Chapter 8 #2
The kind of place people came to "find themselves" or write poetry about their feelings. The water murmured softly, the air smelled like fresh grass and introspection, and the sky was painted in warm, artsy shades of orange and purple. It was like stepping into a motivational poster.
There was but one place like this in Cyclos: Oasis.
I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t think ye’d take me somewhere so… wholesome,” I drawled, mimicking his Irish accent enough to be annoying.
He chuckled, unbothered. “Sometimes, quiet’s what ye need. Especially if yer tryin’ to shut off the world for a bit.”
Ah, fantastic. Not only was I being dragged into an impromptu field trip, but now it was meant to be therapeutic.
We sat down on the grass, overlooking the water like two old philosophers about to solve the world’s problems—except our method involved Scotch instead of wisdom. Sean presented his bottle of single malt, pouring us both a drink with the kind of precision that suggested this wasn’t his first time.
Sean broke the silence first, his voice soft but laced with amusement. “So, ye gonna tell me what happened, or are ye gonna make me guess?”
I took another sip, letting the burn do its job before answering. “Let’s just say I had a rough training session and leave it at that.”
Sean shook his head like I’d told him I tripped and fell into a bucket of blood. “A rough trainin’ session doesn’t usually leave ye covered in that much blood.”
I shot him a scathing look, but there was no judgment in his eyes, only concern. Annoying, persistent concern.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, lying like every other emotionally unstable person ever.
Sean studied me for a second, then shrugged, leaning back like he had all the time in the world. “All right, all right. No talkin’. Just drinkin’.” He lifted his glass to me in a toast, as if he hadn’t called me out for looking like I’d crawled out of a horror movie, and I couldn’t help but smirk.
“Sláinte,” I said, clinking my glass against his.
“Sláinte,” he echoed, his grin never fading.
Maybe it was the way he didn’t press for answers, or perhaps it was the warmth of the Scotch loosening the tight grip I had on my thoughts.
Either way, after a while, a flicker of something passed through me—an urge to open up, only a little.
I swirled the Scotch in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light before finally speaking.
“I lost control today,” I confessed, the words spilling out faster than I expected. Voicing it out loud felt like tearing open a wound I hadn’t fully processed yet.
“I was abducted last year. Twice, actually. By Radicals.” My voice wavered. “Both times, they tried to bleed me out. I don’t even know how, but I translated every drop they ever took from me into that training room today.”
Sean’s grin disappeared as surprise flickered across his face. His carefree demeanor shifted into a more serious one, a more present one. “That’s both impressive and terrifyin’,” he said slowly. “Any idea how that happened?”
“I thought of Logan Stark,” I admitted, and hated how even saying his name left a bitter taste on my tongue, the memory of him, a dark shadow creeping into the room. “I know James told you about him. What he did, what happened at Coastal…” My breath caught. “The memories just came flooding back.”
Sean’s expression darkened, but his tone softened. “I heard ‘bout that. I’m sorry, Emma.”
I shrugged, taking a longer sip of Scotch. The warmth burned down my throat, but it didn’t touch the tightness in my chest. “Everyone has their darkness.”
Sean stilled. “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he said quietly, his features clouding with grief. I could tell his thoughts had drifted to the casualties James had mentioned—the lives of his team lost during battle.
“I heard about the losses at Crown,” I whispered, almost afraid to bring it up. “I’m deeply sorry, Sean.”
Sean closed his lids for a moment, as if gathering himself. “Thank you.”
The space between us was heavy with shared pain, and without thinking, I scooted closer, our shoulders now touching. There was something about Sean that put me at ease, warmth and comfort I hadn’t expected.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked softly.
Sean snorted, his laugh bitter. “What’s there to say? They attacked, we fought back, and we won. Though it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. We lost too many.” He took another swig of his drink, before adding, “If I ever see another Radical, I’ll kill him on sight.”
I swallowed hard, his anger resonating enormously with my own. We were more alike than I’d realized.
“Do you think your Collective will rescind its consensus now?” I whispered.
Sean frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “We never reached a consensus.”
I blinked, trying to remember what James had told me about that. “I don’t understand. I thought all Collectives in Europe had already proclaimed it.”
Sean shook his head, the strain in his shoulders easing slightly. “The resistance at Crown was too strong. We couldn’t come to an agreement.”
“Resistance? You’re not Radicals, are you?” I asked, uncertainty creeping into my voice.
“Of course not,” he spat, his posture stiffening. “How can ye even think that?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. I guess I don’t entirely understand the difference between Resistants and Radicals.” I kept my shoulders low and my tone gentle, hoping he’d see I hadn’t meant any harm. “You don’t want the Great Exposure to happen?”
Sean shook his head again, and his expression softened.
“No, we don’t. That’s why we resist the consensus, to keep it from happening.
But we don’t believe in the Radicals’ methods either.
We don’t want humans to know about us yet, but we sure as hell aren’t pointing nuclear weapons at innocent people. ”
I nodded, trying to wrap my head around it all. “So, where does that leave you?”
“As I said, we are Resistants. We fight the consensus and we fight the Radicals,” he said firmly. “Every step of the way. Ye think we’d join them after they attacked us with an Amplifier?”
His words hung in the air, laced with bitterness. I couldn’t blame him.
“Wait,” I said, still trying to piece it together. “If Crown hasn’t reached a consensus, why did the Radicals attack you?”
Sean’s jaw tightened, the rigidity returning. “We’re the most powerful Offensives in Europe. Crown had never seen any kind of attack before this, our borders impenetrable. Even Slava’s had more intruders throughout history. If they destabilize us, it weakens the rest. That’s why.”
I pondered it.
“I’m actually in favor of the Great Exposure,” I said quietly. “Being able to merge my two lives, human and magi would be everything. So I won’t join the Resistance. But the Radicals need to be stopped. If you’re fighting them, I want in.”
Sean blinked, clearly surprised. “Ye want to fight the Radicals with us? At Crown?”
I nodded and kept my tone steady. “James is fighting with you. I don’t see why I couldn’t.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, skepticism evident. “Joinin’ a war only because yer boyfriend’s in it? Not exactly the smartest reason to risk yer life.”
I met his gaze evenly. “You think this is about James?”
“Isn’t it?” he asked, his question sharp, probing.
Without breaking eye contact, I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the network of scars crisscrossing my arm. His eyes widened as he took in the raw, ugly marks, the permanent reminders of what had happened at Coastal.
“This is personal,” I said, hoping to keep the tears at bay. “I’m not doing this for James. I’m doing it because I’ve fought them before. And I’ll fight them again.”
Sean swallowed, his bravado faltering as he stared at my scars. “Emma… I’m so sorry,” he whispered, genuine sympathy clear on his face.
I shrugged, then dragged my sleeve back down. “You didn’t know. It’s fine. Just let me join. I promise, I’m stronger than you think.”
Sean smiled faintly, but there was sadness behind it. “I don’t doubt that. Those scars… They prove what kind of survivor ye are.”
We sat in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation settling between us. Sean’s charm had disarmed me, sure, but more than that—he understood. Even though we barely knew each other.
“So,” Sean said finally, breaking the quiet. “You translated blood all over the room?”
I nodded, as the heat of embarrassment crept up my neck.
“Have you ever had any other incidents like that?”
I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I mean, I did survive the Amplifier last year and destroyed the Spring Palace while I was at it.”
Sean’s jaw dropped. “You survived an Amplifier? How?”
Well, that’s a good fucking question.
“No idea, actually. I struggled with translation back then, couldn’t project my haze unless I was literally terrified for my life. Maybe it had to do with it?”
Sean frowned, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe? Ye don’t know?”
I shook my head, frustration creeping in as I realized I still didn’t have answers to so many of the questions I’d been carrying since Coastal.
“Well, yer clearly not struggling anymore if yer redecorating the Academy,” Sean teased, and I let out a snorty laugh.
“Yeah, I think being hit with the Amplifier loosened up something in me. My translation’s been different ever since, but I’ve no idea how or why.”
I paused, not wanting to come off as bragging. “I did manage to project a choking haze when I fought the Radicals last year.”
Sean whistled, his brows lifting. “And ye say ye’re just getting started? Seems like we’ll be lucky to have ye on our side.”
I smirked and kept my tone playful. “You’d be very lucky.”
Sean chuckled, the sound light and easy, then without hesitation, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I leaned in, letting the casual contact settle, completely at ease.
“Have you seen Jackson since our last drink?” I asked, shifting the conversation.
Sean stiffened, only for a second, but I noticed it. “No,” he said, his voice tight. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting mister Orator and his inflated ego again.”
I laughed, picking up on his playful jab but also sensing an edge underneath it. “You’ll have to let me know how that reunion goes.”
He grinned, but there was something in his gaze—guarded, unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be memorable.”
The river flowed quietly beside us, and for a moment, we simply sat there, enjoying the view and each other’s company.
“Tell me more about Crown,” I whispered, taking another long gulp of the ungodsly booze in my hands. The burn trailed down my throat, its warmth spreading through my limbs.
Sean’s lips curled into a faint smile, the thoughts of his home clearly warm. “What do you want to know?”
“James said all Offensives live together in a castle. That true?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Caerleon Manor. Caden handpicked every single one of us, and most of us grew up together, so it’s more like a tight-knit family than just a unit.”
My fingers tightened around the glass. “Caden…” I hesitated for a second, before turning to Sean. “What’s he like?”
Sean’s expression didn’t change, but the look in his eyes shifted. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. What kind of guy is he?”
Sean tilted his head, considering. “You mean how he kills?”
I blinked. “That’s not even within a ten-mile radius of what I was asking, but sure. If that’s the part of him you are most comfortable describing, be my guest.”
He grinned, and a flicker of amusement crossed his features. “Well, we are Offensives. How we kill says a lot about us.”
I cocked my head, considering it, the thought slipping into my mind and turning over slowly, foreign but not entirely unwelcome. Huh. Never thought of it like that.
My gaze lifted to meet his, steady and curious. The question was already forming on my lips before I could second-guess it. “How do you kill?”
Sean’s grin faltered, and a tension settled into his shoulders which hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Without pleasure. It’s a necessary evil I wish I could live without. My kills are often sloppy, unplanned—minimal damage, quick exits.”
I studied him carefully, watching the way he spoke about it, the way his eyes stayed fixed on a spot right over my shoulder as if he didn’t want to see my reaction. “Sounds a bit like James.”
Sean chewed the inside of his cheek, then replied slowly, “You don’t become First Offensive without a certain level of restraint.
Your Leader-to-be keeps his emotions locked up tight, but his kills are fueled by them.
James fights with anger, sometimes even rage.
His kills are messy, like mine but they’re also brutal. Out of control.”
I swallowed and braced myself for the next question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered. “And Caden?”
“Caden’s the opposite. He’s methodical. Cold. Calculated. He won’t kill unless it’s necessary, but when he does…” Sean inhaled through his nose. “It’s a work of art.”
A chill crawled up my spine. “That’s not comforting. You’re making him sound like a psychopath.”
“He’s not.” Sean’s expression was firm. “But he is highly intelligent. Where James fakes control, Caden actually has it. Three cycles of life will do that to you.” His lips pressed together.
“Your boyfriend’s not even in his first half.
Mastery, for him, is an illusion. Which is why it’s so insane the guy is about to become Leader of the largest Collective on the planet… ”
I didn’t know how to respond, mostly because I also didn’t know how James had pulled it off.
And also because Sean wasn’t entirely wrong…
I had seen the cracks in James’s carefully constructed facade myself.
He tried so hard to be the man everyone needed him to be, but there was a difference between forcing control and owning it.
Sean stilled and we fell into a comfortable silence, where thoughts drifted but didn’t demand to be spoken.
Sean’s arm still rested on my shoulder, and I didn’t pull away.
There was only quiet. No blood. No chaos.
Only us.