Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
EMMA
I found myself staring at a picture of Caden, one of my favorites.
It was taken during an evening dinner with the whole crew.
In the snapshot, Caden is laughing hysterically with Sean, who's doubled over, caught up in the moment. They look carefree, happy, and so incredibly young. I couldn’t recall what had them laughing so hard, but that picture always brought me joy.
It was my go-to whenever I felt sad or when my mind wandered to darker places.
Today, though, I wasn’t looking at it for comfort. I wasn’t focusing on Sean’s easy laugh or Caden’s bulging biceps. I wasn’t staring at two of my favorite men in the world. My attention was drawn to the woman sitting behind them, rolling her eyes at their antics.
Enya.
A lump formed in my throat, one that seemed permanently lodged there.
I never forgave her for lying, never talked it out with her.
I built new friendships from scratch and shut her out, not wanting to be reminded of my time in Cyclos or James.
I had closed the door on her just like I had on anyone else who reminded me of him. And now, it was too late to fix.
A soft knock on my door broke through my thoughts.
“Come in,” I said, my voice hoarse.
A gorgeous redheaded woman opened the door, looking more stunning than usual in a long black dress.
Saoirse.
Her muscles were taut, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and shame was etched all over her beautiful face.
Without words, I stretched out my arms, and she fell into my embrace. We didn’t cry. We only held each other.
After Caden had informed the team of those we lost at Hunza, Saoirse puked her guts out for days, realizing Kate had died taking her place.
Rocco had been by her side every second, holding her hair back.
Emile and Sean came and went, checking on us every few hours, but Rocco and I had stayed with Saoirse for days in her room, mourning the death of our friends.
And now, we were to attend their funeral.
As Saoirse untangled herself from my arms, she glanced around my room.
“You’re really doing it? You’re leaving?” she whispered, taking in the sight of my clothes packed in three suitcases, my pictures ready to be filed away, my books spread across the bed.
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I’m only a portal away, and my Nexus is on me all the time. We’ll talk more than we did while I was here,” I promised, but it didn’t have the intended effect. Saoirse closed her lids, still fighting back tears.
Maybe I should stay a bit longer? I didn’t want her going through this alone.
As if on cue, another knock sounded at the door.
It swung open before we could answer, revealing Rocco and Sean in sharp suits, both looking impossibly dashing and clearly ready to pick us up.
“I’m okay,” Saoirse whispered, staring at Rocco like he’d become the center of her gravity.
I followed her glance—and saw it mirrored. The way Rocco looked at her, like she was something steady and bright, made me smile, and I knew whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone. Not anymore.
“You ready?” Sean asked softly. I nodded, hiding the picture I was holding in the folds of my dress.
The four of us walked in silence from my room to the clearing by the water, where the ashes would be laid to rest. The path was familiar, but today it felt quieter—like even the world knew to tread softly.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden warmth over the trees and painting the lake in warm reflections. The breeze was gentle, stirring the leaves just enough to break the stillness.
Emile joined us a moment later, cradling one of the urns in his hands as if it were something fragile, sacred. Enya’s ashes.
Caden stood at the front of the group, his posture strong yet somehow fragile, like a man holding himself together by sheer will.
He was impossibly handsome in his dark suit, the crisp lines of the fabric sharply contrasting with the raw, intense sadness in his eyes. The suit, though impeccably tailored, couldn’t hide the burden of loss hanging over him.
His focus seemed distant, haunted, as though he were somewhere else—perhaps reliving the memories of those we had come to mourn.
Sean had briefed me on the ritual beforehand.
There wouldn’t be any words, no speeches, no songs—nothing like the human funerals I had grown up knowing.
Instead, it was a silent acknowledgment, a gathering of souls to mourn together, bound by the collective grief we shared.
Everyone would grieve in their own manner, but we would do it together, as one. That was the rule.
Caden had already decided who would take responsibility for laying the ashes to rest. Saoirse had requested to lay Kate to rest, and Caden, with a heavy nod of approval, had agreed.
Emile would scatter Enya’s ashes, honoring her in his own way.
And Sean, ever the steady presence, had taken it upon himself to see Christopher laid to rest. There were no arguments, no questions—everyone simply accepted their part in the ritual.
As the ceremony progressed, each of them stepped forward, carrying those we had lost. One by one, they released them into the air, the breeze catching the ashes and lifting them into the sky.
It was a serene, understated farewell, where our loved ones became one with the earth and sky. There were no grand gestures, no overt displays of emotion, but the silence spoke louder than any words ever could.
Once it was done, we each translated a bottle of Scotch into our hands. It was tradition—a simple, yet deeply meaningful gesture. The bottles appeared in our grasp as if summoned by the sheer force of our collective hurt.
We raised them in quiet tribute, honoring those who had passed. There were no toasts, no words of farewell—only the muffled clinking of glass and the sound of liquid pouring down throats. It was an honest, solemn moment. No one needed to say what we were all thinking.
Saoirse squeezed my hand as we sipped our drinks in peace, her grip firm and reassuring, though I could feel the tremor of emotion in her fingers. Her pain, like mine, was heavy, but we bore it together.
She and I remained side by side for the entire day, our hands still intertwined as if anchoring each other to the moment.
As the sun began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the ground as the light shifted, people drifted away one by one. The gathering dissolved naturally, each person departing at their own pace, lost in thought. Soon, only the six of us remained.
Emile and Rocco stood a little way off, their conversation muffled by the distance but filled with unspoken memories. I caught a few fragments of their words—something about Enya and Kate, but I didn’t want to intrude.
Across the clearing, Sean and Caden remained in their own private worlds of mourning. Caden’s face, though stoic, was etched with the kind of sorrow that came from years of enduring loss, while Sean couldn’t hide the grief swirling behind his eyes. There was no need for words between them.
My legs had gone completely numb from sitting for so long, but I didn’t move. It felt wrong to break the stillness, to disrupt the muted vigil we had formed beneath that tree.
Eventually, Emile gave us a curt nod, his face unreadable, before he portaled out. His departure was quick, efficient, like everything Emile did.
Rocco stood next, rising slowly to his feet.
He walked over to where Saoirse and I sat, gently taking her hand in his.
She squeezed my fingers one last time before allowing him to pull her up.
They walked away together, side by side, their figures growing smaller in the distance as they made their way back.
Which left just the three of us—Sean, Caden, and me.
They crossed the clearing slowly, as if feeling the weight of what this moment meant.
When they reached me, and sat down beside me, no one spoke.
The silence that settled between us was loaded but strangely comforting—a quiet acknowledgment of everything we’d endured together.
I hadn’t spoken since the morning, not a single word since the ritual had begun. But now, the thoughts that had been festering inside me were becoming too much to contain. The lump in my throat swelled, and before I could stop myself, I spoke.
“We should’ve fought our way out,” I said, the statement slipping out as if it had been waiting, building for hours.
Caden’s head snapped to me. His eyes were intense, a flash of surprise crossing them before they settled into something more guarded.
“We hid in a fucking wall instead of fighting, and then we portaled out to Batura Sur,” I continued, my voice growing more unsteady.
I tried to keep it emotionless, tried to stick to the facts, but the agony made my tone crack.
“If we’d fought, Sean and his team would’ve had fewer Radicals to deal with.
Kate, Christopher, Enya… They would still be alive. ”
The words hung in the air between us, thick and heavy, the content of my own accusation suffocating me. It wasn’t just an observation—it was a confession, a regret I had been holding onto since the moment I learned of the casualties.
Caden sighed, a deep, weary sound. He leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing as he prepared to respond.
“Emma,” he began. “If we’d been caught before getting to Batura Sur, we might never have retrieved the Amplifier.
We didn’t fight because securing it was more important than anything.
Remember what it was capable of: wiping out entire Collectives of magi—thousands of lives. ”
I heard his words, but they didn’t sink in. They were logical, practical, but they didn’t ease the ache gnawing at my core. The reasoning felt cold compared to the loss we were facing now.