Chapter 22 #2
"But you're allowed to stay?"
"I have the highest security clearance." It wasn't precisely an answer. The truth was more complicated. I'd pulled rank, called in favors, and threatened to file so much paperwork that the entire department would drown in it if anyone tried to remove me from Winter's room.
"What about Frank and Horrace?" She was so stubborn. "I need to see them."
"As I said, I'll arrange for Horrace's return once you're stabilized. As for your fish, I believe Milo has been caring for it with his usual enthusiasm."
Winter smiled at that. "He's probably teaching Frank to do tricks with his skeleton crew."
The mental image of tiny skeletons conducting fish training was so absurd that I nearly smiled. I caught myself just in time, maintaining my professional demeanor.
"Winter," I changed the subject, "about what happened at the breach. The medical team needs a full account of your experience with these 'Harbingers.' It may help us understand your current condition."
Her expression sobered. "They're not what I expected. Not exactly villains, more like cosmic bureaucrats?"
"Bureaucrats?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry," she gave me a small smile. "No offense. But they talked about prophecies like they were just doing a job. Creating them, maintaining them. They seemed genuinely confused by mine because they didn't write it."
I made more mental notes. This aligned with certain obscure texts in the Bureau's restricted archives, ones that suggested prophecies were not natural phenomena but designed interventions.
"And they attempted to alter these prophecies? The fragments you absorbed?"
Winter nodded, her hand unconsciously moving to her arm again. "They were trying to rewrite them. I couldn't let them do that. It felt wrong."
"So you took them instead," I confirmed. "Absorbed them into yourself."
"It wasn't really a conscious decision," she shook her head. "It just happened. Like my body knew what to do even if my mind didn't."
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been troubling me for three days. "Did you see anything while you were unconscious?"
Something in my tone must have alerted her. "Why? Did I talk in my sleep or something?"
"You repeated the same phrase. Multiple times." I kept my voice carefully neutral. "You said, 'Don't let them make me a weapon.' Over and over."
Winter went very still, her fingers tightening around the coffee cup. "I don't remember saying that."
"Do you know what it might refer to?"
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze distant. "The Harbingers talked about using me. About redirecting my prophecy if they couldn't stop it." She looked up at me, her gray eyes troubled. "I think they want to use me to control fate somehow. To put things back the way they were."
The implications were disturbing. If Winter's prophecy truly was rewriting others, if it represented a fundamental shift in how fate operated, then the entities who had previously controlled that system would naturally see her as a threat, or an opportunity.
"The Bureau won't allow that to happen," I assured her, surprised by my own conviction. "Your protection remains our priority."
"Is that why I'm in quarantine? For my protection?"
I hesitated. "Partially. Your condition also presents certain challenges."
"You mean I might accidentally turn more people into ferrets."
"Among other concerns, yes."
Winter sighed, leaning back against her pillows. The blue markings pulsed more slowly now, as if responding to her fatigue. "So I'm stuck here. A prisoner with good intentions."
"Not a prisoner," I corrected automatically without thinking. "A patient under observation."
"Is there a difference?"
The question was pointed, and I found myself without a ready answer. According to Bureau protocols, there was indeed a clear distinction between containment and quarantine. But from Winter's perspective, I could see how the difference might seem unimportant to her.
"You're not a prisoner. Prisoners don't get contraband coffee."
That earned me a small smile before it faded. "Are you scared of me now, Fenric?"
The question caught me off guard. "Scared?"
"Of what I'm becoming. Of what I might do." Her voice was quiet but steady. "I absorbed dozens of prophecy fragments. I can feel them inside me, changing me. Sometimes I look at my hands and they don't seem like mine anymore."
I considered my answer carefully. Bureau protocol would dictate a reassuring but noncommittal response, something that acknowledged her concerns without confirming them.
Instead, I found myself saying, "No. I'm scared of what will happen if they make you feel like you should be."
Winter's eyes widened slightly, surprised by my candor. "That's not the answer I expected."
"It's not the answer I expected to give," I shrugged.
We sat in silence for a moment, the backward-ticking clock the only sound in the room. Something had shifted between us, some invisible barrier lowered.
"Fenric," Winter broke the silence, "what happens now? With the prophecy, with me, with all of this?"
"I don't know. The Bureau is still analyzing the data from the breach. Dr. Thornwick has theories, but nothing conclusive."
"And the scrolls? Have there been any new trial instructions?"
"No. The prophetic scrolls have been silent since the incident."
Winter frowned. "That's weird, right? We completed the first trials, the feather and bringing Horrace home. Shouldn't there be more?"
"One would expect so, yes." I had been wondering the same thing. "It's possible that absorbing the prophecy fragments has altered the progression somehow."
She was quiet again, contemplative. Then, "I need to see Horrace. And the others. I need to know they're okay."
"I'll arrange it," I promised. "Once the medical team has completed their initial assessment."
"Thank you." She finished her coffee and set the empty cup aside. "And thank you for staying. For being here when I woke up."
I nodded, uncomfortable with her gratitude. "It was the logical course of action."
"Right. Logical." She smiled as if she didn't believe me, which was irritating because she was correct.
Winter shifted, wincing again as the movement clearly caused her pain. The blue markings flared briefly, then settled. But something caught my attention, a new mark on her forearm, different from the others. It pulsed with a rhythm slightly out of sync with the rest, glowing faintly.
"What is that?" I leaned forward, studying the new symbol.
Winter followed my gaze. "I don't know. It wasn't there before."
I reached for my tablet, intending to document this development, but stopped when Winter gasped softly. The new mark was glowing brighter now, pulsing more rapidly.
"It feels different," her voice was barely above a whisper. "Not like the others. More personal somehow."
Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers hovering just above the mark without touching her skin. The symbol responded to my proximity, glowing even brighter.
"Fascinating," I murmured. "It appears to be reactive to external stimuli in a way the other markings are not."
"Can you read it? What does it say?"
I studied the symbol carefully. Unlike the other markings, which resembled ancient runes and prophetic script, this one was more fluid, almost like calligraphy. And unlike the others, I couldn't decipher it.
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "It's not in any prophetic language I recognize."
Winter looked up at me, her gray eyes reflecting the blue glow from her arm. "That's weird, right? That a new mark would appear after I absorbed all those prophecy fragments?"
"Indeed. I'll need to consult with Dr. Thornwick. This could be significant."
She nodded, then suddenly yawned, her eyelids drooping. "Sorry. I feel like I should be well-rested after three days of sleep, but I'm exhausted."
"Your body is still healing," I stood, retrieving my tablet. "You should rest. I'll return later with updates on Horrace and arrange for the others to visit."
"You'll come back?" Her voice was already heavy with approaching sleep.
"Yes," I promised. "I'll be here."
As I turned to leave, Winter caught my wrist, her touch light but unexpected. The contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with her prophetic energy.
"Fenric," her voice was soft, "I meant what I said. Thank you for staying."
I looked down at her hand on my wrist, at the blue markings that pulsed along her skin, at the new symbol that glowed with particular brightness where our skin made contact.
"You're welcome, Winter," my voice uncharacteristically gentle.
She smiled, her eyes already closing as sleep claimed her. Her hand slipped from my wrist, falling back to the bed. I stood there a moment longer, watching as her breathing evened out, as the blue markings settled into a steady, gentle pulse.
Then I left, closing the door quietly behind me, already mentally composing the seventeen reports I would need to file about this interaction.
When I returned two hours later, Winter was still sleeping peacefully. I resumed my place in the uncomfortable chair beside her bed, tablet in hand but forgotten as I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest.
The new mark on her arm continued to pulse with its own rhythm, a mystery I couldn't yet solve. But for now, it was enough that she was alive, that she had woken up, that she had thanked me for staying.
It was enough that I had promised to return, and had kept that promise.
I reached out hesitantly, my fingers hovering above hers where they lay on the white sheets. Then, with a glance at the door to ensure no one was watching, I allowed my hand to settle over hers, our fingers entwining.
My ears burned with embarrassment at this unprofessional contact, but I didn't pull away. The new mark on Winter's arm glowed brighter at my touch, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
She smiled in her sleep, and I found myself smiling back, a small, private expression that would have shocked anyone who knew me.
Bureau protocols could wait.