41. More Bad Choices
MORE BAD CHOICES
TALIA
Flux is depleted when used, and we cannot create more. Once, the fae kept magical beasts as pets—now effectively extinct—that were able to produce new flux. Not only that, they could amplify a person’s affinity in proportion to their own capacity. Imagine the potential.
LORE TAVIS, ON THE NATURE OF FLUX, UNPUBLISHED
Talia barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that library, pressed into that table. She kept hearing Lore’s voice rasp against her ear.
Good girl.
Her stomach twisted the same way it had then, and she gave up on sleep.
It was technically morning now, but the sun hadn’t yet risen.
She sat by the window, watching Haven’s lights reflected on the rain-slick streets.
Her body still felt like it was glowing.
That part felt good. So why wasn’t she satisfied?
I make all the decisions. You just let go.
That part had sounded wrong too. But her alarm had faded in the moment. Like he’d turned off the part of her brain that questioned things. That wasn’t normal. She always asked questions, it was fundamental to who she was. Except with Lore.
The first time she had sex with Lore it had felt like freedom, like choosing something wrong and delicious for herself. This time, she had the nagging feeling she was letting someone else define her again. She’d just traded society’s approval for his.
Except she liked it. Just thinking back on what they’d done in that library made her toes curl. If he was here now, she’d let him do it again. Maybe she was broken.
You know in the old stories, when someone offers you everything you want? There’s always a price. That’s how it is with Lore…
Dawn’s warning from weeks ago surfaced, like a splinter she couldn’t dig out. She scrubbed her hands over her face. She was overanalyzing. She always did this. Picking apart every moment of joy until nothing good survived.
A knock on the door broke her spiral. It shook hard enough to rattle the latch.
Dawn’s voice called through the wood, too loud. “You up? We’ve got a problem.”
Talia scrambled to open the door, grateful for the interruption even as dread pinched in her stomach. Dawn stood in the hall in a full gray suit and matching hat, but her usual swagger was gone. Her fingers tapped at the doorframe.
“Holloway’s gone.”
Talia froze. “What?”
“He was supposed to meet me.” Dawn grimaced. “Haven’t seen him since last night. I’m worried he did something stupid.”
Dawn woke the rest of their party, and they gathered outside the dining hall, clothes half fastened, weapons belted in haste.
“We split up,” Riven said, voice clipped. “Lore, take the archives. I’ll check the stables and alleys. Dawn, lower levels. Talia, guest wing. Meet back at the central fountain.”
Talia noted that Riven gave her the most boring possible assignment. The guest wing was where they all slept. Obviously if Holloway was there, they would’ve found him already.
She searched the guest wing, the common rooms, the garden. Nothing.
By the time she reached the fountain, her chest was tight with worry. Riven was already there, shaking his head. Lore joined them, empty-handed. They waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Dawn didn’t come back.
Talia reached for the bond, and it was muffled, like it had been in the library. They waited another ten minutes. Then the connection went quiet between one breath and the next. Just gone. Talia pressed a hand to her sternum. One heartbeat instead of two.
“Something’s wrong. I can’t feel her.”
Riven’s expression went deadly. “We search everywhere. Every room, every passage.”
Two hours later, they’d found nothing. Nearly four hours since they’d last seen Dawn. The broken bond ached in Talia’s chest. She couldn’t stop reaching for it, hoping each time that Dawn’s presence would bloom back, but it never did.
“I’ll check the council hall,” Riven said when they reconvened. “If Haven took her, they’ll have records of some kind.” His jaw tightened. “Go back to your room, Talia. Lock the door.”
Talia nodded. Then, the moment he turned the corner, she did the exact opposite and headed for the archives. Lore fell into step beside her, the gold flecks gleaming in his hazel eyes. Had he been waiting there for her to disobey?
His hand brushed her arm, and he grinned. “Smart girl.”
Peat’s face went pale the moment he saw them. He tried to back away, but Lore caught him by the shoulders.
“Peat,” Talia said calmly, laying a hand on his arm. “We’re looking for Holloway and Dawn. Where are they?”
“I—I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone.”
Fear spiked sharp, but underneath she felt a thread of guilt.
“You’re lying.”
“I shouldn’t be talking about this,” Peat stammered, trying to pull away.
Talia stepped closer. Her heart was racing, but she fought to keep her expression blank. She slid her empathy forward, hooking into his devotion, weighting it with urgency. She didn’t just suggest, she steered his emotions. His eyes snapped back to hers, pupils blowing wide, breath catching.
“You will tell me where my friends are,” she said evenly. “Because I’m asking nicely.”
“Push harder, Talent,” Lore murmured beside her. “We’ll be here all day if you’re gentle.”
The approval in his tone spread through her chest like sunlight. He wanted her to do this. Wanted her to break Peat’s mind. And she wanted…to impress him? The realization was horrifying, but she shoved that down. Later. She couldn’t worry about it now. She pushed harder.
Peat shook his head frantically. “I can’t. They’ll know I told.”
Talia layered calm over his fear, urgency over his hesitation. The same gift that let her hear Dawn’s heartbeat now bent Peat’s will like soft clay. Help me find them. She shaped her desperation, turning the plea into a command.
She hadn’t known her gift could do this. This was manipulation. Control. And it was terrifyingly easy. Peat whimpered. Tears blurred behind his glasses. She smelled urine.
Talia felt sick, and tears pricked in her eyes. Her hand shook on Peat’s arm. She should stop. This was wrong, and gross. But she couldn’t feel Dawn anymore, and all the gentle options were gone.
“Just tell me where they are, Peat,” she said, her voice wavering. “This can all be over, just tell me.”
“They said—” He scrubbed at his eyes, voice hitching. “They said Holloway was reading restricted material. They’re holding him for questioning. For his own safety.”
“And Dawn?”
He shook so hard his teeth clicked. “A live donor. The first real channel bond anyone’s seen. They want to study it. See if they can replicate—”
The words washed over her, refusing to sink in. Donor. Study. Replicate. Clinical terms for a specimen, not a person.
“Where is she?” she gritted out.
Peat sagged in Lore’s grip. “Under the council hall. Service stairs by the northern cloister. It’s marked as storage, but it’s not—” His voice cracked. “Please don’t make me go there.”
She leaned close enough to see her reflection in his tear-filled eyes. No time for pity. No room for mercy. “Show us.”
He nodded frantically. Lore let go, and he stumbled forward. He led them through the corridors to a narrow service door. Talia tugged it open revealing a wide staircase heading straight down.
Riven emerged from a doorway farther down the hall, chest heaving. He looked between the three of them, his brows pressed together.
“Figured you wouldn’t listen,” he said. He took in Peat’s flushed face, the piss soaking his pant leg. “What happened to him?”
A strangled cry escaped Peat’s throat. He took a step back, then another, then fled down the hallway. Talia let him go.
Lore’s voice brushed her ear as they watched him run away. “Power suits you.”
Pride bloomed hot in her chest before she could stop it.
But he wasn’t praising her strength. He was praising her cruelty.
The way she’d wielded power to take what she needed.
Hurting a friend of hers to do it. When she glanced at Riven, he was taking in the whole scene, a dark expression on his face.
She let out a deep slow breath. This was bad. It was irrecoverable. She knew in her gut that she would have to peel herself away from Lore. But she pressed the feeling down. Later. She’d deal with this mess after Dawn was safe.
The stairwell reeked of vinegar. The air was too cold, flux lamps too white, each footstep echoed weird and hollow. As they neared the final landing, she heard machinery hum somewhere behind the walls. Liquid gurgled through unseen tubes.
An archway loomed ahead, sealed by double doors etched with flux glyphs. Blue light shimmered across the surface, pulsing faintly. Not to keep people out, she realized. To keep something in.
Then a scream ripped through the layered soundscape. A raw, hoarse cry filled with fury and pain.
Dawn’s voice.
It tore through Talia, shattering her last shred of restraint. She pressed her palm against the cold metal door, feeling the flux wards hum against her skin. Her friends were in there, and she would get them out, no matter what she had to do.