“Believing is believing.”
—Troika
Killian
The moment Ten is gone, Archer seizes the reins of control, certain he’ll be obeyed.
“Everyone outside,” he orders. “Subdue anyone who makes it past the animals, and remember—killing isn’t an option. Dawn, you stay inside.” He slaps a Dazer into her hand.
As one of ten legitimate sons of the Prince of Ravens, Archer grew up issuing commands, expecting and receiving absolute compliance. At one time, even I obeyed him.
When we were friends, I envied his confidence. Then he defected to Troika, leaving me behind, proving once again that no one sticks around and “love” can’t be trusted. Now? The trait makes me see red. I grew up with nothing, had to work for every promotion, every scrap of admiration, yet still I am seen as less than nothing. He is looked upon as a savior.
I…envy him? I would rather die!
“Arming a Healer?” I sneer. “Why don’t you shoot her in the head and save her the trouble of shooting herself.”
Dawn grows pale.
Archer snaps his teeth at me, before saying to Dawn, “If anyone but the people in this room walk through the door, shoot first, ask questions later. And don’t worry. You won’t be causing anyone any kind of injury. If the prisoner threatens you, or hey, if he even breathes in your direction, shoot him, too.”
Though she’s trembling, she nods.
I swallow a curse, hating my helplessness. The urge to act, to rip those bars out of the way, bombards me. My hands twitch and my legs ready. But I remain seated, frustration mounting. I’ll succeed only in entertaining the enemy.
Archer casts me a smug glance, all game, set, match.
Rage…so much rage burns and bubbles inside me. A volcano set to erupt. But I tamp it down, and smile. A cold unveiling of my teeth. His time will come; I have only to bide mine.
“Dear ladies, genitalmen and assorted faunae of Troika,” I say, my tone smug enough to annoy, well, anyone.
“Did you say genitalmen?” Archer demands.
“Oh, good. Your ears are working.” I continue just as breezily. “If you Daze me, you Daze Ten. Have you already forgotten we’re bonded, and what happens to one happens to both?” As I speak, I rub at the brand on my wrist. The horse Tenley spent a good few seconds staring at.
She bears a similar mark. Meaning we have matching tattoos. Stab me, please. I must have convinced myself we’d last forever. Idiot. Nothing lasts forever. Not even truth, apparently. If Tenley is right and Fusion is a lie, my mother is trapped in Many Ends. My father, too. But who cares? My Secondking lied to me…like I once lied to so many others.
Sow and reap, as Tenley likes to say.
If she’s right about one thing, there’s a good chance she’s right about the other. Many Ends could be connected to Myriad…and I have value. I’m strong, capable and brave. I’m worth something.
Her words still ring inside my head. To her, I mean something.
Focus on what matters. Right. How can I support the realm, if that’s the case?
How can I not?
No realm, no future.
When Archer scowls at me, his little dog goes crazy, barking and growling. Finally she tells me the many ways she’s going to hurt me if I continue to upset her human. Disembowelment is at the top of her list.
Archer cracks a smile, and the dog goes quiet. Danger averted.
“You won’t prick my temper today,” he informs me. “I learned a lot in the Rest. Namely the extent of your betrayal. You set me up. You are the reason I died in battle.”
Am I? So badly do I want to remember, but the shadows clouding my memory are rooted deep. “What a neat trick, cooling the fire of your rage. Please. Teach me how to be dead inside, oh, wise one.”
A pause. A sad smile. “Perhaps one day you’ll turn your mess into a message.” Dismissing me, he skids his gaze over the others. “All right. Get to work.”
Everyone rushes to obey him without a single protest, the animals following. I’m envious. I’d love a pet of my own. Someone to look at me the way the dogs look at Tenley and Archer.
Speaking of, does Tenley find the resurrected TL attractive?
My hands fist, even though the answer doesn’t matter. I’m not going to think about her. I don’t like the way I feel when I do, as if I’m trapped in a car, careening toward another, unable to stop the collision.
A distant boom sounds. The house shakes, and the furniture rattles.
“They’re setting off bombs?” I demand, only to wince. My head feels as if it’s been split in half by a hammer. Sharp pains erupt in my limbs. My stomach churns, threatening to heave. Gashes appear on my arms and torso, Lifeblood dripping. Understanding dawns, followed by horror. “Your people are attacking Ten.” The words lash from me, an accusation as much as a demand something be done.
“No. They…” The color drains from Archer’s cheeks, and he sways. This isn’t the first time his body has betrayed him today. Sweat pops up on his brow, and he wipes it away with a shaky hand. “They would never risk hurting her or the realm.”
“So what was that?” I demand. Worry screams: Something terrible. “Why am I covered in wounds when I never moved an inch?”
“I don’t… I can’t…”
“Are you feeling okay?” Dawn flattens her palm against Archer’s forehead to gauge his temperature.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I mutter, my tone dry.
“You’re overheated,” she continues, as if I haven’t spoken.
“I’ll be okay.” Archer draws in a breath, holds, and exhales. “I just need a moment to catch my breath.”
“No concern for Ten?” I spread my still-bleeding arms. “You are wonderful friends. The best.”
“At the moment, there’s nothing I can do for Ten,” Dawn snaps at me. Well, well. The mouse can pretend to be a lion. “Besides. You are well enough to cause trouble, which means she is well enough. I must focus my efforts where they matter.”
“Doesn’t look like your efforts matter much to Archer, either.” His tremors are worsening by the second. This keeps up, and he’ll soon drop like a condemned house. “Not that you’ve done anything but talk.”
Pain and frustration have burned away any filter I might have had.
Hurt glimmers in her eyes. What, does she expect me to apologize for speaking the truth?
I need to leave, and I need to leave now. Someone has to look out for Ten. My life depends on it!
If I can lure Archer closer, I can expedite his nap and steal his weapons. Won’t get me out of the cage, but at least I’ll be prepared when I do break free.
Escape, weaken Troika, return to Myriad with Tenley.
Put the needs of others before yourself.
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to halt an irritated verbal response. Two voices, both mine. Dark versus Light. Light can shove off. I’ll put the needs of others before myself never. Been there, done that, suffered for it.
“Anyone with half a brain could tell Archer needs water. He just rose from the dead. Maybe he’s, I don’t know, dehydrated.” Why does my throat feel raw, like I swallowed acid? “While you’re at it, you should probably get yourself a glass, too. Unless you want to pass out?”
Dawn glares at me, and I flash her my coldest grin. Then I blink—
Suddenly I’m running through a thick veil of black smoke. Even as I cough, it hurts. I wrap a strip of cloth around the lower half of my face. It helps, but not much. As I scale down a pile of rubble, hunks of metal cut my legs, making me wince. The dog leads the way. He glances over his shoulder to ensure I haven’t fallen too far behind.
Wait. I’m seeing the world through Tenley’s eyes?
My eyelids snap open, and once again I’m standing inside the cage. The smoke is gone, though the air in the house now feels a hundred times hotter.
Archer has regained his bearings. He’s standing in front of the bars, just as I hoped, though I never heard him move. The realization chafes. Still, I don’t strike out. Yet. My concern for Tenley is back, and magnified.
“You need to understand something,” Archer says. “That girl is one of a kind. She—”
“Shut up. Just shut up.” I need to return to her. The moment I close my eyes, I’m connected to her once again. The smoke is back, and it’s thicker, as if another bomb has been detonated.
Biscuit calls, “Hurry! He’s going to catch us.”
He? Who is chasing them?
Boom!
Directly behind me—her—something explodes. The ground rocks, and debris shifts. Directly beneath Tenley’s feet, the pile slides in different directions. She plummets with a gasp. Impact jars her, emptying her lungs. I know, because I’m struggling to breathe, as well. Our minds are dizzy, our vision hazy as Lifeblood drip, drip, drips.
Panic settles in my bones, setting my marrow aflame. Must save her—I mean me. Must save me. She could be harmed worse, which means I could be harmed worse.
I don’t want her—us—harmed.
A whimper draws her attention. One of Biscuit’s legs is trapped underneath a fat marble slab. She crawls toward him, uncaring when a shard of glass slices her thigh.
Her biceps tremble as she fights to lift the slab.
“Go,” the dog tells her. “I can’t walk. There’s no need for us both to die.”
“No! I’m not going anywhere without you. Here.” She yanks the vial of manna from her neck. “Drink—”
She goes still. A man with bright red curls ascends the pile, coming into view. She gasps, a name wafting over our bond. —Nico.—
Information follows the voice. Nico and Tenley died on the same day. Firstdeath. She considered him a good guy. They’ve had little interaction, and nothing turbulent. The One Who Shall Not Be Named must have considered him a good guy, too, because he found and locked up all the Myriadian spies, and Nico wasn’t among them.
Ambrosine hates his brother so much, he doesn’t allow his people to speak the name.
“Why are you doing this?” she demands. “How are you doing it?”
He motions to the hawk soaring overhead. “My guardian tracked you, figured out where you were heading and told me where to wait. Of course, he had no idea what I planned… Or maybe he did, and expected me to change my mind. Spoiler alert. I’m not going to change my mind.”
Biscuit growls at Nico and then snarls at the bird, a promise of vengeance.
—His reasons do no’ matter. End him, end the danger to your life.— I shove the command along our bond, my only means of supplying aid.
She gasps, and I know she’s heard me. As stealthily as possible, she releases the vial of manna and reaches for a small, sharp shard of glass. Good girl. Going for her swords would be too obvious.
Nico says, “After you attacked Victor, he came to me, admitted his feelings for me. We were going to be together— until he had to defect. Because of you.”
Another tide of information. When Victor Prince reached the Age of Accountability, he made covenant with Troika in order to spy for his father and ultimately lead the revolution to destroy the realm from the inside out. I’d had no idea, until too late.
Too late—for what? I scour my mind, but the shadows maintain a firm hold on the memory.
“Victor,” she spits at the redhead. “He’s a liar and a user.”
“No!” Spittle sprays from the corners of Nico’s mouth. “Troika voided his contract, allowing him to return to Myriad. I wanted to go with him, but I was denied. To be with him, I’ll have to go to court.”
—Throw the shard.—
She doesn’t. She says, “He only loves himself, Nico.” Her tone is soft, gentle. “He used you, just like he used Kayla. Probably many others.”
“No. He loves me.” He pulls a minigrenade from the pouch anchored to his waist. His hawk squawks in what sounds like protest. Clearly he—she—doesn’t want the Laborer to murder an innocent girl. Good bird. “To void my contract, I must do as Victor did.”
His message is clear. Victor tried to kill her, and Nico plans to finish the job. My rage returns, redoubles, a fever boiling in my blood, and this time, there’s no tamping it down.
—Throw the shard. Now!— The moment Nico pulls the pin, all hope will be lost. Both Tenley and I will die.
Not ready… Haven’t truly lived.
A deluge of fury, fear and determination vibrates along the Grid, and for a moment, I’m afraid she’s going to try to talk some “sense” into herself and then the boy. Foolish girl. There’s no time. When death comes for you, you don’t try to reason with him. You fight hard, and you fight fast.
With a cry from the depths of her soul, she swings out her arm, hurling the shard. Her aim is true. The tip slices through Nico’s neck, skin splitting open, Lifeblood spurting out.
His eyes widen with shock. He struggles to breathe as he reaches for the wound he will never be able to close. His knees give out, and he topples. The grenade falls from his grip.
The hawk swoops down to catch the grenade before it hits the ground.
Tenley rushes forward, too, her heart a riotous storm. When she realizes the hawk succeeded, she stills, unsure what to do, but the bird gently sets the weapon in her palm.
She expels a sigh of relief. Then she kneels beside Nico and whispers, “I’m sorry.” Hands trembling, she sets the grenade aside, pushes the man to his back, and rips a vial of manna from his neck. “It didn’t have to be the way. I wished you’d listened to me.”
—What’re you doin’? Doona waste yer manna on him. You might need—Argh!—
The foolish lass dispenses much-needed liquid directly into Nico’s wound, wasting every precious drop. Because it’s too late. He breathes his last as Second-death claims him.
Her shoulders roll in, and her head bows.
Now she mourns for him? I ground my teeth. Mourns the loss of the man who tried to kill her. How can her heart be so…soft? I’d like to kill the male all over again.
Perhaps she absorbs my determination through the bond. She straightens, and returns to Biscuit, swiping up the extra vial of manna along the way. The dog watches her with dark eyes filled with adoration.
She takes a drink. Only a sip, not nearly enough, and only for the boost of strength needed to push and shove the slab from Biscuit’s leg.
The moment he’s free, she empties the remaining liquid down his throat.
I loathe being a voice in her head, unable to force her movements, to ensure she does what’s necessary to ensure her own survival. How can she help an enemy at a time like this? How can she take so little for herself when a battle looms, and give so much to a dog?
Frustration burns as deeply as my rage. Does she not understand weakness is her enemy? With every drop of Lifeblood she loses, failure moves from a possibility to a guarantee.
Part of me wants to shake her, and rattle her brain against her skull. Come on, help yourself. If she won’t do it, I’ll do it for her. Somehow, some way. She must be protected, whatever the cost. She needs me, and I think… I think I need her.
In the back of my mind, a memory arises. Just after our bond, she looked at me with absolute, utter acceptance. To her, I was family.
I’d never really had a family. The something from before…the something I couldn’t identify but suspected was longing—it strikes again, pricking my hollow heart.
For the first time, that hollowness bothers me.
Like the big bad wolf, I huff and I puff with indignation. Family is an illusion. Never forget. Even if I forsook my realm to be with this girl, giving up my home, my job and the accolades I’ve earned in favor of the rancor I’ll receive from Troikans, one day Tenley will leave me.
No one sticks.
“You stayed,” Biscuit says, awe crackling in each word.
“Well, we’re a team.”
“Yeah, but you stayed.”
Though she’s panting and sweating, she takes time to scratch him behind the ear. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much.” He leans into her touch. “But you’re not.”
“I’ll be fine. Right now, we need weapons. And a place to store the grenade.”
He bounces up and stretches, testing his agility. “I know the perfect place. Come on!” His limp lessens in severity as he bounds forward.
Tenley lumbers to her feet and follows after him. Sharp pains shoot through her legs. My legs, too. Muscles burn and tremble, and bones ache. This poor, sweet lass has it worse. Blood pools in her ankles, causing swelling, making every step agony.
I bang a fist into the cold, hard floor beneath me with enough force to crack the wood. While I lounge comfortably in a cell, she is fighting with every ounce of her strength to free me. Despite her aches and pains. Despite any consequences. Her tenacity blows my mind. Nothing stops this girl. Ever. Although…General Shamus might. If he’s at full strength, and she’s not…
Pang. I rub my chest. —Return to the house, Tenley. We’ll find another way tae set me free.— I doubt she’ll obey, but I have to try. Have to do something.
—There isn’t another way. I’ll continue on, as planned.—
PANG. Is this how she won me over and got me to bond with her? By keeping me on a mental carousel, always spinning, spinning, never sure what was up and what was down?
How can she care about my well-being, even now? — There’ll be no reason tae open the cage if I’m dead. Return, and we can have lunch at one, and two drinks at three. Eat petit fours at five, and be in bed by six.—
—Well, well. You certainly have my number. But I’m going to pass. Don’t worry, though. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.—
—I’ll protect my own life, thank you very much. Do us both a favor and see to yers.—
—Careful, Killian. It almost sounds like you care about my well-being.—
I sidestep that little land mine with a question, making sure my accent is undetectable. —Why would my shadows want to hide memories of you?—
—I think they want you to forget me so that you’ll betray me. I also think the Light lets them hide those memories, so that you’ll learn to trust me even without the aid of your emotions.—
—And why aren’t you learning to trust me, hmm?—
—I trusted you long before this, against all logic, emotion and the advice of my friends.—
I…have no rejoinder. Guilt sidles up to me like an old friend. An old friend with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other.
Hurt sizzles over the Grid. Her hurt. My throat constricts, and my chest tightens. But I don’t care. I won’t care. I’d rather she hurt emotionally than physically.
I would? What is wrong with me? A girl is a girl is a girl, right?
Yes, but this girl is mine.
Stop. Just stop! Claiming her will do me no good. I’ll never be able to count on her.
Count. The word gives me pause. Tenley Lockwood… count… A memory teases me, but shadows writhe, maintaining a firm grip on our past.
Screw the shadows. Screw the Light. Someone tell me something!
I slam a fist into the floor beneath me. I suspect Tenley and I had a sizzling connection before her Firstdeath. Problem is, that connection must not have mattered to her. Not enough, anyway. She still chose Troika over me. She will always choose Troika, so I will do the same; I will choose Myriad.
Besides, nothing lasts, remember?
Escape the cage, weaken Troika, return to Myriad with Tenley.
Put the needs—
No. Stars whiz at her sides as Biscuit leads her through a Stairwell, then a Gate. We have a similar travel system in Myriad, only there are no bright illuminations to signify movement, just a moment of blinding darkness, where you can’t even see your hand in front of your face.
The pair emerges into a busy metropolis, Laborers working alongside Leaders, Messengers and Healers, cleaning up debris.
I huff and puff with indignation. —Don’t just stand in front of these people as if today is an average day.—
“Uh, Biscuit?” she says.
“Can’t be helped, my little hooman. By the time word of your location spreads, you’ll be long gone. Let’s burn rubber. We gots a lot of ground to cover and very little time to cover it.”
As the two hurry forward, Tenley receives smiles and waves from some of the throng, but glares from others. She scrambles for a distraction, asking the dog, “Why the name Biscuit?”
“I had a Firstlife, too, you know. In the Land of the Harvest, my owner named me, so you’d have to ask her.”
“If you spent your Firstlife with her,” Ten says, “why weren’t you assigned to guard her?”
“She decided to go to Myriad.”
“So why didn’t you go to Myriad? Why didn’t any of the animals?”
“Eron called dibs on everything with four legs and fur, and fish. Ambrosine wanted dragons, snakes and creepers like that.”
Suddenly a big bruiser steps in front of her and Tenley skids to a halt. “Hey!” he snaps. “You owe us an explanation, little girl. Why did you vote for Archer Prince? He’s a Laborer. We need a General. Or do you want us to lose the war?”
“I want peace,” she says.
Biscuit growls. “Take one more step toward my girl, and you’ll lose a foot.”
I’m impressed. And I’m jealous of a freaking dog. He’s a hero, and I’m a zero.
Bruiser is lucky I’m not with her. I would have shut him up with my fists. And of course, Tenley would have been angry that I dared to hurt one of her precious people.
Paling, Bruiser backs off. The dog doesn’t relax his I’llchew-your-foot-off stare until Tenley runs her hand along his spine. The two hurry on without any more interference. Once they reach a more rural area, Tenley swipes a catsuit from a line of clothing drying in the sun. She discards her tattered robe and shimmies into the suit, careful not to look down.
—Don’t want me to see your curves?— Adorable.
—You can see them as soon as you remember me.—
—Suddenly I remember everything. Honest.—
She snorts, and I experience a flicker of satisfaction.
Ignore it. Change the subject. —Why do you protect people who don’t like or respect you?— I’m genuinely curious.
—They dislike me now. They might grow to like me later.— Her tone is sharp, defensive.
Interesting. I’ve struck a nerve. —You need their approval, do you?—
—No. I wasn’t saying… Look. Their feelings have nothing to do with anything. But. They deserve a chance to live in peace, whether they like me or not.—
I’m beginning to understand why her friends follow her so ardently. One of a kind. Fights for what she believes in, no matter the obstacles in her way.
She is different. Okay. All right. There’s no denying it any longer. She’s different from other girls, boys and everyone in between. Part of me cares for her; I admit it. The other part of me recognizes the danger she poses to me. To my future. That part of me wants to cut all ties and run.
Embrace your feelings. Isn’t that what I’ve been told all my life? If those in Myriad knew what I was feeling, they would change their tune.
—Rise above what you feel, good or bad, and do what’s right.—
Tenley’s voice drifts through the Grid, and I tense. Did I unintentionally project my thoughts, prompting her response?
Must be more careful.
Biscuit leads her through another Stairwell and a Gate, through a vibrant manna field, where she plucks petals straight from the vine. Those petals aren’t as strong as the liquefied version, but they provide a kick of strength.
The next Stairwell leads to a snowcapped mountain with skyscraper trees and wild, overgrown bushes teeming with the biggest flowers I’ve ever seen. A beautiful— and treacherous—landscape. Icy winds beat at her, worse than a thousand needles poking and prodding her skin. Her teeth chatter.
Biscuit enters a small, dark cavern. Muscles heavy as stone, Tenley trudges after him. As warm air envelops her, she whimpers with relief.
Two polar bears lounge on boulders…telling jokes?
“—call a cow that eats your grass?” one asks.
“Don’t know,” the other says. “What?”
“A lawn moo-er.”
Laughter abounds.
When the bears notice Biscuit, they jolt upright, ready to attack. The moment his identity clicks, however, they relax.
“Hey, Biscuit. What you doing this far out?” one asks.
“And with a human.” The other tsk-tsks. “You broke the beast-code.”
“Frick, Frack, this is Ten,” Biscuit says. “Ten, Frick and Frack. Forget the code, guys. We need to borrow some weapons. And by borrow I mean keep forever.”
In unison, the bears ask, “Why?”
The dog glares, the hair on his back spiking. “Because I said so. Why else?”
“Uh-oh,” Frick says. “His poodle’s about to come out, isn’t it?”
Frack gulps. “Oh, yeah. Give him whatever he wants.”
Frick, the bigger bear, lumbers toward the back wall. “We got Stags, Oxis and Dazers? Or you wanting something old school?”
A single dart from a Stag can trap a spirit inside a Shell, preventing any sort of mobility and rendering both incarnations defenseless. That dart can also incapacitate a spirit without a Shell, causing agonizing pain.
Oxis age a spirit and Shell until both are reduced to ash.
“Yeah,” Biscuit says. “Those. All of those. New and old. Whatever the hooman can carry.”
In the back of the cavern is the most beautiful arsenal of all time. I weep with envy. There are different types of guns, just like the bears said, but also swords, daggers and garrotes.
Tenley stores the grenade in a box before selecting a pair of short swords, wrist cuff garrotes like the ones I prefer to wear, two bejeweled daggers and a mini-Dazer. Doesn’t take a genius to notice she avoids the most dangerous items.
Foolish girl. She hopes to avoid hurting others, even the temptation of it, but others might not hope to avoid hurting her. Doesn’t she know? The enemy you allow to walk away is the enemy who will return to stab you in the back.
“Thank you so much for your help,” she says.
Frick nods. “Any friend of Biscuit’s an acquaintance of mine who is sometimes welcome.”
Laughter bubbles from her, and I hate to admit it, but the sound of her amusement enchants me. I’m the fool.
Biscuit heads for the door. “One, two, three, time to move, my Ten.”
Through another Stairwell, then another Gate they go. They reach what looks to be an abandoned warehouse. Inside, there are no furnishings. Dust motes dance, illuminated by bright red lasers shooting from every wall, blocking a large metal grate in the floor. That grate is shaped like the Troika symbol: a circle with three petals.
“We need to get to the symbol, but if we touch the beams, we experience instant Torchlight,” Biscuit mutters.
Torchlight. For Troikans, Light is power. Like electricity. If a human is hit with too much electricity, his or her body shuts down. Torchlight is the spiritual equivalent. Only, a spirit doesn’t just shut down. A spirit explodes.
Tenley shakes her head. “Not me. I’m a Conduit, remember?”
His eyes widen. “That’s right! You can walk right through, push the lid out of the way, and descend into the tunnels, no problem.”
“Shamus is down there?” Tenley asks.
“Yep. So is Princess Mariée. She is kept down here when danger is high.”
Princess Mariée is Eron’s fiancée. Maybe it’s the Troikan in me, but I no longer feel a need to avoid the name Eron. Like Tenley, Mariée is a Conduit. And because there are only two Conduits in existence—three now, with Raanan— one must be protected at all times. If both are killed, other citizens will weaken and die, and the war will be over. Just. Like. That.
If I die, Tenley dies. Troika will weaken.
Am I willing to die for Myriad?
“There’s a slight problem, however,” Biscuit says, and cringes. “So minor I probably shouldn’t mention it.”
Tenley presses her hands against her stomach. “What? Tell me.”
“Normally I can scent us through anything, but I still got smoke trapped in my sniffer. We’re going to need a lamp. We won’t be able to see the passages otherwise. But, if we use a lamp, Shamus will see us coming and we’ll lose the element of surprise. If we lose the element of surprise, we’ll lose, period.”
She draws in a shaky breath…slowly releases it. “Well. It looks like we’re going in without a lamp.”
I swallow the words poised at the edge of my tongue. Such recklessness will get us both killed, you fool!
I’ve learned enough about Tenley to know she doesn’t react to threats, dangers and warnings like anyone else. I’ll only spur her on. Fuel to her fire. Besides, she doesn’t need a rebuke. She needs help.
Though my mind is a jumble of contradictions, I make a decision. —Don’t worry, baby. The dark is where I excel.—