Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
NOX
Of the many enduring scars my mother left in her wake, my insomnia is one of the few that routinely benefits my life instead of threatening to destroy it at every opportunity.
There’s no getting out of my duties lecturing on campus, and I refuse to let my Tac training slip.
So, that only leaves the dark of night to sort through the intel I was able to recover on the now-infamous commandeered scouting mission.
It only makes North’s appearance before me more infuriating.
Impromptu meetings after midnight never bring good news.
When they happen in my home office, because Shore’s team is having a whine about me with enough so-called ‘valid points of contention’ that my brother insists on seeking me out immediately to play peacemaker, I’m forced to pull out my bourbon to aim my focus somewhere that won’t end in bloodshed.
Maybe I’m getting as soft as the rest of them are, only I’m bestowing that kindness on my ever-suffering brother instead of that pathetic excuse of a Bond they’re all obsessed with. My stomach curdles at the mere thought of her.
It puts me in a contentiously unforgiving mood, destroying any chance of enjoying the savage vindication I feel when I have a counterpoint for every stupid grievance they’d tattled to North about and force him to admit they’re playing petty games.
Practically collapsing back into the overstuffed armchair opposite my desk, he rubs at his eyes forcefully, his voice bone-tired.
“You can’t fault them for throwing down the gauntlet, Nox.
You’re the one who blindsided them with a reckless and foolhardy mission that has yet to prove worth the significant risks you took.
Half the team would’ve gone with you even if they’d known.
I think they’re more pissed that you deceived them than because of the danger they were in. ”
With a vicious look over the rim of my glass, I sneer back at him. “Who said I haven’t found anything? I’m just uninterested in discussing the intel with you… you won’t care unless it’s about that stupid girl, anyway.”
His jaw tightens only to release instantly, but whatever disappointment I might have mustered up at his enraging inability to bite back at me properly is smothered by a sharp rapping of knuckles against the door that announces Shore’s appearance.
North shoots me a look instead, one that can only be described as pleading, but I ignore it in favor of poring over the map laid out over the exam papers I was supposed to be marking as I ignore the asshole pulling up another chair, acting like I want him here.
The intel I was looking over before their arrival might not be as obviously useful as the rest I’ve already handed over, but I’m certain there’s something to it.
For one, none of the logs I’m reading were filed together.
They all hold different information; GPS co-ordinates, a cipher, a long and seemingly arbitrary list of times and dates, and a list of almost four hundred names, none of which are in any of our records—not as missing Gifted, suspected sympathizers, or known Resistance soldiers.
Only a handful even show up in the Non-Gifted registries.
The only link between any of them is a small smudge of red ink at the bottom of the pages, tiny enough that it was only Azrael’s keen eyesight that picked up the letters.
I. W. I.
It makes no sense to me, so naturally, I’m obsessed by it.
After a long moment of silent tension, North finally mutters furiously, “Sharpe is getting closer to crossing the line. We can’t keep pretending to be oblivious to his true motives.”
While I have no interest in being forced to rehash the last hour of being interrogated, the topic change is mind-numbingly infuriating.
Who the fuck cares about Sharpe, and why the hell is he still alive, anyway?
I refuse to acknowledge that North has even spoken, and Gryph doesn’t move from where he’s scowling at the ceiling from across the room.
After a long exhale, as though exhausted far beyond reason, he answers, “We’ve followed his half-assed cover ups and stopped a dozen raids, thanks to the intel it uncovered. I’m all for getting rid of him, but we’ll need to factor that in.”
I’m not factoring in anything. Sharpe isn’t worth that much to our efforts.
The grimace on North’s face says he clearly disagrees, but I’m sick of putting up with these Resistance spies for the sake of a few hints at camp locations.
Even if he was once useful, Sharpe hasn’t given us anything worthy of extending his life in years.
“I’ve brought in a cache of intel we’re still processing—what more could that idiot even have that’s worth enduring him any longer?”
Gryphon doesn’t so much as glance in my direction, completely icing me out as he turns to North instead. “We wouldn’t have found our Bond without him. It was his sloppy cover that gave us the areas to canvas.”
I loathe being ignored like this.
Shore, the asshole, knows it all too well, but even knowing he’s doing it to piss me off doesn’t stop the fury from heating inside my gut.
A sneer curls my lip. “It was a coincidence and I certainly won’t be thanking him for it. Neither should you, simpering after a girl who left you behind.”
His jaw clenches, then his eyes flick my way before fixing his gaze back to my brother. There’s something different in them, and I take a second to look him over, the fury shifting to acid that pools in my gut until it begins to revolt.
He’s so obvious, he might as well be physically transparent. “What has the girl said to crawl under your skin now?”
The look he gives me sends a shot of adrenaline through my blood, lighting me up faster than any drug I could ever hope to get my hands on.
Chipping away at that Bond of his might be a protective measure, but the thrill of messing with the rest of the Bond Group is an unexpected perk, and one I’m quickly beginning to crave.
There’s a part of me that relishes in their pain, in pushing at them all, pressing against their weakest points until they’re sure to snap.
It’s the darkest part of me, the part that was torn apart as a child and is now covered in scar tissue; it’s a grotesque and fearsome thing.
Well, I’m sure that’s how my brother would describe it, or Gryph.
I’m more inclined to call it a warning of what’s waiting for them all at the end of this pining they’re all hell-bent on doing in their own ways.
This is what that girl will do to them the moment she gets her hands on them.
“It’s not about what she’s said or done—I’ve been looking back into all the intel we’ve collected on her over the years and we’ve missed something.
I know it. Even with our best guess of what the last five years looked like for her, there are holes.
Too many to brush aside. I don’t know what it is, I don’t have any idea of where else to look for it, but I know we’ve missed something. ”
North’s gaze snaps to Gryph’s at the same time as mine, but he’s speaking before I have the chance to process the words. “Where is this coming from? What’s happened to make you so sure?”
Gryph’s jaw clenches and relaxes, then clenches again, as though he’s chewing on his words before he spits them out, sending my brother a steely look.
“I’m going to say one thing and nothing else, so save yourself the words, Draven.
Oli doesn’t lie as much as any of you are assuming…
for the most part, she’s telling the truth. ”
I scoff. “That doesn’t tell us much other than it’s her truth—your Gift isn’t infallible. It’s not Death Perception… or True Sight.”
Even those Gifts have their limitations, but seeing Gryph’s face set like stone makes the dig worth dancing around the truth.
His eyes move slowly over me but his Gift stays firmly away from me, pointedly, as though he’s taunting my own inability to stay within the boundaries while he staunchly toes mine.
I loathe him as much as North right now.
Shoving North’s map away from my desk, I get back to the only task I give a fuck about right now and ignore their reactions. It’s a skill I refined years ago, the ability to block them out entirely when they refuse to leave me alone to do my work.
The last page I was picking over before the interruption is possibly the most challenging piece of this misshapen puzzle.
A list of characteristics, physical traits, and descriptors that don’t match up to anything else I’m seeing.
The only thing that flags, even minutely, is the single line at the bottom of the page.
Every surge bleaches.
The girl’s hair flashes into my mind, my teeth clenching, but as I look over the list again, nothing else comes even close to describing her. Besides, it’s not unheard of for a traumatizing event to change physical appearance, especially for Gifted.
There’s no way her white hair is a sign of her Gift, I’m almost certain of it now. Weeks of research, yet I’m still coming up empty-handed.
When North and Gryph finally give up on their efforts to pull my attention back to their little Bond’s safety and leave me to my work, a ripple of anxious discomfort pushes me closer to the edge of insanity until I’m forced to intervene.
My bond is awake, lingering in the back of my mind as it always does these days. Watching, assessing, waiting for the moment it can get the girl on her own, I’m sure. I do my best to stay the fuck away from her for that reason alone.
Regardless of the potential consequences, I address it directly, Do you know why her hair is white?
It answers straight away. Of course. I know everything about my Bond.