53. Vesper
VESPER
Havoc comes sliding around the corner, his eyes wide as he takes in the courtyard and the lit torch of the statue.
“Oh, sure,” Locke grumbles. “Not you fucking show up.”
Stevie dances around him, his own light as bright as the torch now that the fight is over. “Hey, Girl, hey! You totally did that thing! Like, slay, Queen. Totally slay!”
But Havoc doesn’t answer anyone. Instead, he just stares up at the statue in awe, his mouth hanging open. “You . . . defeated her?”
I stare at him, frowning. “You don’t beat her. That’s not how you win. You lift her up. You light the flame.”
“What?” Havoc chokes out, jerking his gaze back to me.
My frown deepens. “Haven’t you fought her before? You said you’ve fought every Minor Boss in New Babel.”
“Sure . . .” he replies, his brows furrowing. “But I’ve never . . . I’ve never won. Not against Lady Liberty. If you leave the courtyard, she doesn’t follow. I’ve tried, but . . .”
I blink and look up at the statue again.
The tears on her face are gone and she looks less rough now, beautiful, bright, and strong.
The dents and scratches are gone, leaving her shining and as pristine as she should be.
Gone is the brutalized woman. In her place is the strength we all carry in our chests.
“Never?” I ask him, meeting his eyes again.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know any man who has.”
I snort. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m a woman then,” I chirp, annoyed with the strange look on his face. I much prefer the asshole Havoc, I realize, rather than this one looking at me in awe.
I look back down at the photo in my hand and sigh, walking it back over to the suitcase.
Gently, I lay it inside beside the paperwork, and then, when I think better of it, I open my inventory.
I don’t have any toys that I can put in there, but I do have a stack of vibrant macaw feathers.
I take one out and place it in the suitcase along with the photo.
“So that no cage can hold you,” I murmur under my breath.
Then I carefully close the suitcase and fasten the latches again.
Locke tenses when I stand and face him next, my expression hard. “Don’t leave because of some preconceived notions about what you think you are, or what others think of you,” I tell him. “You have willpower. You work on it. Just the same as we all do.”
“But—”
I step closer and take his hand, making his words of protest choke off. “I don’t want you to leave,” I tell him. “We’re in this together, remember?”
He stares at me, those bright eyes swirling with emotion. “What if I hurt you?”
“Everyone hurts everyone,” I remind him. “We’ve done terrible things to survive in Dross. We can do our best here not to let the game play us, though. It’s us who should be playing the game.”
Locke’s eyes flick to Havoc.
“Don’t look at him,” I growl, reaching up to cup his face in my hands. “You are who you choose to be, Locke. No one else gets to decide that for you.”
His eyes grow glassy and he clears his throat, an attempt to stem the emotion. “I don’t . . . How do I . . .”
He gives up on words and simply throws his arms around me, the hug so tight that Svetlana curses him in her mother tongue and has to hop out of the way.
“Hey! Watch it, dung beetle!” Svetlana says, but she pats his arm with her own in reassurance, understanding what I’m declaring. They dislike each other, but it seems we’ve all come to a mutual understanding.
Locke’s face tucks against my neck as he holds onto me so tight, it’s hard to breathe. There, I feel his breath stutter, and then he whispers words that threaten to break my heart.
“Thank you for not throwing me away.”
He releases me and steps back before clearing his throat and looking in the direction of the next section. “Should we go?”
I smile at him despite my breaking heart. “We should.” And then I shoot Havoc a glare. “You can come, too, I guess.”
He doesn’t respond, so we start to move toward the alley. Before we leave completely, I look back at Lady liberty one last time and burn her image into my memory.
Flaming torch and all.