Louder than the dig I just made, I hope he hears: Will abandoned his daughter in barracks, Will let her think him dead, Will built me a paradise. Will is worthy of my trust, and would not send his daughter to assassinate me.
He stirs his melting ice with the straw, narrows his eyes at me. He studies me like I used to study my father’s field guide, for eternity and forever, looking between every crack for anything that might be hiding.
But like me with my father’s field guide, he sees only what he wants to see.
His stony face softens into comfort, relief, all yellow teeth and wheezing laughter. “Good for us all that you didn’t get killed down there! Quite a weapon, those young men, quite a weapon indeed.”
Good for us all, yes, I agree. Though I’m sure by us all he mostly means himself, and the partnership he would have lost with my father if I hadn’t survived.
“I’m impressed with you, young lady,” he says, pointing his straw at me. For what? For not backing down from him, for having the audacity to challenge him? For staying alive, when I’m still not sure what caused Lonan to stop ripping me apart? “I need a replacement immediately, back on HQ. Ava has already been dealt with for all the damage and disruption she’s caused—you are my new Ava.”
His words are polish and shine, but I hear all the things he doesn’t say: I know entirely too much to be sent back to barracks, and because I’ve had the vaccine, they can’t use me as a HoloWolf. Whether he’s truly impressed or this is simply an enemies-closest situation, I’m not about to fight it. Especially since it will land me on the same island as my father.
Zhornov stands first; the doctor follows. This is it, this could be it. I will myself steady, though I am a bundle of fluttering nerves. Zhornov turns his back for just long enough to put his water glass on the desk, only a few ice cubes remaining.
I slip the vial from my pocket, keeping it carefully in line with my wrist—and Dr. Marieke sees me do it. He moves forward first, coming in for a handshake, just as Zhornov turns back around.
The doctor smiles at me. “Thank you for your service here”—our hands meet, bloodlock discreetly hidden between—“and for all you’ve suffered on my behalf, for this demonstration.” He pulls away, tucks the vial in his pocket so swiftly it is like it never happened. “Anyone Will trusts, I trust. I’d be glad to come on board the project.”
I recognize his words for what they are—a promise of solidarity to us, not the kingpins, though obviously it’s meant to sound loyal to the Wolves. I am all sunbeams on the inside, and it’s difficult to contain, this hope. Hope, back from the brink.
Zhornov is oblivious to everything but his own hope. He calls for Saba, he calls for Scotch on the rocks. He is so relieved no one is out to kill him, he can’t feel the foundation shifting under his own feet. It’s not his death he should be concerned about—it’s the rest of his life that’s about to become miserable.
I’m almost tempted to be sad for him. Almost.
But then I remember Pellegrin.
Finnley.
Birch.
So many, many more lives that ended miserably—all the rest who wither in the gulags—all the Wolves who’ve become predators simply to avoid being prey. The kingpins have had their happiness, enough for lifetimes, at the expense of lifetimes.
Zhornov raises his glass, glorying in the moment. “To life!” he says, and guzzles his Scotch.
To life.
NINETY-THREE
THE WHITE YACHT with whale-belly sails waits for me at the end of the pier.
Lonan, Cass, and Phoenix are already on board—they boarded late last night, Saba tells me as we walk, so the yacht would be set to sail as soon as my interrogation ended. I was the only one brought in for questioning: I was the only one aware and autonomous during the chaos, thus the only one pressed with suspicion.
“Here is where I leave you,” Saba says, when the slate path gives way to the pier’s worn wood. Her subtle accent is like a lullaby. “Good luck.” She’s been much more open with me now that the meeting is over. Perhaps it’s because I was allowed to leave it in one piece.
I nod, the best I can do at thank you right now. If I open my mouth, I will give myself away. Better to keep secrets under lock and key until I am absolutely sure it’s safe to let them out. I may not get to use the key for a while, or ever.
The pier is long and lonely. I walk with ghosts, when it should be Pellegrin beside me. It is the oddest combination of feelings, this hope—this hope at a cost. Nothing comes for free, especially not freedom. More than anything, I’m just tired. I could sleep for years.
Captain Rex welcomes me aboard. Cass and Phoenix are sprawled over the long benches on the main deck, not stirred in the slightest by the enthusiasm of his greeting. The captain offers me fruit and fish and a host of other things he never offered on our first trip. He must have heard what happened.
“That one’s been asking about you constantly,” the captain says, pointing an apple wedge toward the far end of the yacht.
I turn to look, and there’s Lonan, staring at me as if I am the ghost among us.
“Go on. I’ll leave the plate for whenever you’re ready.” He devours the apple wedge in a single bite, talks through it. “Someone’s got to sail this ship, anyway.” His words fade as he disappears up the stairs onto the top deck.
And then it’s just me with Lonan. Real Lonan.
“I won’t blame you if you don’t want to come any closer.” There’s a rawness to his voice, one I know well. I get it, too, after too many emotions have run their course. “Ava’s gone, your father told me. He told me everything, everything that happened. I won’t . . . I’m not going to . . .” He cuts himself off, swallows.
Not going to hurt me. Not going to kill me.
“Don’t do that,” I say, taking a step toward him. “You are not allowed to push me away.”
I admit: it is not easy to unravel my nightmares from where they tangle with the truth—his hands on my throat, his empty eyes—but I refuse to let the nightmares win. We will get past this; we just need to drown those images out with new ones. True ones.
I make my way toward him, take a seat on the back bench. He doesn’t sit until I invite him, until it is more than clear that I want him to. We watch the island shrink to nothing as we leave it behind.
“I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am, Eden.” He searches for my eyes, I feel it, until I tear them from the empty ocean.
“It wasn’t you who did those things,” I say. “You would never.”
“I did.”
“Ava did.”
His face is all grief, all guilt. “I should have been strong enough to stop it,” he says. “I should have had more control.”
“You couldn’t help it.”