Aubrey stood in her tailored lab coat and black clogs, waiting. She looked him over with a hunger in her eyes that made him feel both unnerved and naked—but not in a good way. His vibe seemed to shrink back and away from her, just like he wanted to do.

Instead he stuck his hands in his wool coat and nodded. “Lead the way.”

She grinned at him. “Your announcement made headlines on every front page I saw.” She kept her pace even, but too slow for his jittery energy and long legs.

“At least everyone knows my name now.” Just like he'd wanted back when he’d been a nobody kid with no place to go, but he'd wanted the fame to be from adoration and desire, not mistrust and disgust.

“I always deliver on my promises.” Her arm brushed against his and he tried not to recoil.

“So, who let you out early?”

There was something else that he tried not to notice—a level of familiarity. Years of being married hadn't been without a certain level of companionship, and a disgusting part of him missed it—missed her. He was so glad Licia wouldn’t be able to feel him from wherever she was hiding with Glen. She’d probably choke.

“It was a team effort. The head of GANF made a compelling argument at my parole hearing. Even you would have been moved.” She paused outside a door that looked like all the others, plain and smooth with unconvincing woodgrain. With a tap of her ID on a plate, the light turned from red to green and she pushed the door open. “John, please meet my attorney. Yours just checked in downstairs and is on her way up.”

John hesitated to go in. If he followed through with his plan, it would destroy her life's work and her freedom. He'd take everything from the woman who'd given him everything he had. “Aubrey,” he lowered his voice and she leaned in. “Why? Why would you start this again? You're hurting people.”

Her sunken eyes shone with intensity. “I'm saving people. Everything is above board this time. My patients are volunteers who legally offer their services for this study.” John held his tongue. Em hadn’t volunteered anything, but he also hadn’t been her patient. “Call all the police you want,” Aubrey continued. “You'll just waste both our time.” She stepped past him and into the room, ending their sidebar.

The meeting with Rachel, Aubrey, and Aubrey's attorney went smoothly by legal standards, but John's throat felt dry, his tongue swollen, and his body too warm. He’d sweated through the pits of his shirt, but had played it cool enough to earn an Oscar. He wasn't sure what he’d signed by the end of hour-and-a-half long appointment, but at that point, he didn't care. It was nearly six-thirty in the evening by the time the last signature filled the final blank line, and although the hospital had calmed from the rush of the day, it certainly wasn't empty.

“Thank you for meeting us here at the hospital.” Aubrey's attorney, a balding man with extra weight around his midsection, held out his hand and shook Rachel's hand first, and then John's. Meeting here had been advantageous for them both. John, for the next stage of his plan, and Aubrey because she'd periodically been pulled away to deal with medical emergencies. He prayed to a god he didn't believe in that one of those emergencies wasn't Tarrah.

“John, would you like that tour now?” Aubrey held open her office door for him.

“Yes, but I need a restroom break.” He hid his shaking hands, glad he had a year of stage experience to help him keep steady.

She pointed down the hall to a door marked with a unisex bathroom sign. Instead of using the facilities inside, he splashed water on his face. This was it. Whatever was to come after didn't matter, but tonight he’d fix his mistakes.

He pulled out his phone and began an audio-only live stream to his social media management account. From there it would spread to Facebook, YouTube and half a dozen minor offshoots. He tried not to think about it. Tried to turn off the actor and turn on the real him—if there even was a real him.

“This is John Beechum, investigating UHP's claims of goodwill towards Abnormals, which I call Ferly. Wish me luck,” he said aloud and then locked the screen and tucked the phone back in his pocket, then stepped back out into the hall.

People would be listening in on every word he was about to utter, every comment to be made, every judgment passed as he tried to expose the truth behind UHP's underground experimentation. If this was to be his end, then the least he could do was take Aubrey with him.

“I'm glad you're here, even if it took a divorce to get you back.” Aubrey's voice was as passionless as always, her inflection about as varied as her expressions. John flinched. One more secret now made public.

Aubrey’s pointed nose and sharp chin made her look more severe than he knew her to be, but her softly curled hair helped negate some of it. He couldn't remember what he'd seen in her all those years ago, other than safety and security, then again, maybe that had been enough.

“How many of us have you been working with?”

“Only a couple. Your kind is devilishly hard to find.” Aubrey pulled out her ID card and swiped it at two sets of double doors, leading them away from her office to a private elevator. She set her card at the sensor and pushed the call button. He knew the others were waiting for his signal, but even if he gave it, they'd never make it past the security. It was better to leave them out of this. They could get pissed at him later, but it would keep them safe. They stepped inside and she pushed a button for the basement level.

“There was a young woman announced at the gala. Tarrah?”

“Ah yes, she's been quite the asset.”

The elevator dropped down; John's stomach wanted to stay on the floor above. He swallowed hard. “What's her ability?”

“She sees things we can't explain, but until you sign the NDA with your contract that's all I can tell you.”

The elevator opened into another stark hospital hallway with white speckled floor tiles, creamy walls, and inset windows with pale blinds for privacy. They walked past a semi-circular desk of nurses, a small lobby with six chairs, and a few closed doors labeled for labs, storage, and X-rays. Unfortunately, there wasn't a door conveniently labeled Jammers or Abnormal records.

“Why all the extra security?” John asked as Aubrey scanned her card once again at a locked door.

“Given what you did twelve years ago, I'm surprised you bother to ask. This is the ward dedicated to Abnormals. We have three occupied rooms, and a couple of volunteers not on site. We have a dedicated lab and pharmacy, as well as a twenty-four-person team under me. Six specialists, eight lab techs, seven nurses, myself, and three researchers dedicated to Jammer development and production.”

“That's... fewer than I expected.” In his mind, Aubrey's reach had exploded out to encompass the whole of UHP, not just the head of a pin. Doubt crept in at what he was doing. Taking down the whole company might also mean impacting international humanitarian aid and disaster relief in the US. How much evil did the company have to commit before it canceled out the good?

“The program was downsized after the tragedy, but that's when they called me in. Now we're rebuilding. With the new Jammers we can expand. GANF just donated fifty million in addition to our budget. Now that we're public, it's only going to grow.”

John felt sick and conflicted. If everyone here really were volunteers, then wasn’t he making a choice for them by exposing the program? Or worse, what if there was nothing to expose? They had no idea if Tarrah was here of her own free will or if she wanted to be freed. He’d have to make the same offer he made Azami.

Aubrey steered him down a hall of internal windows to patient rooms. “How long has Tarrah been here?” John walked up to one of the shaded windows, peering through like he might find her.

“Here? Not quite a year. She was in a facility in the UK before that. She's been in and out of hospitals since she was quite young.”

“Can I see her?”

Aubrey's eyes flicked to another room down the hall, then shook her head. “Maybe later. After we've agreed on the terms of your position. Once you’re a part of the team I'll introduce you to whomever you want.” Aubrey held out her hand, directing John further down the hall. He stepped past her. A sharp prick pierced into the meat of his thigh.

“The fuck?” He stared at a syringe in Aubrey's hand as she pressed down, injecting him with a clear liquid.

“Just a precaution.” Aubrey said. “A concentrated dose of the Jammer compound.”

Panic flared through John's system as something invisible pressed him down. The weight dragged his shoulders off-balance. He slapped Aubrey's hand and the syringe away, but he had to lean on a wall for support. He pulled on the cork in his belly, reaching for the effervescence he'd let build up. Flat. Even as he yanked the stopper completely free on his ability nothing happened.

He scrambled his phone out of his pocket, forgetting that he'd locked the screen. Aubrey snatched it before he could use his fingerprint to get in. She tucked it into her lab coat.

“Phones are against hospital policy. Now, there's someone I'd like you to meet.” Her apathy did little to decrease his rising panic. He'd hoped to keep the others out of this if possible, but now he was flying solo without a safety net. He'd never felt this way. There was nothing inside him, no vibe to hold back or bring forth, not even a hint of the part of him he most relied on. What if she’d found a way to remove his vibe permanently?

“Why are you doing this?” His balance returned, but not his vibe.

“Striking a deal without being unduly manipulated? I know you, Jayden. I know what you do, and how you get your way, and I don't have the patience to let you tire yourself out.”

He'd underestimated the lengths she'd go to for this—whatever this really was. The sinking feeling made it hard to stay upright as he suspected her plans weren't what he'd anticipated. He had to keep the ongoing live stream on his phone hidden, and now he’d lost the ability to call Licia for help using his vibe. He was on his own. That was the burden of leadership, wasn't it? To stand alone against that which would hurt your people. He steadied himself. “You can't hold me against my will.”

“Oh, I won't be. Come on, now. He's a busy man.”

CHAPTER 58

Emerson

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Emerson tailed Glen with an ID badge around his neck stolen from a guard he'd absorbed into sleep—who was now propped up on a toilet seat in the men's room. They looked nothing alike on the ID other than they were both medium brown with cropped hair, but he hoped no one would look too closely. He and Glen were led through a maze of cubicles by a woman in slacks and a white blouse who tripped over her own words in an effort to understand why the surprise audit was happening.

The lady glanced at their ID's as she walked. Emerson shifted a little, hoping she didn't notice that the photo was clearly a different person.

She made it to a corner office that overlooked the busy, snow covered street below, and pawed at a tablet on the desk.

“Ah, I see. The D.C. headquarters sent the confirmation. Okay, well, where do you want to start?”

“All of your financial records, both printed and digital. I'll need access to your network and systems as well. Don't worry, this is all purely preventative. Think of it like a practice test so we can learn where to concentrate our efforts in the future.” Glen adjusted his cuffs but stopped when he noticed Emerson watching the nervous tick.

He was impressed with Glen's cool control of the situation. Luckily, no one had addressed Emerson or asked him anything about the audit. Money was the last thing he knew about. He'd dressed to match Glen's slick, high-end look in his best suit and his tailor-made rubber soled dress shoes, but somehow it only made Emerson feel more out of place. His suit tie was too tight, and he preferred his shoes steel-toed. When the time came to make a quick escape, he'd have to get creative.

The woman, Pat—who loved gardening and talking when she was nervous—beckoned them to follow her down a long colorless hall. Their slow pace made his anxiety jump. His full hollow also made him feel jittery, like a sugar high. He couldn't remember the last time he’d felt like this. It was like his body was plugged in and was getting full voltage all the way down to his toes. He needed to move, but he needed to keep his cover more. Still, he wanted to jog ahead and urge her to speed the hell up.

John better be okay. Emerson never should have let him go alone. Even if things between them were... what they were. But shouldn't they have heard from him by now? They gave him an hour head start before they arrived for the audit.  Had that been too long? Were they too late? It was almost seven, now, but his phone had been silent. John might have called Licia, but she’d said she’d message Glen or Emerson right away if that happened. Emerson stopped paying attention to Glen and their guide, and instead felt the shifting energies around him. He was always vaguely aware of others’ vital energy, mostly in the form of an ache against the hollow, or a scratch he begged to itch, but he'd never felt it so clearly before. Now it was more like someone was baking the most decadent pizza and the smell was making him salivate, except none of it had to do with his mouth.

They stopped outside a plain door. Pat swiped her ID at the panel and Emerson heard the electronic lock release.

Maybe he should have stopped John, or at least accompanied him against his wishes. But was that because he needed protecting, or because Emerson wanted to be close to him? He couldn't ask for such a selfish thing. He had no rights to John's preferential treatment anymore. The ache in his heart would have to learn to deal with the situation between them. John had Prisha and was in love with Licia. Emerson knew he and John didn’t fit together easily, but even if they could have another go, love might not be enough to bridge the gap between their past and a potential future.

His phone buzzed and he jumped, tearing it out of his pocket. Pat raised her eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, my wife is pretty far along. Could be anytime now.” That sounded straight, right? It was hard enough being gay and overweight. Downplaying one side of discrimination to help sell a lie seemed reasonable. Pat put her hand over her heart and made a soft coo of understanding.

Licia's number flashed on his screen and he answered, not even caring that it was her and not John. “Hey, everything okay? I'm about to go into a meeting.” He used his official voice, blatantly lying to preserve his cover.

“No. Let Glen keep going. You need to get to John.” Licia's voice was hard and fast.

He knew it. He fucking knew this was a shit-baked plan. The hollow—which was full—gave him a boost of energy flooding down to his legs, urging him to run. He bounced a little.

“I'm on my way.” He grinned at Pat and hoped it was convincing. Glen's mouth was a tight line, but he nodded.

Emerson should have just embraced being selfish and never let John out of his sight.

CHAPTER 59

Licia

––––––––

Licia twirled in an office chair behind a stranger's desk. She and Azami had followed Glen inside to a point, then she’d used a spread of disinterest to guide her and Azami straight ahead and into a series of small side offices. She'd picked an empty one at random and set them up to wait.

Azami shouldn't have come. She'd chewed her nails off and couldn’t stop fidgeting, but Licia wanted to let her face this on her own. She needed to know she could, and not because someone else was her emotional puppeteer.

It was seven. How long did it take to sign some stupid papers?

It had been stupid to agree to this role. Sitting here on her ass while John faced Aubrey and the others tracked down information. She should be out there, stripping people to their emotional cores and freeing Tarrah with her own hands. But no, she was backup. Fucking backup.

They feared her, as they should, but they needed her.

“I'm bored. Do you want anything to drink?” she asked Azami. They'd passed a vending machine on their way in and the office owner's desk had a handful of loose change just begging to be used.

“No, thank you.” Azami licked her lips and bounced her knee.

“I'm not going to let Aubrey touch you. You know that, right?” Licia leaned forward on the desk as if she were a doctor delivering a prognosis.

Azami massaged the back of her neck. “I know. It's not just that. What if we can't free Tarrah? What if this all goes wrong?”

“All right, then what's the worst that happens?”

“We're all captured and experimented on.”

“Wrong.” Licia allowed her one of her softest smiles. “The worst that happens is we can't use our abilities and we resort to other methods of mayhem. I'm not against setting things on fire, breaking equipment, general chaos. There are thousands of variables. Your mind is brilliant, but shitty at predicting the future. So don't.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and smoothed her oversized knit sweater over her tights. “Okay. You're right. Deal with things as they are. I feel like we should have heard something by now. Can you feel anything?”

Licia bit her cheek and bunched her lips to the side. “No. It's a hospital. The less I can feel the better.”

“Could you feel John right now if you tried? Just to check?”

Licia sighed. “There's bound to be too much interference.”

“I wish there was another way to check in on him.” Azami went back to picking at a hangnail.

Licia tipped her head back and spun again, staring at the ceiling, watching the panels blur. Her wards were at maximum, as were her walls to hold in her own emotions from infecting others, but there might be an easier way to get a hint of John's movements. She'd never admit it openly, but she followed one of his fan sites—had ever since they’d parted ways. Glen wasn't the only one who kept tabs long distance, but it was a hell of a lot easier to follow John than Licia made it for Glen to follow her. She picked up her phone and found the site, then did a quick scroll for any recent sightings, hoping a fan of his was currently being treated here.

“What the fuck?” It slipped out before she could think and then Azami rounded the desk to see the screen. A live video was playing with over a million views—but it was only audio. She played it from the start.

“This is John Beechum, investigating UHP's claims of goodwill towards Abnormals, which I call Ferly. Wish me luck.” And then she heard Aubrey's voice.

“That fucking idiot! See? There's no predicting the future, especially with fucking John involved.” Licia wanted to reach in and shut him down. She pried open just a corner of her mental ward, which was like prying back blackout curtains to let in a stream of light. A bit of emotion leaked, tasting like sandy boredom mixed with trickles of bitter anxiety. She felt for John's brand of confidence and sassy pride that came with his overly sweet and fatty arousal, but like she’d thought, her range wasn’t strong enough. There were so many things here she didn’t want to feel, and a lot of them reminded her of the dark, hopeless moments of her life she’d rather numb away.

But there was a thread pulling at her awareness that momentarily distracted her. It didn't have a flavor. She could feel it, but she couldn't decipher it. Just tension, kind of like what she’d felt that day she’d toured Columbia. It was tugging at her from low in the building, probably near the bottom floor. She shook herself. More important issues at hand.

Azami took her phone and did something to make the video play at over twice the regular speed. Licia could barely make out the words, but Azami closed her eyes and tilted closer to the phone. Even at this speed Licia heard the panicked cry. Azami’s hand flew to her mouth.

“They're several floors down. She dosed him with Jammers.”

Fuck! No wonder she couldn't feel him. She paused the recording and called Emerson, told him to get to John, then handed the phone back to Azami.

“Find out where they are.”

Azami put the speaker close to her ear, the sound still a garble of too-fast voices and unexpected squeaks. Azami's eyes flew open and she backed up the video and played it at regular speed. Aubrey was introducing a Patriarch from GANF. If there was a GANF representative here, then they wouldn't go far in a hospital without a sanctioned space.

“Does the hospital have a chapel?” Azami asked.

Licia didn't answer and darted out of the office towards the elevators, Azami jogging to keep up. Licia layered on a thick nothing-to-see-here apathy to the onlookers. Next to the elevator was a directory listing two chapels. One all-faith chapel on the third floor, and another with a newer sign for a General Assembly of Natural Faith chapel on the first level.

Licia hit the button to go down.

CHAPTER 60

John

––––––––

Now that the woozy effects of the injection had worn off, John was able to think clearly. There was no turning back. Aubrey had maneuvered him perfectly, but she didn't know his phone was still recording. Without his vibe he felt oddly exposed, like any one of the hospital staff would see beyond his mask and realize the John underneath was still weak, desperate Jayden.

The only choice he had was to demand his freedom or follow Aubrey and find Tarrah... which really meant there was no choice.

“Come on.” Aubrey tipped her head for him to follow like an owner calling a dog. He was so turned around in the maze of hospital halls and rooms that he wasn't sure he could get out if he tried.

“Would you let me leave if I asked?”

“Why would you ask? You need to know what it's like to be needed without your ability. I'm giving you that opportunity. Just follow me. It will be worth your while.”

“Tell me now or I walk.”

Aubrey chewed on her cheek, pausing in a deserted hall with mass produced art on the walls, then said. “I want you for more than a liaison. How would you like to be in charge of a program like mine?”

“Excuse me? What does that even mean?” John rubbed the injection site to distract his mind from the possibilities of caring for Ferly directly.

“It means you need to sign the NDA, but I need you to meet my benefactor first.” She turned away, her sharp shoulders pulled back and her head high. She was unshakable, which had steadied him all those years ago, but now it was unnerving.

John kept his steps slow, like he was still working off the Jammer's side effects. “Then what can you tell me?” He enunciated for the sake of the audio.

They passed a desk with three attendants and a wall of records behind them. He was surprised there were still so many hardcopy files here. Aubrey slowed, like she couldn't walk at that pace and think at the same time. “I suppose it doesn't hurt to tell you I replicated my findings from before with even better results. There's a hormone connection, and the theory of The Shift's influence still stands, though were not sure why or how.” Aubrey stopped walking, so he did, too. “But we don't know why it's not affecting all children born since then, or why there are people like you. The expressions are too unpredictable, and our study too small.” She gritted her teeth and looked away. She never liked not having all the answers, which was what started her fascination with him years ago. “My theory is you were more in line with whatever else changed the day of The Shift, and it heightened something in your genes.”

He didn’t really care why they came to be. The problem was that they were here now, and they needed help. “Then what does your power scale measure?”

Aubrey walked ahead without answering. “We'd like to make you an offer.”

“We?”

Aubrey pushed open an unadorned door, the white paint scuffed around the edges. “John, please meet Patriarch Michael. He's here representing GANF's interest in our Abnormals programs.”

Her benefactor, she'd said. Was this the man who had gotten her out of prison? A fit man stood as Aubrey said his name. He was like a human root ball, all brown gnarled joints and deep creases, but strong and thick. If it weren't for his surprisingly robust hair John would have said he was twice his age, but there was a youthfulness to the man's pale brown eyes that betrayed his appearance.

“John Beechum. How blessed we are to finally meet.” The Patriarch said a short prayer with the greeting.

“What's this all about?” John glanced between Aubrey and Michael.

“The General Assembly of Natural Faith would like to offer you a position. We'd like you to be our head of public relations for the Abnormals, a spokesperson to help your people find God's way back to nature.”

What a load of shit—back to nature? Abnormals didn't alter themselves in any way. He’d been fucking born like this. Licia was right, the Ferly were savants, not monsters. “And what are you hoping to gain with my image?” It would take a miraculous offer to get him to consider the role.

“You're a well-loved actor and perhaps the only individual who openly admits to their abnormality. Working together with UHP, we can guide Abnormals to the church where we're preparing a program to help get them on Jammers and cure their unnatural abilities.”

Cure? There wasn’t anything to cure. He couldn't hide his scoff and crossed his arms. “You're against tattoos, sugar, coffee, paper, even regular doctors for fucks sake, and you expect me to believe you want an Abnormal,” John couldn't help saying the word without distaste, “to work for you?”

“I can understand your hesitation.” Michael bowed his head as if in shame, his creased body no less strong in the position. “If we can show that GANF is bridging relations between our groups while working to heal your ailments, then Abnormals will be more likely to trust our help in the future.”

John almost rolled his eyes. Us versus Them. Emerson had seen it back when Kostas had announced Abnormals existed, but John hadn’t caught on fast enough. GANF and UHP saw Ferly as a sub-class of human: people to be pitied, used, and taken advantage of. He couldn’t let that happen. If his kind were Othered it could get them all killed. It was already happening in Belarus and North Korea. It was only going to spread, and he couldn’t let it.

Maybe he was finally understanding how to lead. “How about no. There's nothing about our abilities that needs to be healed. We are natural.”

Michael shook his lined face and clasped his hands behind his back, giving Aubrey an expectant look.

“We thought you might feel that way, so we have a joint offer,” Aubrey said.

“You drugged me against my will and still expect me to consider either of your offers?”

“If you accept GANF's public relations position, I'll give you full control over patients in my program. Treatment, care, anonymity, whatever you want. You can even release them all if you so choose.”

John felt cold rush through his body. His mind went blank. “What?” She couldn’t be serious. Could she? This was absurd. This was... he'd have to leave his acting behind, his persona, his friends, Emerson, all of it. But he could free Tarrah, and not just her, but the others. Any of them. He could provide a safe medical environment for Emerson to heal his body, for Azami to study her own genetics. He could keep an eye on Aubrey while keeping them all anonymous.

But it would mean he'd bring his fans, his clout, and his status as the only public Ferly into UHP and GANF's fold—an open endorsement to both. Even if he controlled the programs directly related to Ferly, he wouldn't have any say in the rest of their aims.

Still, he leaned into the offer, feeling the temptation of power and clout like a drug addict would his next hit. He could do it. He could free them, prove to Emerson and the others that he could make up for his past, that starting this whole mess didn't have to end in flames. This could be the answer...

But if he was going to be a true leader, he needed to think beyond the people he could reach and prepare for the ones he couldn't. There was a world of people like him that needed a guide. He hadn’t asked for this, and he sure as hell wasn’t prepared for this, but if he could do anything, it was act like he had his shit together. They needed someone confident and fearless. The skipping record of his heartbeat said he was anything but, but this was more important. They—his people—were more important.

“No.” John barely got the word out. Aubrey raised a skeptical brow at him. “I can't support what you're doing here.” John yanked open the office door and marched out. If he hesitated, if he over thought it, he knew he'd accept. It felt like an inevitable raincloud that he tried to outrun.

“Wait. You could do a lot of good here.” Aubrey darted after him.

He came to a T in the hall and had no idea which way to go. He chose the opposite of the signs pointing him towards labs.

“At least let me take a sample of your blood.” Aubrey jogged to keep up with his long legs.

“Like I'm going to let you anywhere near me with a needle ever again.”

“Slow down. You're not getting out of here until we come to an agreement.”

John spun on her. “And what happens when I make a very public complaint about my treatment at UHP and the violation of my rights?”

“Depends. What happens when those same people find out you founded all of this?”

John grit his teeth. He glanced at the square of his phone outlined in her lab coat. “They already know.” He spun away and upped his pace, jogging from door to door, looking for an exit, but this place had no windows and the exits signs were down every hall and through every door.

“Wait!” Aubrey called, but he ignored her. “Jayden, you don't understand. We’re helping people.”

He spun back on her then, “You're torturing people, forcing them to take medications to erase a part of themselves. I can't be a part of that.”

For once, Aubrey looked lost and uncertain. Her eyes darted around, like something might stabilize her, but her body stayed still. “I just need to understand what's wrong with them.”

An uncomfortable possibility brushed at his mind, that maybe she was trying to understand herself in all this, too, but he rejected the idea. She wasn’t one of them. If she was, she wouldn't be doing this.

“I'd like my phone back.”

She sighed and pulled it from her pocket, offering it over. He gripped it, his fingerprint hitting the right spot to unlock the screen. The live stream app flashed up and her eyes widened.

“Jayden, what have you done?”

“What I had to.”

She lunged. He didn't see it coming and stumbled back at her attack, but she wasn't aiming for him. The phone slipped from his grasp as she swiped at it. As soon as he lost his grip, she ripped it free and smashed it on the ground.

“Security!” she shouted down the long hall. A flurry of motions came from the right.

He ran, bashing through double doors. Aubrey didn't seem to chase, but she didn't have to. Security officers in black slacks and gray shirts spotted him. A sharp turn took him down a hall to another closed door. He threw his bodyweight into it like the last door. It held. His shoulder jammed into the door, as did his hip, but it didn't budge. The guards closed in. He ran off, testing the next two doors to no avail. The third, however, opened to a set of stairs leading up. He took them three at a time.

At the top of the stairs was another door. He prayed it was unlocked and for once his prayers were answered—only to be mocked.

The GANF chapel opened wide before him; rows of pews aligned to face the front podium. Ornate statues depicted saints and a Jesus hung over the organ. In the pews were three bowed heads, whispered prayers only just noticeable above the silence.

The door slapped shut behind him, making him jump. He played it cool as the three heads popped up, avoiding their gaze and instead walking with slow, heavy steps down the aisle. The door behind him clacked open again, more footsteps spilling through. He kept his gaze forward, and his movements unhurried. Then the massive double doors at the end of the aisle opened and two more security staff blocked his exit.

“Mr. Beechum, we need you to come with us.”

“Well.” He searched for another way out. “Fuck.”

“Well said,” a familiar voice chimed in behind him. He turned to find Licia stepping lightly in his wake.

“What? When did you—”

“Heard about your little stunt.” He could hear the acid in her tone, but then her expression stilled to stone, the cold fire in her eyes blazing as they were surrounded by six security staff. Her brow creased and she faced the guards flanking them. Nothing happened. Her expression faltered.

“Fuck?” John offered.

“Fuck,” Licia confirmed.

“If you'd please come with us,” a large male security guard with a goatee said. He rested his hand on what looked like a Taser, the gesture not entirely threatening, but certainly warranting caution.

“All we want is to leave.”

“And all we want is your cooperation,” Aubrey said from behind him and Licia. They spun to see her cross her arms, her sharp elbows sticking out like blades.

As if he was just going to prance over and be her little pet again. “I'd rather be screwed by a pineapple than take your offer.”

Aubrey ignored his response. “I'm glad Ms. Sheehan is joining us. It took quite a bit of digging to find information on you. I could have used an emotional manipulator years ago if I'd realized who and what you were then, but at least you can help us now.”

“You agreed to leave her out of this if I went public. I'll tell the media—”

“That a wanted gang leader is undergoing allegedly illegal human experimentation at UHP?” Aubrey finished for him. “Technically Alicia Sheehan here doesn't exist, but Licia Miller has all kinds of assets and attention from law enforcement. There's a detective in California that would be especially eager to find her.”

John shot Licia a panicked look. The detective she had been running from back then was still after her? How the fuck had Aubrey found all of that out? Licia shook her head just enough to urge him not to make the trade. He wished she were telepathic because he had no idea what to do, and she always seemed to have the answer when he didn't.

“Security, have Mr. Beechum sign the NDAs before escorting him from hospital property. Our lawyers will be in touch.” Someone grabbed his arm. He yanked down and free, reaching for Licia. Aubrey got to her first, pulling Licia back towards the door behind the podium leading to the lower basement of the hospital. Licia struggled, but without her ability, she had no fighting skills and no muscle. He couldn't let them take her. He needed her, he loved her.

“No!” John lunged but was held back by the goateed guard.

The double doors in front of the chapel burst open, and a shower of light streamed in, drawing everyone's attention to the massive man filling the entryway. Emerson.

His presence surprised them all into silence. The silhouette he cast was a towering thick stack of muscle. As he stepped into the chapel his glare swallowed all of them whole. There was so much power rolling off him. Even through the Jammers, John could feel something different about Emerson's energy. Instead of absorbing, there was an oppressive pulse pushing John down. He'd never seem him like this before.

Three of the guards approached Emerson with their Tasers aimed at his chest. His nostrils flared. John felt the pull then, the steady drain of energy he'd become so familiar with, except this time he had no extra to give. His vibe was shut off and the steady draw felt like scraping the bottom of an empty well. The guards, Licia, and Aubrey wilted like flowers in a drought.

Emerson seemed to tighten; muscle John hadn't noticed before suddenly obvious. He looked like a quarterback instead of a lineman, yet the only thing that changed was his—well, aura. John was mesmerized. Emerson completely changed as he drew in energy even through the Jammers.

John grinned even as dizziness made him sway.

CHAPTER 61

Emerson

––––––––

“Em, I—” John started to say, but then leaned over to catch his breath.

Emerson's body buzzed, the energy coursing through him like a highway, each molecule rushing with a zip of electricity. Everything was clear. Fast. He felt eager. He felt amazing.

He could feel everyone in the room, the rush of their energy as it coursed into him. He could tell there were three other people hiding in the pews, could tell the female security guard was more tired than the others. But then as John wilted, Emerson stopped feeding.

Everyone was here, though he didn't see Azami. Good, she was too weak for an encounter like this.

“Let's get out of here.” He rushed over to offer a hand. John leaned on him, and Emerson was careful not to take any more. Other than tired, John looked okay. His color was still vibrant, unlike the pale faces of the two closest guards now kneeling.

“No,” Licia stumbled a step out of reach of a woman in a lab coat, both making slow and listless movements. The woman had sharp features and cropped red hair. It had to be Aubrey. “We have to get Tarrah.”

Someone crept towards them down an aisle of pews. He recognized the pure black hair of Azami, but he didn't know she could move so silently.

“There are a million locked doors between us and the lower labs. I didn't even find which room she's in,” John said, eyeing Licia. Something about that look made Emerson think he wasn't being entirely honest. “Too many are on Jammers.”

Aubrey held herself upright on a pew, whereas the guards closest to her collapsed down. Azami peeked around the pew, spotted Aubrey, and went deathly still. She paled to the shade of expired milk. A breathy laugh escaped Aubrey's expressionless face. “You can go after Tarrah all you want. She won't survive outside for long—if you can get her outside. There are more of us than Mr. Caldwell can drain.”

Emerson paused with a jolt of dread. She recognized him, or at least his ability. He'd never tested the limits of his energy draw but being this full was intoxicating. Still, he couldn't keep taking from so many for long. There had to be a limit. Even now he could feel his hollow growing satisfied. Not full, but comfortable, and he’d drained John and Azami down dangerously low. He couldn’t keep using his ability.

Licia stumbled, falling atop a security guard, who grunted, and then came face to face with Azami. She held out her hand and cupped Azami’s pale cheek, saying something in a whisper too quiet for Emerson to make out.

He thought of sucking until Aubrey went dry, just to see what happened, but instead he said, “We need to get you out of here.” He held John up. The guards were down, and Aubrey was severely weakened—as were his allies. If they were going to try to make their escape, it might as well be now.

“No. We have to give Tarrah the same choice we gave Azami.” John set his hand over Emerson's heart, then flicked his attention to Azami hovering out of Aubrey's sight. He gripped Emerson's shirt and tried to stand on his own, then looked back at Emerson. “How are you doing this?”

“What are you—”

“He's immune.” Licia pushed away from Azami, her eyes flashing cold fire in Aubrey's direction. “Isn't he?” Aubrey didn't answer. “The donors are immune, if my source is correct.”

Azami sank back further from sight. He was immune?

“You can get her out.” John's expression had never looked so fierce. “You can get Tarrah and the others.”

“I'm not leaving any of you,” Emerson argued, a creeping desperation coming over him. He couldn't leave John and go off alone.

“I'll go.” Licia spoke like each word drained her down to empty. She struggled to her feet, her stance wide and her shoulder set. A Glock glinted in her hands from the dim church lighting.

Emerson shoved John behind him. Lines of energy spilled from the hollow within and wove like an invisible lattice over his body. It felt like a living shield—exactly what he'd always been. But Licia swung the firearm towards Aubrey. She jolted with a fresh surge of adrenaline, which Emerson could feel as an untapped well. Similar wells flared in John and Licia.

“What are you doing? A gun?” John's voice was careful, as were his fingertips resting on Emerson's lower back. The pressure said I'm here.

The presence of their increased energy made Emerson’s hollow whine. The more there was, the more he responded to it, but he couldn’t take it all. The hardening of his muscles and the feed of strength weaving over his skin felt like a highway of electrical impulses sparking to life. Not since the night of The Shift had he ever been this full. Part of him felt like he could do anything, but the rational part knew not to trust that feeling. He remained cautious and protective, his gaze focused on the gun.

Licia's hands and arms shook, like the gun was ten times heavier than it was. Emerson noticed the guards closer to him wearing Tasers, not 9mm Glocks. Azami stood weakly from her hiding spot then.

“Don't.” Her soft voice still carried, but it made Aubrey focus like a bird of prey.

“Ms. Hisakawa.” There was awe in her voice. And delight.

John's fingers pressed harder. “Guns aren't her style. Don't worry.”

Aubrey raised her hands in surrender. “Take whatever you want. Whoever you want.” Her body betrayed the fear her voice didn't, but her gaze kept snapping over to Azami like she was a treasure to hoard.

“If I could feel you, I'd dig so far into your heart that you'd forget what it feels like to have a pulse,” Licia said, her voice uneven. He never thought about how big a Glock was until he saw her hands wrap around the grip. Her finger slipped onto the trigger.

Emerson tightened. “Licia, hey, listen to me. We tried. We'll figure something else out.” He took a couple of steps towards her, losing track of John's hand on his back. “Hand me the gun. I'll keep an eye on her, you go find Tarrah.”

Licia twitched at Tarrah's name, the gun jerking a little to the left towards Emerson. It made him freeze, though she realigned the sights back on Aubrey.

“You don't have to do this for me,” Azami said.

“I'm not.”

––––––––

LICIA

Time meant nothing and drew out until she felt an inability to squeeze the trigger. The gun was aimed. Her aim was true. But this was it—no going back.

Aubrey needed to be stopped. She’d had her second chance thanks to John’s intervention years ago. Licia could have done it back then and made Aubrey succumb to the horrors she’d inflicted. But Licia had been weak to John’s pleas—to the way he felt for her. No one had ever loved her like that.

After today, no one would again.

She knew this would destabilize any trust the others had in her. Their disbelief was almost sweet on her tongue. After Aubrey had been on Jammers at the gala, Licia knew this was the only answer. Just this once, she’d get her hands dirty. It would cost her—split it apart, scar her in a way that couldn’t be healed, but that was okay. She’d let them hate her, damn her, condemn her, and reject her because this was her mantle.

Once she severed the tie to John and the others with this bullet, she’d need to run. John and Emerson wouldn’t understand why she did it. They believed there were other ways, but they were too naïve to do what must be done.

No one would ever suffer because of Aubrey again. No one except for Licia.

She squeezed the trigger.

––––––––

EMERSON

“No!” The blast deafened him. He jumped at John, dragging him low. Ringing overtook his ears. He watched Aubrey jerk back. Blood blossomed over her right breast. She fell—hard.

Licia lost her shakes and lowered the gun. Her eyes were empty and clear.

Emerson shoved John further down, then attacked Licia, ripping the gun from her hand. She didn't fight him. He wasn't sure she was really in there anymore.

He dashed to Aubrey next. She gasped for air like a fish out of water. His training kicked in and he put pressure on the gunshot wound but feared her lung was punctured. Blood pooled down her right side, the exit wound at the wrong angle for the entry. The bullet must have ricocheted on her ribs. Fuck.

An alarm sounded through the chapel, the sound piercing the dullness left from the gunshot. A light flashed in time to the siren.

“John. Get help! This is a fucking hospital, right?”

John scrambled to his feet but paused at the sound of a door slamming behind the podium. Emerson looked up, too, but Licia was gone

“Shit.” John threw open the double doors, yelling for help, then sprinted back across the room towards the podium.

“What are you—”

“I have to get her.” John slammed into the door, flinging it open, and dashed through without a second glance.

Emerson kept applying pressure, but he could feel her slipping away. The hollow inside him wanted to drink what she no longer had. Azami knelt by Aubrey's side, but didn't touch her—just watched.

“I didn't think she'd do it.” Her voice sounded remarkably even.

Emerson did.

CHAPTER 62

Licia

––––––––

She should feel sick. Disgusted. Anything. Why was there only numbness? Whatever, she'd deal with that later. She had to get Tarrah out, then she could assess her missing heart.

Two staff members in hospital scrubs dashed at her. Licia froze, but they ran past, distracted. She snagged a hanging ID clip from the slower of the two.

Her walls were up, holding in the lack of emotion she felt, but her wards were at half mast, allowing flavors in without drowning her. She had to find the right bitter-sour fear that Tarrah had last imparted.

“She's in the chapel, gunshot.” John's voice echoed down the stairwell where she'd exited moments before, presumably shouting at the staff running his way. Last thing Licia wanted was his incessant morality stopping her from doing what needed to be done. He was never getting into her head again. She didn't need to worry about him in her heart anymore, since she was pretty sure it was missing. She'd killed a woman. She'd pulled the trigger. No accident. No self-defense or defense of others. She intended for Aubrey to die and she should fucking feel something. Murderer. Monster. Nothing.

Licia pushed through the fatigue weighing her down and jogged down the hall, smashing the ID card against door panels as she went. Signs pointed out labs, radiology, and other departments, but nothing about patient rooms. The closed doors stalled John's pounding feet, but he'd find a way through.

A nudge of pressure on Licia's sternum made her turn right, like a string pulling her along. She'd felt it from upstairs in the office, too. The tension was familiar. Intimate. Something was calling her. Lost and alarmed by her lack of feeling at her first intentional, hands-on murder— the fifth life she’d claimed since she was eighteen—she leaned into the tugging, glad to feel anything, and let it guide her.

A wide, wiry hand gripped her shoulder and tugged back. She went with the force, shoving against a man in a security uniform. She hadn't felt his emotions upon approach—fucking Jammers! He ooph-ed and lost his hold. Licia spun as the large guard regained his balance. He looked surprised, but not concerned. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail and he filled out his gray shirt with biceps that threatened to roll free.

Nope. She wouldn't get free of his grip a second time. She called on every molecule of energy she had left and sprinted down the hall. The pressure on her sternum increased, but so did the pounding feet of the guard behind her. She took a sharp corner. At a closed door next to a dark window the pull on her sternum yanked. She threw the door open, both relieved and surprised it was unlocked, then silently shut it behind her and sank down from the window.

She tried to reach the emotions of the guard or any staff but couldn't feel them. John had been right. Lowering her defenses all the way might show who wasn't under the influence of those damned pills, but this was a hospital. She shivered just thinking of the influx of pain and fear. It would overwhelm her, take her back to the darkness before she learned to build wards against other's emotions.

Movement made her startle. The room was dark, but someone was in here. She crouched and spun, then caught sight of a woman lying on the ground.

It clicked. The pressure on her sternum let up. “Tarrah?” She dropped to her knees at Tarrah's side. Her skin was sickly, her thin body too delicate and weak. The hospital gown kept most of Tarrah covered, but there were marks on her arm from a recently removed IV and raw marks around her wrists and ankles. The light from the hall flickered as someone ran by.

“Tarrah, if you can hear me, we need to move.”

The shadow outside returned, then the handle on the door rattled. Shit! Licia would have to carry her out.

The door flung open. Licia cringed from the crash, then crouched like a feral animal over Tarrah. The guard had a Taser out and braced it, the nodes pointing at them both.

“Get up. You're coming with me,” the ponytailed guard said.

Licia inched her fingers closer to Tarrah's wrist. She couldn't leave her behind after finally finding her. After everything she'd done to get here.

“No.” If she could inject panic, then the direct rush of adrenaline might wake her. Get her to walk, to move, anything. Did she even have enough left for that? Emerson had drained so much; she was running on fumes.

More footsteps galloped down the hall, more voices. John yelled her name.

“In here!” Licia screamed.

The guard pulled the trigger. She grabbed Tarrah's hand. The electrodes hit.

Her vision turned white. Lightning coursed over her body. She jerked against the lashing pain slicing her open. Her walls fell, her wards shattered. At first, she felt everything. All of it. All at once. The storm was too much to take. Then Tarrah's hand stirred in hers and something cracked in Licia's mind.

A shock wave of emotion erupted from her. It tore through the hospital like an atomic bomb incinerating everything in its path. Licia couldn't see, couldn't control her body, and lost all power over her ability.

She felt madness strip down the guard, taking him to his knees. The electrodes stopped hurting. Putrid contempt hit someone nearby and drove them into a rampage. Ennui slapped another until they dropped to the ground. There was no way to know who she was affecting. Her friends? She had no friends anymore. Her enemies?

Depression as dark and deep as she'd ever felt swarmed another.

She didn’t want to kill again. The rage and depression and madness could tip people over the edge. Aubrey needed to die—others didn’t.

A force yanked her away. It felt like someone ripped out her guts. She hit the floor and huddled in the fetal position, gasping. Her sight returned. Sweat streaked her face and coated her underarms. She felt sick to her stomach and high as a junkie. What the unnatural fuck? Her head spun, but Tarrah lay coiled next to her, looking up and afraid, but awake. Their eyes met.

“Licia?” Her voice was like a quiet songbird changing her name to something musical. Licia was too shocked to answer. Tarrah's black eyes darted around the room. “Is this real?” Her English accent was soft and elegant.

Someone groaned. Licia risked the spins to see John half crumpled in the doorway. He'd found her. Each move made her want to puke, but she pressed up to rest her hand on John's wrist. The contact gave her a better taste of his emotions. Ennui, good. At least it wasn't the madness that had taken him.

“Sorry,” she whispered and tried to push new emotions into him, to counteract what she'd done. It felt like her heart might erupt at the effort, but at least she knew she had one again. Her walls and wards felt fried, burned to the ground, and utterly useless. Complete overload.

John's breath deepened, like he was gasping for life. His mood stabilized. Licia dropped her contact with him. Her emotions scrambled. She couldn't decipher the blend of flavors from the chaos. Her body felt wrong; all jumbled and mislabeled, like her brain couldn't communicate right. She needed to stand and get moving.

John recovered. “Licia? Are you okay?”

“Tarrah. Get Tarrah out.” Nothing else mattered. John stood, then tried to help Licia up. She fought him, shoving him off her and towards Tarrah.

John obeyed. “Hey, Tarrah? Can you walk. I'm John, by the way. Would you like to leave?”

“I know. Yes, yes I would.” Tarrah pressed half up, then tried to stand. She was taller than Licia had realized. John caught her as she listed to the side.

He turned back on Licia, his lips thin and his eyes glassy. “I'm not leaving you. Up,” John ordered.

She was thankful he didn't offer his hand. She didn't trust herself to touch anyone again, not with so many raw emotional nerves running wild.

Her wobbling baby-deer legs finally cooperated, but she had to grip John's covered forearm to stay upright.

The guard that tasered her knelt on the ground, unblinking, rocking to and fro in a steady rhythm. Differentiating his emotions from the others without touch wasn't going to happen. Everything felt and tasted like mud-vomit soup.

“We need to get Emerson and Azami and get out of here.” John steered them back the way Licia had come.

Two staff members were in the hall, one pacing in a tight circle, the other utterly still in a crouch, hiding her face in her knees. Guilt cut through the chaos of Licia's senses. She'd never done anything like this, and nothing should have affected the staff. Just minutes ago, she hadn't been able to get through to any of them on Jammers, but now they were in a state of mania, and even paralyzing rage. What the fuck had she done?

“Licia, what did you do?” John asked as if he'd read her mind.

“I—I'm not sure.”

“Can you undo it?”

Licia looked at her shaking hands. Her head spun. She didn't want to kill herself saving the people who'd experimented on Tarrah. “No, but what about the others? There are others of us here. We need to free them, too.”

“Normally I'd agree, but I can barely keep the two of you upright.”

She missed a step, half collapsing into John and proving his point. “Fuck.”

“You fixed John.” Tarrah's quiet voice created silence, rather than breaking it.

Licia had to focus on her steps, but said, “This should all be temporary. I can't permanently change a person's emotions. I'm sure they'll be fine.” Not that she cared much about their well-being, but she didn't realize she believed it until she said it out loud. Even when she'd tried to change Aubrey's emotional capacity years ago, it had only lasted a few hours.

John got them both back to the stairwell and up to the chapel. There was movement on the floor. White coats, blue scrubs, Emerson's large frame and dark clothes. Her emotional bomb hadn't reached this far. Good.

Then she saw the body bag.

CHAPTER 63

Emerson

––––––––

There was blood smeared over his hands again. He'd been here before, staring at life slipping away beneath his touch. But this time it wasn't because of him.

Licia. Murderous monster—inhuman.

He'd feared they were alike, but not anymore. This wasn't in self-defense, or in defense of others. This was planned. There was nothing similar between them, and he had nothing to prove to her heartless, corrupt, law-breaking soul.

The podium door swung open. Thank The Shift, John was okay! Emerson stood, forgetting the blood and Aubrey's body. There were two women leaning on his arms, which at first, he thought was strangely funny, but then he recognized Licia.

A pendulum swung in his chest, ticking from relief to righteousness. How dare she touch him. She'd manipulated him into caring for her. Probably a tactic to keep her illicit side obscured. Emerson shuffled past the hospital staff and an expressionless Azami, and stood before John, taking up as much space as he could. Because his place was by John’s side. It was what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice his needs any longer—especially if it kept her out.

“Let me help.” He kept his gaze away from Licia, like staring directly at her might put John at risk. No matter what, he had to keep her influence away from him. He'd find a way to remove her, but not right now.

John nudged a small woman with matted dull hair who glanced at Emerson's height and bulk.

“Emerson,” she said in a distant voice. “I know you.”

He made an incoherent sound, taken aback.

John jumped to his rescue. “This is Tarrah.”

“Oh. Oh! Let me help you.” They'd found her? She was so frail, like an unfinished sculpture still showing support wires. He knelt and offered his arms, she shifted into his hold, but her knees kept giving out. She had sweat on her lower lip and high color in her ashen cheeks. There was no way she was getting out of here on her own two legs. He scooped her up like a child and she weighed next to nothing.

“Thank you,” Tarrah said, then she went slack in his arms.

Licia's attention jerked to her. “Is she okay?”

Emerson jostled her a little, noticed her breath, then nodded. “Either passed out or asleep, she looks exhausted,” he answered before thinking. He didn't want to acknowledge Licia, but as he held Tarrah in his arms, he knew his tactics weren't going to help. They needed to get out of this mess, then he could hate her without reserve. John adjusted his stance to better steady her. Emerson bit the inside of his cheek, then said, “Police are on their way. We need to go.”

“Azami?” Licia asked.

“Here.” She seemed to materialize from the shadows, but there was so much chaos it wasn't hard for someone like her to slip out of the spotlight.

“What about Glen?” Licia's voice was strained.

“It's better if he's not connected with us. Em, how do we get out of here?” John rested his hand against Emerson's elbow.

Emerson shrugged and gave John a reassuring smile. “We walk straight out. If they want a word, they better be able to stay awake long enough to ask it.”

John bobbed his head side to side, looking impressed. “After you.” He brought Licia into his arms in the same way Emerson carried Tarrah. Licia protested, but then her hands flew to her temples with a whimper. Good, she should suffer, but he hated the look of concern on John's face. If her pain hurt him, then he hoped her agony ended. Temporarily.

As they walked, Emerson fed his hollow, keeping the security and doctors too fatigued to care as they slinked out of the hospital.

CHAPTER 64

John

––––––––

John let Emerson help him into the back of the Lyft. The driver, a college-age man with a thin sweater and patchy beard, hovered.

“Can I help? Are they okay? You know there's a surcharge if anyone pukes, right?”

Emerson shot him a glare, but John turned on the charm and grinned at the guy. He didn't melt into a shy grin like he'd hoped, but he did lose his nervous edge. Good to know he could influence people even without his vibe. It still hadn't returned.

He didn't like being stuck in the back, but they were crowding the run-down Camry as it was. Licia sat in the far seat, double buckled with Azami. John sat with Tarrah—still out cold—in the same way, while Emerson took the front seat.

If he hadn't been so anxious to get the hell out of there it might have been funny. Instead his fingers shook as he untwisted the shoulder strap. They didn't have far to go, but the driver refused to move. He kept insisting he couldn't drive them packed in like this.

“Licia, we need to move,” he said, but then really looked at her. She was alarmingly weak. He'd never seen her so shaky, but if she didn't get the guy to trust them or not care or whatever hell emotion she went with, then—

Sirens and lights illuminated the snow laden street, calling up a fresh rush of adrenaline. John grabbed Em's shoulder from habit, but his vibe wasn't about to pop. He withdrew his hand and turned back to Licia.

“Now!”

“Fuck.” She leaned in, her body shaking like an addict’s. She reached around the driver's seat and touched the guy's neck. Her eyes went impossibly wide and blank, the pale color of her irises nearly bleached white in the flickering lights. But whatever she was doing worked. The driver started the car and got them out onto the street just as half a dozen police vehicles pulled in.

But then Licia made a sound between a wounded moan and a gasp. Her arm fell from the driver's neck and she slumped forward, held up only by the strap across her shoulder.

“Shit.” Azami gathered her back against the seat and felt her pulse.

The driver seemed to knock out of a fugue state and realized what he was doing, but to his credit he checked the rear-view mirror and noted the two passed out women in the back. “Should I turn around? Do they need medical care?”

“No, keep going to the address,” Emerson said, pulling the driver's attention front again.

“Azami?” John caught her eye. She shook her head, her lips tight.

Licia had to be okay. He needed to tear into her for Aubrey. He needed her to argue back that he could have stopped it if he’d done things her way twelve years ago. Most of all, he needed her to look at him with those cold blue eyes and know that they concealed a warmth that he couldn’t lose. Except, he wasn’t sure that she was still his Licia.

Why—he wanted so bad to ask her. She'd used a gun for Shift’s sake; she never got her hands dirty and she hated guns. He once watched her emotionally cripple one of her lackeys for carrying a gun. Drugs were one thing, but this pushed too far.

But first he needed her to recover, or rather, all of them.

He hadn't seen Licia's new shop so he didn't know how long it would take to get there, but the tension in the car made each moment stretch into impossible lengths. Every police car they passed made his heart catch. Every flash of red made him hear the gunshot again and again.

He took in her pale freckled skin and strawberry blond hair. Taking in the woman who killed his ex-wife. His stomach hurt as a stab of nausea flashed through him. He knew Aubrey was dangerous to their kind, but she needed to return to prison, not this.

This was too much. Licia had gone too far.

They reached the lifeless shop. Emerson led them inside, using a standard key to unlock the glass door. The stark white paint reflected the streetlamps in the dark. There was nothing set up or hanging on the walls. The only signs of life were a pile of construction supplies in one corner and a light left on down the hall.

Emerson held Tarrah, still out cold. John had Licia and he was completely lost. This wasn't his place, it wasn't a situation he'd anticipated, and the only one of them he trusted to guide him had broken something in his heart deeper than the scars left by Em.

“Back this way.” Azami slipped by and led them down the hall towards the light. She pushed open a door to an office of sorts. Inside was an air mattress and a couple of sleeping bags. They set down their charges on the bed, which flopped awkwardly in its half-inflated state. Tarrah was significantly lighter and seemed to float while Licia sank down. Azami grabbed a nearby bag and tore it open, searching inside frantically.

“What are you doing?” Emerson asked when Azami pulled out a packaged syringe and a length of rubber tubing.

“Licia's eyes are dilated and her breathing is shallow. I don't know what's wrong with her, but—” Azami paused as she pushed up her sleeve and wrapped the tubing around her upper arm, then rubbed her elbow crook rapidly. “Whatever it is, I should be able to heal it.”

“You don't have to do that.” John saw the scars starting at her wrist and reaching up just past her elbow. Track marks, but not from drugs. When he and Licia had freed her, many of the marks had been fresh red splotches, some bruised, some pierced over older marks. They'd drawn so much blood from her and injected her with who knows what to test the limits of her ability.

“I need to inject them both.” Azami's eyes danced between them, her body doing a nervous side-to-side step like a middle schooler not sure where to rest their hands. The needle was poised in her hand, ready. Then he realized she wanted privacy. That an audience to her sticking herself felt like a freak show.

John grabbed Em's arm and pulled him, walking out of the room. Emerson didn't fight, but it took longer for him to drag his gaze away from three of the most powerful Ferly John might ever know. Before he shut the door, he said, “Thank you. I'm sorry you have to do this.”

She shrugged, then flinched as the needle pierced her vein.

The door clicked and darkness enveloped the hall, but he could still feel Emerson standing just steps away. How could he face him? He'd been right about Licia, and about him. Now there was blood on his hands as surely as hers. Emerson had saved him, but he'd still run off to save her. And for what? He couldn’t save Licia from herself and after this... how could he look at her without seeing her pull that trigger?

He set his forehead against the door, knowing that Azami was mutilating herself to save the lives of an unknown teenager and a murderer. What kind of leader created situations like this? Fuck, he was pathetic.

“It's not your fault.” Emerson's deep voice brushed him like a heavy blanket, both soothing and constricting.

He didn't turn to face him. “I laid out the dominos.” This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. Even thinking about it hurt too much to deal with when he already felt so wrong inside. He wandered further down the hall, looking for a place to sit and be quiet. To reflect on his shitty choices and the mistakes he couldn't take back. To not have to miss Emerson like a dehydrated man misses water. He was so close, but John didn't dare turn around and go to him. When Licia had killed the mugger, Emerson had looked at them both like they were plagues on the world, and maybe he was right, but he didn't want to see that look again.

He'd lost Licia. Lost Emerson. Lost Aubrey. Even his vibe was gone. How the hell did he carry on?

“John.”

He didn't notice he'd been pacing but stopped. “I'm—”

“Let me talk for a second.”

John clenched his teeth, waiting for the last of his strings to this life to be cut. He tried not to see pieces of a future without any of them but failed.

Emerson opened another door and used his phone as a flashlight. It was a storage closet, but it had a couple of folding chairs, a few tubs of cleaning supplies, and another crate of nonperishable food. Emerson held open the door and waited for John to step in. He did and immediately sank into a chair, only then realizing how utterly exhausted he felt. Adrenaline had been keeping him going, but it had ebbed.

Emerson took the other chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “It wasn't your fault.”

John raked back his hair, dragging his nails across his scalp with a tight sting. “Yes, it is. All of it. Aubrey, the experiments, the—”

“You're spiraling. Just shut the fuck up for once.” Em's voice was gruff and his expression grim in the muted light from his phone screen. John hadn't bothered to pick up the smashed pieces of his own, but he wished he had just so he had an excuse to fiddle with something instead of waiting for another judgment. Still, he closed his mouth and didn't bother putting up a front.

Emerson swallowed audibly. “You shouldn't have streamed the whole thing without telling us. You put yourself and the rest of us at risk. There's no telling what the fall out will be from something like that. You've put all the Abno—Ferly,” he corrected. “At risk. Not to mention if anything happens to you then we lose our most valuable asset. You have the eye of the media and the ear of the Internet, and if you're removed then we're lost... I'm lost.” Emerson's voice lowered to a whisper. “If something had happened to you I—it's my job to protect you, and tonight I could have lost you.”

John's heart picked up pace. “Em?” He wasn't saying what he thought he was, right? There was no way, not after everything he'd done to him. Em wanted nothing to do with him romantically. They'd closed that door. Emerson shifted forward until their knees touched. It caused a jolt through John's belly, but he had to come clean. “They made me an offer tonight. GANF wanted me as a public figure for the church to draw in others like us. Aubrey offered me control of her whole program if I accepted.”

“That's absurd.”

“I almost took it.” The words hung between them like pinpricks aiming to burst the bubble in John's chest.

Em was quiet for a long moment, the look on his face indecipherable. “But you didn't.”

“No.”

His hand reached out and brushed John's. He sucked in a breath and dared not move as Emerson's fingers curled around his own.

“What happened to you tonight?” John's voice shook, but he swallowed down the onset of nerves. “You look—”

“Healthier?” Emerson half-laughed in a self-depreciating way. “I took more tonight than I can ever remember, and I feel... amazing.” His voice betrayed how much he hated feeling good at the cost of others. John turned his hand to better hold Em’s and squeezed.

“You can't keep screwing up your health by denying something you need. You can't rely on doctors anymore. It's not safe.”

Emerson pulled back, but John held on. “I know, okay? I know how much I fucked up and how much I put everyone at risk. Jammers exist because of what they were able to take from me. And I... I never meant to hurt anyone, and I don't think you did either.”

John's breath hitched in surprise, and he tried to hide it. Emerson understood him. That's what he meant by all this. They'd both hurt and been hurt. “So then what do we do now?”

“We keep protecting the people we love.”

Say it. Please, just say it. John waited, but Emerson didn't elaborate. He could say it first, but Emerson knew what John was, how he felt, and what he wanted... what he could give. He leaned in.

A knock came at the door. He and Emerson sprang apart. “You two in there?” Azami asked.

John let out his strained breath and felt tears prickle his tired eyes. “Yeah, we'll be out in a minute. The girls okay?”

“They'll be fine. I think we all need some rest. Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, just debriefing.” Emerson answered before John could.

Azami made a sound of acceptance, then her soft footfalls padded away. They heard a door shut down the hall. John worried his hair again, trying to hold back the exhaustion, the fear, and worst of all, the hope. They’d done good tonight. They’d freed Tarrah. They’d exposed UHP. They’d even ended Aubrey's influence for good, though not how he’d wanted. It was hard to believe she was really gone. He'd given so much of his life to her and she was just...gone. He couldn't help it then.

Tears trailed down, betraying him. He brushed them away with the heel of his hand.

“You okay?” Emerson's voice was so wretchedly soft. Why did he have to be so kind?

“Fine. Just a long night.”

“What about your vibe?”

John shook his head. “I can't feel a thing. I don't know how much she injected, or how concentrated the dose. To be honest it's freaking me out a little.” He hadn't meant to say the last bit, but it was so damn late, and he was beginning to feel sleep-drunk. Then Emerson's hand was back on his, sliding across his skin. John leaned over and kissed the back of his hand, just glad to have the contact. “I love you.”

Emerson slid his hand free, and John went cold.

“You know,” Emerson looked away from him. “I thought I wanted the world to know. That maybe if we were public it would fix this emptiness inside me.” He let out a huff. “It was this tight space in my chest because I thought... I thought you were being selfish and conceited and vain.”

“Pretty sure I am those things.”

Em smiled a bit at that. “Maybe. But you weren't the problem. I wasn't being honest with myself. I didn't need a proposal or a public declaration, I just needed you and I knew there were things you weren’t letting me see. I was always on the outside, and now I see it wasn't without reason. I know why you kept this all from me, but it's my job to protect you, not the other way around. You don't have to hide from me anymore. I need you, but I need all of you. No more secrets.”

It felt surreal to hear. An open invitation to be himself, and he believed it. Emerson was so sincere it made him want to laugh. Or maybe cry some more—he really was stupidly tired. It was as close to forgiveness as he could ever hope to have, and he'd take it.

“I can do that.” Then when Emerson looked skeptical, John put his hand over Em's heart. “I don't mind anymore—being public. After everything else what's one more closet to jump out of?” Emerson smirked, which encouraged him further. “I still don't want to get married, and after all this I don't think I'll ever want that, but it doesn't mean we can't get engaged.”

Emerson jerked back at that. “But you—”

“It's not the same, trust me. One is a promise we hold for each other, the other is a promise we'd make to lawyers and judges and strangers that don't matter. I just need you.”

“Me and Prisha and Licia and—”

“No.” John's voice came out harsher than he meant. He kissed Em's hand again, holding it to his lips to take in the warmth. “Licia... I can't. Not after...” He'd always have a connection with her, but anything more than that seemed impossible now. He might need her help, maybe her guidance, but not her affection. He was just... done.

Emerson seemed to notice his shift in mood and tugged John closer. Not close enough to kiss, but damn close enough to make him think about nothing but Emerson's thick lips and sensual tongue.

John brushed Emerson’s cheek on an undeniable impulse. “I don’t think I can ever say how much I need you, too. I love you more than I’ve ever loved someone before. It’s a little unnerving.”

Emerson leaned into his touch and tried to smother a sly smile. “I accept.”

“Huh?” John blinked a couple of times to bring his attention away from his growing arousal.

“Your offer of engagement.”

The grin that spread across John’s lips was lazy but didn't seem to stop. His cheeks hurt and his eyes stung and everything in him wanted to burst. Including, he realized, a soft effervescence growing low in his abdomen. He laughed out of sheer relief and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Emerson's, feeling his hot breath swirl over his skin. He tilted his head and felt Em’s tongue sweep across his lips to tangle with his own. He was so afraid to push further and crumble the bridge rebuilding between them.

They both hesitated, pulling back enough to search each other's faces in the dim light.

“I'm going to buy you a ring,” John licked his lips and let that lazy grin return.

Emerson laughed with just his breath. “You don't need to; we're making our own rules here.”

“Alright,” John considered. “If you don't want a standard ring for our non-standard relationship, then I can get you a cock ring instead.”

The room filled with Emerson's laughter.

CHAPTER 65

John

––––––––

Chances were Azami could hear their muted gasps and moans, but John wasn't going to miss a chance to be with the man he loved tonight. He practically crawled onto Em's lap on the folding chair.

“Do you have any lube. Condoms?” Emerson bit his ear.

“Weirdly that wasn't on my mind tonight when I broke into UHP.” He kissed down Em's neck and sucked on the soft spot between his neck and shoulder.

Emerson pushed John down to his knees, cupped his chin, and hungrily kissed him. “I honestly wouldn't have been surprised if you had.”

“Your opinion of me is so high.”

“Shut up.” Em smirked.

John didn't need any convincing to unbuckle Emerson's belt. Impatient, Em helped unbutton and unzip his pants. John then freed the length of him, taking his time to enjoy how hard he was. How much he wanted this, too.

Emerson fisted John’s hair, holding him in place as he brought his mouth down around him. He rather liked the prickling tug and went deeper. He licked and sucked, aching with desire as Emerson let out little moans and uneven breaths. The cement under his knees bit into his skin, but somehow made the pleasure he delivered even more exquisite, except then Emerson stopped him.

At first, he thought Em changed his mind—couldn’t handle what being with John would mean, how much hard work was ahead for them to be together—but then he was lost in Emerson's lips smothering his, and the desperate tugging at his jeans. John half fell back onto the opposite chair as Emerson sank down, and when his hot, wet mouth wrapped around the length of him, he thought he'd lose it immediately. Instead his returning vibe uncorked and spilled free. Emerson moaned, the vibration adding to the experience, and John knew he was lapping up both the energy and his arousal.

It felt beyond good to feel and not think, so when he was unbearably close, he pulled out of Em's reach and pinned him against the wall. They faced each other, flushed and breathing hard.

John reached down and slid his hand around Emerson’s cock. Em pressed his head back against the wall and closed his eyes with a look so caught in pleasure that John pressed himself into Em’s hand in turn and groaned.

Em kissed him, hard and wet and slanted to slip his tongue into John’s mouth. John gripped his shoulder and dipped his forehead down against his, growing tight as their pace accelerated. They paused to briefly lay their mouths on each other’s cocks to stay slick, then Em spun John to the wall instead.

Em’s other hand found his ass and traipsed his fingers along sensitive areas. They pumped and kissed and groaned, begging for release and yet savoring the moment.

Emerson's free hand moved aside and dug into John’s hips, the strong and fast strokes stoking the fire until John thought he'd burn alive with need. He stroked, keeping pace, listening for Emerson's little cues—the way he quivered when he was close, the high strain when his breath became too tight with lust—he’d thought he’d never hear them again.

They came at the same time, not even pretending to stay quiet. Emerson leaned into him, kissing his shoulder, his neck, whatever he could reach. John practically collapsed. He was drained down to nothing and had never felt more relieved.

Emerson eased back, pulling free. John offered his soon-to-be-discarded boxers to clean up, then gathered Emerson to his chest, holding on. He was never letting go.

“I love you.” Emerson kissed the underside of his jaw.

John snuggled into Emerson's neck and nipped him. He yelped in surprise. “I love you, too.”

He refused to hold back ever again.