I stuff the goodness into my mouth and savor.

Kissed me simply to drug me. Anger ignites. Not forgiven, Killian Flynn. Not forgiven!

“Where’s Killian?” I ask.

“He was called away on Myriad business.” She smirks at me. “Right now, I’m in charge of your care.”

Killian’s attempt to look out for me, as promised, even though he’s not here, won’t soften me. “I can take care of myself.”

“Says everyone ever. But it’s only pride talking, so I never listen. Pride is a nasty bitch.”

“So is greed. And gluttony.” I arch a brow at her.

“Actually, I threw the pieces outside.”

Spite is a nasty bitch. “You don’t like me,” I say. “Noted. The feeling is mutual. You can go now.”

“I take orders only from Killian, and even then it’s iffy.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “He told me to watch over you, so I’ll watch over you. I’m guessing you’re a flight risk.”

She isn’t wrong.

I stand, grunting as sore muscles and bruised bones protest. I explore the tent, cataloging exits, searching for weapons, and find a small room sectioned off from the rest of the tent by red scarves. Inside is a temporary bathroom: portable toilet, rags, a mirror, a toothbrush and a hairbrush, a bowl of water and a calendar that leans against the mirror.

Curious, I reach for it. A blue light appears in the glass. Not just a light but words. A note from Killian.

Stick around, and I’ll allow you to punish me. Leave, and I’ll do the punishing. Yours, K.

PS: I wasn’t sure what you loved so much about the calendar Vans took from you, but I wanted you to have a new one.

Nothing he does or says right now should please me, but I am softening. This boy...oh, this boy. He’s a wealth of contradictions.

I hug the calendar to my chest then brush my teeth and hair and use the water to wash up.

“You done in there?” Elena calls. “Or are you constipated?”

Nice.

I hide the toothbrush in the waist of my shorts and leave the relative privacy of the bathroom to find her seated and sharpening a dagger with a stone. An attempt to intimidate me, I’m sure.

“About time.” She doesn’t glance in my direction, just keeps rubbing the stone over the blade. “You’re filling Killian’s head with foolish ideas and you need to stop.”

“Foolish ideas?”

“Yeah. How about this doozy? Firstlife matters. Oh! The ever-popular work with your enemy, because he’ll never stab you in the back. And let’s not forget my favorite. Winning isn’t everything.” The rubbing stops for a moment, only to start up again—faster. “You’re going to make a terrible General.”

“Agreed. That’s one of myriad reasons I haven’t turned in my application for employment.” I smirk at her. “Myriad. Get it?”

The gaze she levels on me is pure irritation.

Humor not appreciated. Noted. “Wow. Look at us.” I sit across from her, keeping the glowing stones between us. A buffer. I smile sweetly. “We’re bonding. Practically sisters.”

Her motions grow choppy. “If Killian fails to sign you, he could be decommissioned. You get that, don’t you?”

I go tense. “He told me he wouldn’t be killed.”

“He lied.”

He wouldn’t do that...would he? Unless this is her attempt to manipulate me?

“Though we have no idea who arranged your execution, Killian lobbied for you, convinced the Generals and even the King you were worth any risk. He just needed a little more time. But. Since he fought for your life, your fate will now decide his.”

A brief moment of dizziness, the confession rocking me. “When? When was all this decided?”

“After the plane crash, just before the car wreck.”

He bought me time—with his life. And yet someone is trying to kill me anyway.

I want to shake him. And kiss him, for real this time. But mostly I want to shake him. What am I supposed to do about my future now? I can’t allow Killian to be harmed because of my decision.

“Maybe I’ll kill you both,” Elena says, as if she’s speaking to herself. “He’ll Fuse with another soul and start over, and you’ll suffer countless agonies in Many Ends until you die and start over, as well.”

Okay. She’s gone too far, threatening Killian. I lean over the rocks—notice they don’t burn—and slam the tip of the toothbrush behind her ear. While her Shell goes still, I claim her dagger and stride from the tent, only to grind to a halt.

The sun is once again in the process of setting, the sky ablaze with colors—and framing my parents’ house, a three-story mansion that’s sprawled over two acres of land. The house is box-shaped, taller in the center, shorter on the sides, with some walls made of glass, others of white stucco. Flowers of every color bloom along the edge, and orange and lemon trees offer sweet scents and shade. The grass at my feet is soft and green, as plush as carpet.

My stomach clenches. Home, but...not home. Everything is exactly as I remember it, my absence completely unnoticed. I don’t belong here. Not anymore.

Killian must have driven through the night and then some to get here.

A bright beam of light explodes in front of me and when it fades, Killian is standing there. He’s scowling, his dark hair unkempt. Dirt mars his clothing and there are tears in his shirt, revealing the ripple of muscle underneath. He’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him.

“Snake.” I throw a punch at his jaw, and it lands. On impact, his head whips to the side.

He masks his features as he faces me. “The end justified the means. You’re home, as promised.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy the end, because my trust in you is destroyed. You tricked me!”

“For your own good.”

“And you tied your life to mine!”

His eyes narrow, his lashes fusing. “Elena has a big mouth.”

“Yours should have been bigger. You lied to me.”

He raises his chin. “I told you the truth at first, and it was clear you felt I was pressuring you further. I took the pressure off.”

So. The boy who praised victory above everything else refused to use his ace against me. Argh! Now I’m even more torn.

“I don’t want you killed,” I say, stomping my foot.

“That makes two of us.”

Archer and Deacon appear in beams of light to flank his sides. He swings around, two guns palmed, cocked and aimed. The Troikans merely smile in challenge, daring him to take a shot.

The muscles in his shoulders knot with tension, but in the end, he lowers the weapons.

Elena comes charging out of the tent. When she spots Archer and Deacon, she hisses.

Neither boy pays her the slightest bit of attention.

“I have news,” Archer says to me, dread heavy in his tone.

Everything else is forgotten. “Did my mother—”

“No. She’s still alive. For now.” His eyes are grim. “But, Ten...while you were at the asylum...when she left your father and remained in seclusion, even refusing to come see you...she had a baby.”

What? “No.” I shake my head. “My dad’s mistress is going to have a baby. Not my mother.”