Chapter 30
Time is supposed to heal all wounds. Well, screw time, because it’s not doing me any favors.
Every morning, I wake up hoping the agony will be a little less acute, and every morning, it isn’t.
Every time I think about him, it feels like someone is scraping a piece of jagged glass over the wound, cutting it open and letting all the painful emotions come gushing out.
Time doesn’t heal a damn thing. That’s just a comforting lie.
I haven’t spoken to Cross in two months. After our rendezvous in the quarry, he shut down the lines of communication. On the rare nights when I succumb to weakness and reach out, he never links. His mind is bolted shut to me.
Where did he go? I wonder. Did he get in that plane and try to find Carora? Steal that boat and sail his way down to Tierra Fe?
It scares me that I don’t know where he is or if he’s safe, but at least I know he’s alive. His energy signature still lingers in my mind, haunting me.
Hurting me.
I’ve been trying to keep busy, to distract myself, waiting for time to soften the blow of losing Cross.
I’m now the unofficial long-range instructor on the base.
It’s not my ideal job. I would prefer to run ops, but most of the mission leads won’t work with me, especially since Neema was on my team when she died, and neither Gray nor Saint has requested me for anything lately.
I know they’re planning things. Putting the pieces in motion, is what Kallister said the last time I pried. It would be nice to know what those pieces are, but my clearance levels are nearly as low as Xavier’s. Which means nonexistent.
Xavier and I occupy ourselves by shooting at the range or hiking the trails on the mountain.
I’m starting to really enjoy the forest. It’s therapeutic, my boots crunching over the pine needles and overgrowth on the forest floor, the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.
I don’t even mind Xavier’s excessive chattering and endless complaints about how the lack of excitement is slowly draining his life force.
I bet he secretly regrets telling Cross he’d watch out for me, but I can’t deny I enjoy his company. I’ve tried reconnecting with Tana, but she’s still keeping me at a distance.
It doesn’t help that there’s also a physical distance between us, with her currently living in the valley.
Labor camp Mods who want to work on the base are required to stay in the valley for a certain period of time and must undergo mental health assessments before the Authority will sign off on using them as operatives.
Gray told me that the freed slaves are oftentimes too angry or unpredictable.
I don’t know if Tana intends to work for the network. She and her father did so before. I assume she’ll do it again, but she’s barely spoken to me since she got here, let alone filled me in on her plans. I understand, but I wish we could talk the way we used to.
Today it’s raining, so I spend the morning training with Hawkins, who is delightful as always.
We sit cross-legged in one of the alcoves, the blue daggerstone casting an eerie glow over our faces. I rest my palms face up on my knees. I’ve found it’s the best way to stop myself from curling my hands into fists.
Hawkins has actually agreed to let me try to incite him, since Gray’s been too busy lately to help me train.
“You’re not focusing.”
His voice jolts me back to the present. He’s right. I let my mind drift. “Sorry.”
I try again, concentrating on channeling the gold dust dancing behind my eyes. This part comes easy to me now, the harnessing. I can gather the gold and let it flow through me without much effort, but as usual, it’s the incitement part that gives me trouble.
“Pick up the knife,” I tell Hawkins. He insisted I vocalize the command. I think he’s afraid that if I say it silently, I might change it up on him and try to incite him to do something we haven’t agreed upon.
Several minutes pass without any success.
“I don’t get why I’m so bad at this,” I mutter, frustration creeping into my voice. “I can harness so easily now. But unless there’s some urgency to the situation, I can’t incite.”
“Like when you saved Declan.”
“I think I saved him,” I correct, because I’m still not entirely sure whether I incited Declan to jump off his motorcycle before the force field collision, or if it was his own self-preservation instincts finally kicking in. “But maybe I didn’t.”
Hawkins’s expression is one of mild amusement, like he’s watching a child trying to lift something heavy.
“Your problem is, you’re always trying to force it.
You try to use the gold like it’s a sledgehammer.
But it’s more delicate than that. It’s like guiding a current.
You need to be subtle with it, not forceful. ”
I clench my teeth. “I’m trying. It’s not my fault I suck at it.”
“It is one hundred percent your fault.” His words aren’t light and joking. They’re harsh and rude, because that’s who Hawkins is. “Do it again.”
Centering myself, I harness again, gathering those wispy threads of energy until I feel them consuming me.
“Pick up the knife.”
Gentle, I remind myself.
“Pick up the knife.”
Guide the current, don’t force it.
“Pick up the knife.” I gently push the command into Hawkins’s mind.
His hand twitches.
Holy shit. It’s working.
“Pick up the knife.”
Another twitch. His fingers spasm slightly.
“Too gentle,” Hawkins scolds. “I said subtle, not weak. Don’t be fucking weak.”
I swallow my resentment. God, he’s such a prickhole.
“Pick up the knife,” I order, sharper this time.
Hawkins’s hand jerks. My temples begin to throb from the mental strain, but I don’t let that discourage me, because that means it’s working. I’m slipping past his defenses, getting closer to capturing his will.
“Pick up the knife.”
His hand moves, just an inch off the ground, before it drops abruptly. My head throbs harder.
“You’re back to forcing it, Darlington,” he says in rebuke. “It’s a balance. You don’t dominate it. You encourage it.”
I blow out a frustrated breath, severing the connection. “I’m done. I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. If you can incite Declan, then you can incite me.”
“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. The order is penetrating your mind, but why do I lose control so fast?”
He rolls his eyes at me.
“What?” I say defensively.
“Incitement isn’t about the order. It’s about maintaining a connection. Right now you send the signal and then wait for it to respond. You need to learn how to hold it open, to be able to move along with the current. Don’t just incite me. Follow through with the command.”
“Fine.” I exhale, closing my eyes. “Let me try again.”
After I harness the gold, I try to follow Hawkins’s advice.
I let that command—pick up the knife—drift like a stream, guiding it along rather than just sending it.
As I repeat the words, my eyelids flutter open in time to see Hawkins closing his fingers around the ivory handle. Excitement sparks in my stomach.
“Pick it up.”
Slowly, he lifts the knife. This time, there’s no twitching. No jerking. His movements are deliberate, his hand like a marionette being pulled by invisible strings, hovering in the air.
“Do not let me put it down,” he mutters to me, and I can see the strain on his face. His own mind is trying to resist me.
“Keep holding it up.”
The knife remains suspended in the air, while the connection between our minds continues to pulse, gold dust swirling in my vision as I struggle to keep that current alive.
“Keep holding it up,” I repeat when his hand begins to lower.
I’m too late. I lose my hold on him, and the knife clatters out of his grip.
“Well done,” Hawkins tells me, and it’s almost pathetic how much that measly compliment means to me.
The rain isn’t letting up, so Xavier and I skip our walk and go to the gym instead. Yet another activity I’ve added to my new routine. Beating the hell out of something helps me let out my frustration over not talking to Cross.
My training shoes squeak on the gymnasium floor as I lunge at Xavier, swinging at his smug, annoying face. He’s been besting me on the mats for the past hour, proving why Cross chose him to train Silver Block’s recruits. Xavier can fight.
He grins as he dodges my uppercut, dancing away on light feet. “I don’t remember you being this slow in the Program. What’s wrong, Darlington? You forget how to move?”
I swipe at the sweat dripping from my forehead and strike again, aiming for his midsection, but he sidesteps me and catches my wrist, twisting it with just enough force to make me curse in pain. I manage to jerk my arm free.
“Careful,” he mocks. “You might pull a muscle.”
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” drawls another voice.
We stop fighting, our gazes shifting across the room to where Henley, Saint, and Mako just entered the gym.
Xavier glances at the newcomers with a mocking smirk. “You offering?”
Henley eyes him for a second, then shrugs and says, “Sure. Why not.” He strips off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but black training pants.
Mako hoots in delight. “Oh, I’m all about this.”
Xavier gives me a gracious pat on the arm. “You’re excused, sweetling.”
“Fuck off.” But I’m grinning as I step off the mats and head toward the benches where I left my aluminum water bottle.
I twist off the cap, taking a deep swig as I watch Xavier and Henley begin to circle each other. They’re both tall and broad. Solid muscle.
Mako sidles up to me. “Ten credits on Henley.”
“We don’t use credits at the Dagger,” I remind him. Everything here is free for consumption.
Saint heads for one of the punching bags and begins to tape up his hands. He’s quiet, as always, but watching intently as his friend prepares to spar with the alleged enemy.