Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dahlia
I sleep through the night, vaguely aware of Lagos coming and going from the room, his dark outline crossing the space only to leave again, but never for long.
Tomar tends to Spero, and I let him. Guilt is ever present, but in the end, exhaustion wins.
Between slumber and wakefulness, at some point during first-light, I am somewhat aware of a conversation.
Lagos saying, “She needs more sleep. She’s still healing.”
Tomar agrees, but says, “There is a doctor at the Common Community. If we can just get her there, he will help her recover.”
“Fine. I’ve fuelled up, and unloaded the crate for our stay, so I’ve made room in the back seat for her and the Shadow bab?—”
“Spero,” Tomar corrects. “So she won’t be in your lap this time, brother?”
It is all a hazy montage of shuffling and voices as I dip in and out of sleep. Never moving or fully opening my eyes because every time I do, I relive the kiss, the dark promises, and the moment he left—again.
When I finally get up, we hit the road straightaway, leaving that little bit of me behind forever. The place of my first kiss.
Goodbye, roadhouse.
One little death.
Right now, the truck throttles down the long desert road, the Redwind and mist-covered sun clashing around us like a wildfire. I blink out the passenger window and thoughts cascade in. Fester.
Why did he leave?
Am I a bad kisser?
I tell myself—chant, even—that none of this is about us, it is about Spero. My new Purpose.
Spero is my priority.
Not Lagos the Rogue.
Forget about Lagos.
But my silly affection-nausea kicks me while I’m down. A sinking feeling in my stomach taunts me with, ‘was he with another girl?’ While my heart balloons saying, ‘no, he likes you.’ So, I’m both heavy and light, and the two pull me apart at the centre.
Love and sex are distracting; Tomar was right. He said that if a man is without it or denied it , it can become an obsession. I think this applies to women, too.
It is not fair. Our days together are numbered. Doesn’t he know, doesn’t he care? Soon, I’ll lose another friend, companion, or person I care for.
Lagos and Tomar.
All I now know.
I like Tomar and will miss him dearly, but I am… I am lost in Lagos.
And we only have a few days together, then he’ll leave, and I will never see him again… Realisation presses on my chest, and suddenly I can’t breathe?—
I. Will. Never. See him again.
With a sigh, I gaze at the front seat. Lagos is driving this time, his broad shoulders bulking out from either side of the chair. Tomar has his shoes up on the dash, arms folded across his chest, resting but not asleep.
Reaching to the seat beside me, I place my hand on Spero’s warm chest and tap lightly. “Will you both leave as soon as we get there? Or… will you stay a while? Until I’m ready.” I feel completely pathetic, childish, and vulnerable asking this, but I do it anyway. I add, “I trust you.” My heart pauses for the answer. “And you’ll miss Spero, right?”
“I will miss Spero.” Tomar peers in the rearview mirror, soft eyes meeting mine. “We aren’t allowed to stay, Dahlia. I’m sorry, that can’t happen.”
What?
Used to navigating my broken rib, I straighten in a smooth and careful way. “What do you mean?”
“Only Common know where it is. Xin De aren’t even allowed past the tunnel.”
I chew on my lower lip, trying to create an image in my mind of this place. “The tunnel?” I check.
He nods, blue eyes still on me in the mirror. “Yes. The Doctor, Robert, will collect you and Spero at the front of the second tunnel. He will take you into the Community and give you a room.”
“So…” Struck by a horrible truth, I blurt out, “You have never actually seen the community.”
He sighs. “No.”
I huff, shock and fear racing through my tone. “What if it’s a trap?”
“It isn’t.” Tomar slides his boots off the dash and turns in his seat, facing me, settling me with his kind eyes. “I’ve— Rather, we’ve been taking people there for decades, and I’ve seen some of the escapees since. Met with them to check in, offer aid, and exchange. They are happy.”
“So…” I ponder on this… How many people have they saved? How many girls has Lagos saved? Is he rude to them all? Does he kiss them and touch them between the legs?
I shut down my incessant jealousy, reaching for the highlight of the conversation.
“So… I can leave?” I confirm.
“It is not a prison, Dahlia.” Tomar chuckles at my surprise, twisting to the front again. “You’re free to do as you please, but to be safe?—”
“Don’t leave,” Lagos barks, his thunderous tone kicking me in the chest.
“Why?” I challenge, just to retaliate. “I’m free. I belong to no man.” I know why—it’s not safe. The Trade are hunting Spero, and I’m his guardian. For life. Forever. It is what I agreed to weeks ago at The Bite. It is what I want.
He growls that inhuman sound that flares heat through my core and warns the provocative words on my tongue.
Brute.
“You shouldn’t growl at people,” I say through a smile. “They may mistake you for being antisocial.”
Tomar snorts with a sudden burst of laughter, not at all trying to smooth over my obvious teasing. Instead, adds, “That would be a real travesty. They might think you’re unapproachable, brother.”
Laughter fills my throat. “It’d break your little heart?—”
“To be left out,” Tomar finishes.
“Take it easy.” Lagos grunts, eyes fixed on the unclear road ahead, but I think that maybe a small part of him enjoyed the breeze of light conversation.
A very, very small part.
I chuckle quietly and realise this is the first time I’ve laughed—properly laughed—since Maple died.
Lifting my eyes, I meet Lagos’ gaze in the mirror. He pauses on me, looking at my smile, and softening before returning to the desert terrain.
My heart pitter-patters.
Casting my gaze through the window beside me, a bright smile rests on my lips. This isn’t goodbye forever; Tomar said he saw people again, outside the community.
And they are happy.
Maybe it’s the dopamine from the laughter or the fact Lagos almost played a role in a joke, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m a bit excited for what the future holds for me. I look at Spero, ‘ And for you.’
If Tomar meets me one day in the future, will Lagos come? Are they always together? Suddenly, my mind plucks at a word spoken: brother .
I suppose when you travel together for, what did he say, decades? That person would feel like family.
How did they meet? I don’t want to ask anything that might dampen the easy mood or affect the smooth brow above the brute’s steel-colour gaze.
Things have been…. tense between them. I’m glad whatever it was seems to be loosening.
I love that expression, Lagos.
I know Tomar saved him… which in itself seems highly unlikely as Lagos is a behemoth, huge across the shoulders and monstrous hands, a giant. And Tomar is only slightly bigger than a Common man.
I’m deep in thought when Lagos suddenly curses, throwing the steering wheel to the left, jostling my body. I cry out but lunge to brace Spero. We churn up an unsealed road, and I try to stifle my whimpers. Red dirt storms around us as we drive away from the main highway, and then?—
He slams on the brakes, and I wince as we jerk to a blunt stop.
“What was that?” Tomar spits out, panting as though he has been running.
“Flower, are you okay?” Lagos reaches a big, warm hand out to me, placing it on my thigh… I feel it everywhere.
I nod fast, questions buzzing on my tongue but silenced by the abrupt rumbling of an engine in the near distance.
And getting closer.
Through a wince, I twist in my seat. The demonic sound grows, and a distinct pounding, almost like metal chewing dirt, echoes from every direction.
“Fuck.” Tomar turns toward the main road, and we all watch vehicle lights filter through the Redwind. “Why aren’t we getting the hell out of here?”
“It’s not Marshals, not military,” Lagos states, his tone blunt and impatient.
Tomar’s unease strikes me. I freeze, not sure what to say or do. My mouth drops open, eyes wide, looking between them for answers.
Tomar searches the red mist. “What do you mean it’s not?—”
“Wait…” Lagos points to the ceiling just as something screeches above us like lightning striking. “Odio.”
“Who?” I ask, gripping the passenger handle. Two huge tanks appear on the highway, and our truck vibrates as The Cradle quakes beneath the colossal vehicles.
We watch them pass.
I hold my breath.
One after the other.
Three armoured tanks.
Tomar says, “Not the military, huh?”
“No.” Lagos shakes his head, fierce eyes assessing the red waste. “The Guard.”
The Guard? The special military personnel that protect royalty, lords, Trade officials, and the like?
“Are they gone?” Tomar darts around, surveying the road behind us for more encroaching vehicles. “Do you think they saw us?”
Lagos sighs roughly, his black eyes meeting mine. “That bird doesn’t miss a damn thing.”
“What?” I breathe. “What. Bird?”
“Why aren’t they stopping, then?” Tomar asks, a thread of deep discomfort in his tone, reminding me of the dangers we face out here.
“Because”—Lagos swings the car around, heading back toward the now empty highway— “That was the king.”
I stammer. “Like… Rome. The Rome. Like, Rome of The Strait?”
Nerves rush through me.
The Cradle’s Monarch, Rome of The Strait, has legendary status throughout the land, being ruthless, unbeaten in combat, and sworn to fiercely protect The Cradle and ensure each Trade citizen has the chance for Meaningful Purpose.
He is a deity.
There is a screen in each building in the Half-tower, and we used to congregate around it once a week to watch the Trade updates—invasions, rescues, and celebrations. Rome is featured in almost every update. And we are required to watch them—all Trade-aligned citizens, but then…
I’m no longer one of them.
I’m… I don’t know. Trade girls say, Fur Born. As in, girls who live in their fur. Not for Purpose but as animals. It is a derogatory term that I will not accept.
“The one and only,” Tomar answers, his bright blue eyes sweeping over me as Lagos continues down the road slower than before. “Rome the Heartless. Are you okay? Is Spero okay?”
“Yes.” I tuck the tiny assassin back into his nest on the seat, but he’s awake now. Wide-eyed and staring at a spot on the ceiling. “So, that was the king… King of The Cradle? How do you know?”
Tomar drags his hand down his face, exhaling heavily. “That screech must have been his eagle, Odio. It never leaves his side. Which means he was inside one of those tanks.” Tomar looks at Lagos. “And he must have more important things to do than check our vehicle.”
Lagos’ jaw pulses. “They’ll be back for us. They know where we are. We have to take a different route.”
I place my hand over my heart, feeling the racing organ beneath my palm. “Luckily we got off the road when we did.” Clearly shaken by what just happened, my mind ticks over blank thoughts as Lagos turns onto the highway and into a red abyss.
My breath catches to behold the endless red nothing in front of us. Being dependent on them is difficult and easy for the exact opposite reasons.
I worry my lower lip. I trust them to know what to do, to get us there safely no matter what obstacles we hit head on— My brows furrow… But we didn’t hit this one, did we? We avoided it.
How did we avoid it?
I lift my head and stare at Lagos in the tiny mirror, dread creeping in on suspicion’s heels. “How did you know they were coming, Lagos?”
Tomar’s eyes shift to Lagos, and the lingering pause has a pulse of its own, sending icy fear down my spine.
Can I… Can I trust them?
Did he see the tanks? No.
Did that thing, that bird, did it screech before or after he pointed at the sky? I can’t be sure. I didn’t focus on the sequence of events at the time, but I feel in my belly that he pointed before… How did he know? Am I going crazy?
“He saw the tank,” Tomar answers, smooth and controlled. “Xin De eyesight is something else.”
No. Shaking my head, I look down and frown, my eyes losing focus as my mind clouds with thoughts. “No. There was no tank when you turned off the road, Lagos. I’m sure of it. And there was no way you could have known that thing, that bird, was above us. So, how?” My eyes lift and hit his in the mirror. And there it is, in his gaze—a secret. A lie. “Lagos?”
My voice shudders out. “Where are you taking me?”
“ Dahlia .” Tomar turns in his seat, but he’s not as comforting this time; in fact, his attention shrinks me backward. “We are taking you to the?—”
“Don’t lie to me!” I grab the door handle and squeeze it. “I’ll jump out!” And for a split second, I consider doing it. Jumping out into the waste, fuelled by the anger of being deceived more than by thoughts of survival— But then my tiny burden fusses beside me.
Spero.
My heart sinks.
Panic carries bile to my mouth. I’m stuck. Trapped.
Tomar holds his hand up. “Woah. Dahlia , let go of the handle. You’re not in any danger with us?—"
“Tell her,” Lagos grunts.
I gape at Lagos.
“That’s not a good idea,” Tomar says.
And I look back at him.
“Tell her!” Lagos snaps.
Back at Lagos.
I growl. “Tell me what?”
The silence screams.
Tomar straightens in his seat before leaning back with a heavy sigh. “We have never done this. Telling you puts Lagos in danger.”
The truck slows—deathly slow—and as it does, my heart races into my ears, echoing like my head is empty of anything else.
The truck stops.
Staring forward at the red-swept plane, Lagos says, “I sensed the bird. I felt the tankers on the terrain.” He turns, showing me his side profile over his wide shoulder. A near-black gaze shifts to me, and the tang of something metallic slides along my tongue. “Because I’m a Shadow.”