I thought the grief would eventually fade like Leda had said, but instead one day I woke up still heartbroken and burning with rage. I thought it would go away, but it didn’t. The anger crackled under my skin like lightning, burning me from the inside out, but even worse, I was angry at Trey. Suddenly the beautiful stories that people told me about Trey grated on my fragile sanity. I tried to avoid talking to anyone as much as possible because I didn’t want to hear about how Trey had stayed up all night helping somebody patch a leaking roof or how he’d taken on extra work to help people who were sick. Everyone had a story about Trey, and every single one just made me angrier. The guilt ate me alive. What kind of person did that make me? How could I be angry at the person who died because of me? If anybody knew I felt this way, they’d probably be horrified.
Somehow a couple of months passed. The snow began to melt during the day but still froze at night. Mud coated everything, the kind of mud that sucked at my boots and reminded me far too much of when I'd jumped in the pit to fight Brimstone. I wished I could fight someone like that again. Maybe it would release some of the anger that crackled in the back of my mind like radio static.
I headed back to the clinic alone one night, covered in no small amount of blood from helping a woman give birth to twins. The babies seemed to be strong and healthy, both of them letting out an ear-piercing wail after I patted their backs. Still, coming back a storm grew heavier and heavier in my chest. I couldn't shake the horrible, selfish thought that seeing new life brought into the world just reminded me of the life I'd had ripped away from me. I swore under my breath. What kind of person hated innocent babies just for being alive?
You’re a good person, Bones.
If Trey could see me right now, I doubted he’d still say that with such certainty.
I came to an abrupt halt, staring at the little path that led toward the cemetery. I passed it every night, pretending not to see it, but for some reason, I couldn't walk past it now. My feet slowly took me down the path, that empty hole in my chest aching worse with every step. It took me a while to find Trey's grave as I squinted in the moonlight at the names carved in the simple wooden markers. When I finally found it, reading his name hurt a lot worse than I expected. I sank to my knees at the side of his grave, the cold damp mud seeping into my pants.
Despite watching a bullet go through his head, despite being painfully aware of his absence every second, apparently a stupid part of my mind still hadn’t actually believed it until now. Now seeing him reduced to a simple, plain grave marker reading “Trey Mason,” that last tiny shred of delusional hope shriveled away. Trey was never coming back.
I hated him for leaving. I hated knowing that he probably would see his death as a noble sacrifice or some shit. I hated him for charming me with his kindness and for breaking down all my defenses. I hated him for making me fall in love with him and then fucking leaving me here alone. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? I leaned forward and dug both my hands into the dirt. Dirt was all that was left of him. I clenched handfuls of it, fighting the urge to fling it at the marker bearing his name.
I knelt there for a long time, shivering and burning with anger as I gripped handfuls of ice-cold dirt. I startled when someone crouched beside me and looked up to see Mac. He still wore his tactical gear, so he must have just returned from his latest mission.
“C’mon, Bones,” he murmured, “let’s go home.”
I let him pull me to my feet. He wrapped an arm around me, tucking me against his side. He was taller than Trey had been, I noted numbly. Dirt caked my hands and knees and blood coated my clothes. He noticed the blood and frowned.
“That’s not your blood, is it?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice.
“No,” I said, “Miss Hatch had her babies.”
“Babies?” he repeated with surprise.
“Twins.”
“Everybody ok?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the walk. We entered the clinic to find it empty, but warm, the fire roaring in the wood stove. I wished it could thaw the cold that had settled in my very bones. I went to the sink, washing the dirt off my hands.
“Bones, how can I help?”
I twisted to look at where Mac stood by the exam table. In the dim light, his scar looked like a grim slash across his cheek. His grey eyes glittered but with something softer than his usual fire. He ran a hand through his black hair, shoved both hands in his pockets, and shifted on his feet.
“Please,” he added even quieter, “I want to help.”
“Help with what?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“With you.” He pinned me in place with those intense eyes.
I turned back around, turning the water off and reaching for a towel, the tears in my eyes and the anger in my chest both burning.
“I don’t need—”
“Don’t.” He strode to my side and grabbed my shoulders. “Don’t do that. Don’t say you’re fine and that you don’t need help. I know that’s not true.”
I tried to jerk away half-heartedly, but he didn’t release me. “What the fuck do you want me to say?”
“I dunno, but I want to be there for you. If Trey could see you right now, he’d kick my ass.”
“Well he’s dead, so you don’t need to worry about that,” I said, my voice getting sharper.
“Bones,” he growled, a hint of anger entering his voice, “c’mon, I’m not just doing this for Trey, ok?”
“Mac, I just want to be alone right now.” This time when I jerked away, he let me go, his hands dropping to his sides. My temper hung by a thread.
“It’s just me.” He calmed his voice, but his eyes still snapped with sparks. “You can let it out. I can take it.”
I heard the echo of him saying the same thing in that horrible cell below the watchtower when I was coming apart. It made my throat ache, but I couldn’t come apart again. If I did, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to pull myself back together.
“Let what out?” I snapped.
“All the shit that’s fuckin’ eating you alive,” he snapped back.
I glared at him, my jaw clenched, and he glared back at me. For a long time, we just stood there as I desperately tried to hold it together.
“Why’d you go to the cemetery tonight?” he asked.
I shrugged, looking away.
“Bones.”
I stared at the door, hoping he’d get the message.
“I was there too. I heard what Trey said.”
My gaze swung back to him, panic and pain smashing through my self-control. “Don’t,” I hissed.
“He told you to let them in. He was talking about us, wasn’t he?” he asked.
My fists clenched so hard that my nails bit into my palms, and that muscle jumped in his jaw. I had the sudden image of both of us teetering on the edge of a cliff.
His voice came out harsh and rough. “You think I don’t have to watch him die every night in my dreams? You think I don’t hear you screaming when you couldn’t heal him? You think any of this is fuckin’ easy—”
“I hate him, is that what you want to hear?” The words poured out of me like vomit. “I hate him. I didn’t go lookin’ for this! I was fuckin’ fine just by myself, but he just couldn’t leave me be. He had to get in my head and fill it with all this shit about a better world. He made me fall in love with him and then he fuckin’ left me here alone. And I know it wasn’t his fault, I know he didn’t choose this. I know he was murdered and it was my fault it happened. I know I’m a piece of shit for feeling this way, but I’m so fuckin’ angry.”
I broke off, breathing hard, furious tears filling my eyes. Mac hadn't moved from where he stood tensely an arm's distance away, his eyes glittering. The silence roared in my ears.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Mac finally said, his voice low and rough.
I stared at him, fury running through me again that he picked that to harp on. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated, his eyes fixed on me.
“It never would’ve happened if I hadn’t let him come with me!” I cried, throwing my arms out in frustrated disbelief.
“You think you let him?” Mac’s voice rose. “He was dead set on going. You might be stubborn, but Trey was worse, especially when it came to you.”
The anger howled freely through me now. I put both palms flat on his chest and shoved.
“Stop it.” I shouted. “You know it’s my fault, so don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me to try and make me feel better!” I might as well have tried to shove the watchtower over. He didn’t move an inch.
"I'm not lying, Bones." His voice sounded rough with emotion but frighteningly honest. "It's not your fault."
“Stop!” I shoved him again, putting more weight into it.
He still didn’t move, but he grabbed my shoulders again, squeezing. “I’m angry too,” he snapped. “I’m angry at myself for not joinin’ the rebellion earlier, for not helpin’ Trey make this place better before it killed him. I’m angry at Madame. I’m angry at Nemo, but you wanna know why I’m angry at you? It’s cause you’re closing yourself off to everyone, pushin’ all of us away like you’re the only one who loved him!”
“I’m not tryin’ to push you away!” I said furiously as tears started rolling down my face. “I just don’t have anythin’ left!”
He stared at me for a few breaths, something softening in the angry lines of his face. “What do you mean?”
“I’m just—” Gods, now that the tears had started I could not get them to stop. “I’m just empty. I can’t…I can’t bend this time. Madame won. She didn’t just break me, she d-destroyed me, and there’s nothin’ left.”
He stood there holding my shoulders and studying my face as I tried to rein in my hiccupy gasps.
“He was p-puttin’ me back together.” I whispered. “And now I’m broken just like Madame.
“What do you mean broken like Madame?” he asked.
“Trey said she wasn’t as bad before Viper died,” I choked out. “He said when Viper died it was like it broke somethin’ in her. And that’s how I feel, broken. Half the time I don’t feel anything at all.”
Mac let out a heavy sigh and released my shoulders to scrub his hands over his face. "Trey didn't know Madame like I did," he said quietly. "She was always cruel. She always liked hurtin' people, and I've got the scars to prove it. I just never told Trey all of it ’cause I thought keepin' it to myself was all I could do to protect him." Pain sharpened in his voice. "And now I can't help wonderin' if I told him everything from the beginning, maybe he would still be alive."
The pain in his voice broke me. I tried to bring my hands up to cover my face, but before I could, he pulled me into his arms. My face pressed against the hard body armor he wore, and his arms tightened around me, holding me as I sobbed. He breathed raggedly and tears dropped into my hair. I could feel his grief hitting me like a physical force, and gods, he was right. I hadn’t thought of anyone else. I was so fucking selfish.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed.
“It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “You hear me, Bones? It’s not your fault.”
We stood there for a long time. My arms wrapped around his waist at some point, and even though the body armor wasn’t a terribly comfortable thing to be pressed against, I didn’t move.
“You should hate me,” I mumbled, drunk with exhaustion.“Why don’t you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you,” he murmured, and I realized we were having a strange mirror conversation of the one we’d had during the fever.
“You did.”
“Yeah, well, I’m an asshole,” he said. “That was never about you though.”
I scoffed, but I still didn’t move.
“I was angry at myself for fuckin up the mission, for letting my crew put everything on the line for me and Trey. I wasn’t sure if Madame would think finding you was worth everything we lost.”
The memory of Madame’s knife slicing open his gut flickered across my mind and I shuddered.
“You still cold?” he asked, turning us so the heat of the wood stove warmed my back without letting me go.
“I was just remembering when she cut you open.” With the stove at my back and his chest at my front, a little warmth crept through me.
Now he shuddered. “Gods, I thought for sure I was gonna die.”
I mulled over his words for a minute, surprised. “Did you think I wouldn’t heal you?”
“Honestly, I still wasn’t fully sure I believed you had powers.” He hesitated. “But yeah, a part of me thought you might just let me die for dragging you here.”
I tried to imagine what would have happened if I’d refused. Madame probably would have killed both of us. Would it have been better to die then?
“I don’t think I could’ve just stood there and let you die,” I confessed, remembering how his wound had reminded me painfully of Dune’s. There’d been no hesitation in me when I went to heal him, just desperation.
“I’m sorry for all the times I reminded you of Juck.”
I pulled away, looking up at him in horror, and he released me, stuffing his hands back in his pockets. He stared down at me with those flinty grey eyes, something soft and pained in their depths. Something vulnerable that I’d never seen in him before.
“You never reminded me of Juck,” I said, my voice coming out harsher than I’d meant.
“Didn’t I?” he asked darkly.
“No,” I said, “you didn’t.”
We stared at each other for a long time. He didn’t look convinced, and I tried to get my brain to piece together a better answer.
“A lot of times I assumed you’d do something like Juck would’ve done,” I finally said, “but you never did.”
“Do you still wish you were with him instead of here?” he asked in a low voice.
Guilt stabbed me as I realized he’d been holding onto the lies I threw at him in anger. “I was lyin’ when I said that,” I admitted with a grimace. “I only said it to hurt you.”
His eyes studied mine, but he didn’t say anything.
“I watched him do so many horrible things.” The words just spilled out of my mouth. “He tortured the people he trafficked. He’d cut their tongues out if they screamed too much, and he’d…he’d do a lot worse if they really pissed him off. If I tried to get him to stop, he’d beat me and then make me go weeks without any food. He branded me after he found out I was sneaking out to see Vulture so I’d never forget I belonged to him. He was evil.” My voice shook so hard I could barely get the words out, but I wanted him to understand he was nothing like Juck. “He…he forced himself on me for the first time when I was fourteen after I tried to run away. He liked hurting people, Mac. You’re nothin’ like him, and—” My voice quavered. “And I’m sorry I made you think you were.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw again.
“For the first time?” he repeated in a dangerous voice.
I couldn't get any more words out, so I just nodded, clenching my trembling hands at my sides. I dreaded seeing pity on his face, but only fury shone in his eyes.
“I wish he was still alive so I could kill him. Slowly,” he muttered.
Trey had said almost the same thing.
Despite the heaviness, the grief, and the horrible memories crowding my mind, I had to fight the urge to smile. Gods, maybe I'd truly lost it. I was broken. The harder I tried to keep a straight face, the more the corner of my lips turned up. His eyes focused on my mouth, surprise washing away a little bit of the darkness in his eyes.
I finally gave up and let myself grin like a crazy person. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He blinked, and then an answering slow grin spread across his face. Gods above, Mac had dimples. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen him smile beyond a slight smirk.
“Well, fuck, I better work on that,” he said.
Let ’em in.
“I hate bein’ alone in here.” The words tumbled out of my mouth.
He looked confused for a second, but then understanding flooded his face. “Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”
I frowned. "I've been sleepin'."
He gave me an exasperated look. “At night?”
“Well, no,” I admitted, my face warming.
“Then we’ll make sure you’re not alone in here anymore.”
I blinked at him in surprise.
He hesitated a moment, then added, “You want me to stay tonight? I can get a bedroll and sleep on the floor.”
A sudden wave of emotion washed over me, and my eyes prickled. “That’d be nice.” I managed to get out.
He smiled. “Let me change and grab one. I’ll be right back, ok?” He headed for the door, then paused, turning back to look at me. “Bones?”
I glanced at him. The firelight played across his face and highlighted the golden sparks in his eyes.
“You’re a part of my crew,” he said in that soft voice I rarely heard, “but you’re also my friend. You’re not alone, ok?”
My eyes burned. “Ok.”
He flashed those dimples again. “Be right back.”
After he left, I headed up to the loft to change my clothes. The relief coursing through my body made me lightheaded. A few months ago, I would've seen that as weakness. Now I wasn't sure what I'd call it, but maybe it could be something good. A little bit of the fog I'd been living in had cleared. I wouldn't have to be alone anymore, and maybe tonight I could tell Mac about the other powered person. I knew I needed to tell them, but I hadn't been able to think or care past my grief.
I'd only just reached my dresser when I heard the door open. I stopped and turned to walk back to the edge of the loft to see if Mac had forgotten something, but I froze mid-step when the light flicked off. A chill crawled up my spine as I tried to get my eyes to adjust to the dark. That wasn’t Mac. He wouldn’t shut the light off like that.
I stood in silence, straining my ears when I heard a whisper of a noise to my left. I half turned, panic flooding me, but someone grabbed me, spinning me around and pinning my back against a tall, wiry body. A hand clapped over my mouth, muffling my scream. He wore thick gloves, so when I tried to bite him, I didn't get any skin. I tried to kick his knees, ready to fight, but a low voice spoke harshly in my ear.
“Don’t make me do this the hard way, Ember. Your time’s up.”
My heart stopped beating. Hearing my real name for the first time in twelve years felt like a painful electric shock, but hearing that voice was worse. Even after all this time, I knew it. I’d been dreading hearing it again since I was ten years old.
“Lights,” someone said in a low voice from down below, and then a few seconds later the lights came back on.
He spun me around to face him, large hands gripping my shoulders, and I met those green eyes identical to my own. There was no softness, no kindness, no love in my brother’s face, just a burning fury that seared through me.
“Think you ran far enough?” asked Wolf.
To be continued…