He shook his head wordlessly, his eyes on mine.
“I have to go back.”
I ate a quiet dinner in my room, alone but for Nix’s company. At least this time my isolation was by choice—though the others didn’t quite know what to do with me, they wouldn’t have turned me away. Hero, villain—the lines blurred, and for now I was content to let the line stay blurry. Part of me knew that I ought to go out anyway, enjoy the company. I was never a social person back in my city, but my time alone in the wilderness had proven to me that even I got lonely. I felt almost as though I ought to store it up, like water collecting in a rainstorm, to last me through the drought to come. But I didn’t want a drawn-out farewell.
I had my pack all set out. Basil knew I was leaving, and we’d made our farewells. When he realized he couldn’t change my mind, he settled for telling me that we’d see each other again, when Lethe was safe. When our city was safe, too. There was my paper bird, crumpled, rescued from the depths of CeePo where I’d thrown it in Basil’s face. Oren’s knife in its sheath. Some cheese, some of the rebel-made grain bars that lasted for weeks, a packet of crackers. A water canteen. My running shoes, and my leather jacket with the tear in the shoulder neatly stitched up.
And the newest addition: a little metal flask of a clear, odorless liquid. Basil had given it to me, saying it was the way back through the Wall enclosing my city. When the Institute had sent him out, they did so intending him to come back and report on the location of the Iron Wood—it was Basil’s defection from the plan that made them try again, lying this time, with me. I was never intended to return, but Basil—Basil had a way of getting back inside. When I asked him how he’d managed to keep track of it for all these years, he was quiet, and I realized the answer: he kept it because he’d always intended to come back for me.“You’re sure you want to go back there?” Nix was not a fan of my decision and told me so at every possible juncture.
“I have to go,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not trying to sacrifice myself or be a hero or something. But they’re dying there, sooner or later. The Renewable they have will die, and then the city will have nothing.”
“But they’re the ones who did this to you.”
“It was only a small group of people who did this to me. Gloriette. The other architects. Kris.” My thoughts tangled as the image of the tousle-haired, handsome architect flashed before my eyes. “And even they were acting because they thought it was the only way to save the city.”
“Trying to talk sense into you is like trying to fly into a headwind.”
I tried to hide my smile. “And you love it. You’re coming, after all, aren’t you?”
Nix made an irritated grinding sound with its wings and then took off, headed for the ventilation shaft it used to go from room to room. I grinned, shaking my head. The little bug might be annoying and full of itself, but it was good company. And it was loyal.
I surveyed my supplies, trying to think if I’d missed anything. The people here would do just fine without me. They had Basil and Dorian, and Wesley too. If I slipped out in the night, there’d be no fuss, no pleas and no demands made.
There was just one problem: Oren.
I’d follow you anywhere, he’d told me in the Eagles’ prison cell, back before everything had happened here. I didn’t want to force him to put that promise to the test now that he’d found a home. He was different here, and even he had to realize that. He was quieter, calmer. Still just as strong and fierce as ever, but he was in control of himself. He was even in control of his shadow self—if only barely.
I couldn’t ask him to leave, but if I told him I was going, I knew he’d follow. My only other option was to leave without telling him, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that either. It was a betrayal nearly as bad as forcing him to leave this new home.
There was a tap on my door, and I jumped. “Oren?”
“Sorry to disappoint.” It was Wesley, the door opening half a moment later so that he could slip inside. “I noticed you weren’t at dinner and wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. I was standing in front of my bed, which was covered in supplies, but I couldn’t be concealing much. “Just want to be alone tonight.”
Wesley’s eyes raked over everything arrayed on top of the blanket, then fell back on me. “Running away again,” he said quietly, though there was no judgment in his voice. Just a mild comment on what he saw.
“Running back,” I corrected him.
Wesley made a noncommittal sound. I waited for him to speak, to explain why he’d come to find me. Instead he just stood there, watching me, his expression difficult to read.
“Wesley,” I found myself saying, “back in CeePo, when Adjutant called Basil Prometheus. You weren’t surprised.”
He inclined his head, conceding the point. “The possibility had crossed my mind.”
“That the author of the journal was Prometheus himself?” He nodded, and I struggled to understand. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Wesley ran a hand across his scalp, not replying immediately. “Because when you’re fighting an impossible enemy, your best weapon is hope.”
“I thought I was your best weapon,” I said dryly.
“Indeed,” he said, although his tone was serious, not echoing the humor in my voice.
I swallowed, scanning Wesley’s face. He was still a little haggard, dark circles under his eyes. He looked wan in contrast with the brightness of his peacock coat, which no one had dared suggest he get rid of even though he was no longer posing as one of Prometheus’s highest lackeys.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I said softly.
He gazed back at me for a long moment, reminding me of the teachers I’d had back in my home city, pinning me to my chair and making me want to squirm. Then he nodded. “I know you are. But I knew what I was offering. And I did offer.”
“I could’ve killed you.”
Wesley smiled. “But you didn’t.”
“But I could have.”
Wesley laughed. “We could be at this all night, Lark. Life is full of coulds and shoulds. Those things have no bearing on reality. You do what you do, you make the choices you make. I respect your choices. You should do the same.”
When I had no answer for him he straightened, reaching for the handle of the door. “Goodbye, Lark. Be well.”
I was left staring after him as the door swung loosely closed, thinking of all the exercises he’d made me do, learning how to recognize the point of death, how to automatically stop myself before I passed it.
Did he know? Could he have somehow suspected, all along, that it would come down to that moment—him offering his magic to me, me having no choice but to take it?
Before I could consider that idea any further, the door squeaked open again, shattering my thoughts. Oren was there, one palm pressed against the door, his expression locked down. His eyes were on the supplies strewn over my bed, and for a wild moment I considered using my reserves of magic to slam the door in his face and pray he hadn’t seen.
But it was too late. I could see the betrayal in his gaze, the way they flicked from object to object, avoiding my face. With a tiny whir, Nix darted out from behind Oren’s head, and hovered over his shoulder.
“Told you she was leaving.” Though it was impossible, I could have sworn it sounded smug and petulant.