I groan and recline in my chair, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Act like this never happened? Go back to pretending he’s dead?”

  “You don’t want that,” Cato says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

  “Let me live in my delusions, man. At least then I could keep believing he never came back because he couldn’t. Maybe he was locked away somewhere, or maybe he’d been searching for me the whole time. It was such a pretty picture in my head.”

  “That’s an entire damn ocean of denial,” Cato says in his token judginess, lips pursed.

  “So let me drown in it,” I say, peeking between my fingers at him. “It’s a hell of a lot easier than the truth.”

  “The truth came knocking at your front door,” he counters. “You don’t really have a choice but to believe it anymore.”

  I drop my hands and pull a face at him, but he only raises a brow and waits as we fall into a heavy, contemplative silence.

  “Did he say what he wants?” I ask after a long stretch.

  Cato shakes his head. “Only that there’s more to the story he needs to share with you.”

  The way I’m split in half is frustratingly peculiar. My body and mind are divided by a fracture running straight through the center of me, each side at war with the other.

  One part wants to run and hide, to burrow deep into the shadows and pretend none of this happened.

  But it’s the other part that terrifies me most.

  It wants to charge into that room and demand every answer he owes me. Force the truth from his lips with my bare hands if I have to, and simply exist in that same space again. Listen to the familiar timbre of his voice, bury my face in his chest, inhale that scent that once meant safety and home, and let the weight of his arms ground me the way they did when the world felt conquerable.

  Find the missing piece of myself that he never gave back.

  My legs itch to run to him, to fall at his feet and shed every ounce of pride like dead skin. Beg him to lie, to just fucking lie, and tell me he still loves me in that same breathless, all-consuming way I never stopped loving him, even when it carved me hollow.

  I want to scream and fight and fuck until we’re both in pieces.

  To rip his heart out and curse his name, to hurt him until he understands what it feels like to be irreparably broken.

  Maybe then our jagged edges could fit together again. Maybe then, sliced open and gutted, we could form something whole.

  It’s such a beautiful, impossible lie.

  “Can you take care of it?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

  Cato tilts his head, reading me too easily. “You’re going to have to face this sooner or later, you know.”

  “Says who?”

  He fixes me with a heavy stare. “Unless you want me to dump him outside the gates and tell him never to come back… and trust me, nothing would make me happier.”

  Pain lances through my chest at the thought, and an immediate protest rises on my tongue that I’m barely able to swallow.

  Cato sighs. “He has information we might need. It’d be careless not to hear him out. I’ll see what I can get from him, but be prepared. Something tells me he might not talk to me.”

  I picture the stubborn set of Xeni’s jaw whenever he was pushed into something he didn’t want, and despite everything, a bittersweet smile tugs at my lips.

  “Yeah,” I agree, “probably not.”

  He watches me closely. “You okay? Truly?”

  I want to say yes, to ease the worry in his eyes, but I only manage to shrug. His hand lands on my shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.

  We don’t make false promises or sugarcoat truths. There’s just the quiet understanding that he’s here if I need him.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  He gives my shoulder one last squeeze before heading for the door.

  Xeni

  A hushed conversation happens beyond the door, and I draw my knees tighter to my chest as my head rests against the wall.

  “He’s still not eating?” a woman’s frustrated voice asks, and a deeper grunt confirms it. “Gods damn it,” she mutters under her breath.

  I close my eye, bracing for the lecture that will come.

  They bring me three fresh meals every day like they promised, and even brought the razor I requested without a single critical thought to the fact that there's no hair growing on my face. They've given me everything I need, but ever since the spare clothes arrived, I haven’t been able to force down more than a bite or two.

  The shirt smells of Cato’s spicy soap and detergent, but underneath it is a scent that twists my stomach and throat in equal measure.

  Bergamot and eucalyptus.

  The exact artisan soaps I used to order for Bash. It cost a small fortune to include them with the supply shipments, but what else would I have spent my pay on besides spoiling the man I loved?

  Soaps, coffee beans, lacy things to wear beneath my uniform… everything was for him.

  I lift the fabric to my face and chase the ghost of his scent through the layers of someone else’s, battling the sorrow that rises like bile whenever the two mingle.

  For two days I have sat in this room in near silence, though Cato has come by twice to interrupt my brooding.

  On the first visit, he brought Sakane, probably thinking he was the safer choice. The sides of his head are shaved, and the top of his jet-black hair is pulled back in a bun. His small frame and wide brown eyes are unimposing, and his tentative smile oozes naivety.

  I haven't forgotten who shoved a bag over my head, though.

  On the second visit, he brought the blue-haired woman they call Ego. She has a lot more fire in her tiny frame, and a tongue sharp enough to battle Cameron's.

  Both times I simply turned my head to the wall until they took the hint and left.

  I should be planning an escape.

  It wouldn’t even be difficult.

  They place a single guard outside the door like it’s enough to keep me contained, but slipping into their mind would be as simple as turning a key. One quiet suggestion, and the lock would click open. Sneaking through the building might prove trickier with so many bodies moving about, but they are all human, which means they’re no match for me at full strength.

  The reason I stay is the same reason I left the village in the first place.

  Him.

  Back at home, they were speechless when they learned I’d hidden Bash from them, but once that wore off, the rounds of endless questions began. Who he was, what he knew, and how it could benefit our mission. After those were asked and answered, the group insisted I come find him and ask for his help.

  I argued, of course, because that was what they expected… because it fit the role I had been playing all these years.

  They didn’t know the full story, after all.

  No one does.

  The moment someone voiced the idea out loud, a wave of relief nearly dropped me to my knees. If they were the ones suggesting it—if they were ordering me to go—then I didn’t have to admit how desperately I wanted it myself.

  I didn’t have to be the heartbroken ex chasing after the man I still loved, tail between my legs and pride in tatters, or confess that the choices I made, however painful, were born from that love.

  I didn’t have to argue they couldn’t possibly understand what it did to me, or that I would have given anything, everything, to have chosen differently.

  That would’ve been letting them see too much.

  Too much of me.

  Too much of those demons I fight so hard to keep chained in the dark.

  My secrets don’t deserve to see the light of day, because if they ever broke free, they’d scorch everything they touched. They need to stay buried in those deep, suffocating graves where no one can dig them up, even if the weight of all that earth has been burying me right alongside them.

  Thick emotion clogs my throat as I focus on the muffled noises filtering into the room. We’re somewhere busy within the city, and the sounds find their way through the walls at all hours. The constant hum of foot traffic, occasional vehicles, heavy doors slamming, and even the intermittent chime of a doorbell. Despite the lack of windows, the outside world feels close.

  The voices in the hallway fade, and I drift into that hazy space between sleep and awake when footsteps approach. My eye opens just as the door swings in, and Bash steps into the room. Cato is on his heels but stops to lean against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

  Bash paces back and forth in front of me for a moment, and I recognize his need to collect his thoughts.

  “Why aren’t you eating?” he finally asks.

  The silver of his piercings glints in the overhead light, but the hard lines on his face are new. He was always so level, almost timid in his calmness. Seeing this raw edge twists something painful in my chest, because I’m the cause.

  “Not hungry,” I say quietly, glancing toward Cato.

  “You can’t just starve yourself,” Bash retorts, and I move my focus back to him. “Are you trying to get some attention? Is that what this is?”

  I hold his gaze as I tug at the collar of my shirt. “Maybe I can’t stomach food when I’m wearing clothes that smell like you on another man.”

  Surprise flickers across his expression before he glances at my chest, then at Cato.

  “Really?” he demands. “We’re marking territory now?”

  Cato shrugs with a lazy smirk, giving Bash a slow once-over that makes another wave of nausea roll in my gut.

  “He asked for clothes, and I had clean ones. It seemed logical.”

  Bash draws a deep breath before turning back to me, and his anger softens as he searches my face.

  “Will you please eat something?” he asks.

  The plea in his voice unravels me, and I swallow as I glance away.

  Bash is the only person in the world who makes me this way. With everyone else, I can be aloof, but not with him. He’s always been able to see straight through the act.

  “If I do,” I say quietly, “will you stay and talk to me?”

  “Xeni,” he murmurs, and the sound of my name on his lips draws a shaky exhale from me.

  “Please?” I push. “Just talk to me for a few minutes? Let me finish the story and I promise I’ll eat. I’ll… I’ll be good.”

  Something shifts in his expression, those tense edges easing into something far more familiar.

  “Just us?” I ask.

  He hardens again, lips pressing into a thin line. “Cato stays.”

  “Bash—”

  “He stays. You eat, I listen. That’s the deal.”

  “Alright,” I whisper.

  Bash sags, dropping his face into his palms for a moment. “Cato, have someone bring his dinner back, would you?”

  Cato hesitates, chewing his lip as he watches Bash with obvious concern, but Bash keeps his head down. Eventually, Cato steps out, calling the request down the hall before returning.

  We sit in heavy silence until the same woman from earlier brings a fresh tray. My stomach cramps at the sight, but I take it obediently then tear off a piece of bread.

  Bash watches as I chew, like he doesn’t even trust me to do this much.

  “Where have you been since…” He trails off, unwilling to finish, but I know what he means.

  Since you sent me away.

  “They kept me at Ljómur for two years,” I say, forcing down another bite, “before reassigning groups of us. After that, I was moved to Glaston.”

  His brows pinch together. “They moved you?”

  “They moved a lot of us, yeah. Chief Aeliphis was also reassigned to Glaston and put in charge of the clinic. I worked under her there. Flynn and Kopros came with us, but some stayed behind. Sprocket and Aryn were still at Ljómur when I left.”

  “You’re sure?” he asks, and I recognize the question he isn’t asking.

  I nod, taking another bite when he glances at the tray. “They made it out. They’re actually living in the village now, with me and the others.”

  Relief smooths the stress lines on his forehead as he registers that statement, and he chews on his lip. “Who exactly are the others?”

  “Mostly former military,” I say. “A few prisoners who escaped. And the majority… they’re mated.”

  Surprise flares openly across his face. “Even the ones who weren't from Ljómur?”

  “Most of them, yes. Not Sprocket or Aryn, and one prisoner lost her mate during a procedure. But the rest are.”

  “How did you find them?” he asks, and accusation threads through his tone.

  With my past, I can’t blame him for asking.

  “I told you about the two I helped escape,” I say, and he nods. “After we got away from there, they took me to their village where the others were living. Nyx was with them.”

  “Nyx?”

  I clear my throat, hating the words before they even leave my mouth. “Test subject number one. He had been rescued a few months earlier when he was transported to a rift site.”

  “He was the one they thought held the answers,” Bash says with wide eyes, and I can already see the gears in his head spinning.

  I nod. “It’s why I came, Bash. He did it. He opened one of the rifts.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “There’s a long backstory, and I’ll spare you the boring details, but a few of us took him to a rift. That’s where we ran into Sprocket and Aryn’s group, but when we were on the way to bring them back, we were attacked.”

  His gaze flicks to my eyepatch as anger darkens his expression. “Is that what happened?”

  I choke on a bitter laugh and shake my head. “No. That was courtesy of one of the mates I rescued.”

  “He hurt you after you saved him?”

  “No,” I whisper, meeting those hazel eyes that still undo me completely. “I earned it when I betrayed them.”

  “You said you didn’t mean to,” he says softly.

  “Doesn’t change the fact that I deserved it.”

  “Xeni,” he murmurs, lifting his hand like he’s going to touch the patch.

  I go perfectly still, heart jammed in my throat.

  Cato clears his throat from the doorway, and Bash steps back abruptly like he's snapped out of a trance.

  I bow my head, staring at the mostly untouched food.

  “Eat,” Bash insists quietly.

  I force down another bite.

  “You said you were attacked?” he prompts.

  I nod, replaying the events in my head. “We were ambushed by the military. I took a bad hit and was unconscious when it actually happened, but Nyx drew on his power to protect us, and once we dealt with the threat, we joined the others before heading back to the village. Ronan—”

  I pause at Bash’s raised brow.

  “He’s an Anunian deserter, mated, usually a pain in my ass… but he’s loyal. He found a leaf at the rift site after Nyx used his power.”

  “A leaf?” he asks, nose wrinkled.

  “From the other side.”

  Bash’s sharp inhale almost makes me smile. Despite the tragedy of what was happening at Ljómur, he always lit up over his experiments. He spent years trying to force reactions from the rifts and never got to see any results from his hard work.

  “How?” he asks.

  “We’re not entirely sure,” I say with a small shrug. “It took an enormous amount of power… too much for him to risk trying it a second time. Later, when we discussed it, Sprocket mentioned your name, and… here I am.”

  “So you’re here to ask for my help.”

  “Basically,” I mutter.

  He scoffs as his guard builds again, his feet moving in that same agitated circuit back and forth. “And what did your friends say about sending you to proposition your rejected mate?”

  “Don’t say it like that,” I plead.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t know the whole story.”

  “I don’t know the whole story?” he repeats, his anger building as his fists ball at his sides. “I don’t know any of the story, Xenesis. All I know is one moment I was in your arms, and the next they were dragging me away while you sat there and watched. You watched! I fought an entire squadron trying to get back to you, and you didn’t even care!”

  “I had to—”

  “You broke me!” he shouts.

  My gaze drops to the floor, my vision blurred with the tears that burn behind my eye. The air is stifling with his anger as he drags in ragged breaths, pacing until he finally stops and faces me again.

  “Why were you running from those guards?” he asks, voice clinical once again.

  I swipe at my eye in an attempt to steady myself. “When I arrived, someone directed me to a pub where the owner was… sympathetic to deserters. He let me stay while I searched for you.”

  “Leif?” he guesses.

  “You know him?” I ask, glancing up.

  Bash tilts his head in a conceding nod. “We run in the same circles. I’ve never met him, but I know who he is.”

  “He had a friend who claimed to have information about you, but he wanted a favor first.”

  “Who was this friend?” Bash asks.

  “Gideon,” I say, and Bash exchanges a glance with Cato at the door.

  “My older brother,” Cato explains.

  “Real pleasant guy. The family resemblance is uncanny,” I say with a tone loaded with sarcasm. “Those schedules I was carrying when you caught me were for him.”

  Cato glares at me, but eventually, curiosity wins. “What did he want them for?”

  “They were monitoring shipments. He wouldn’t give me details, but they were counting on something big coming in this week.”

  “We’ll get the information to him,” Bash tells Cato, who nods. When his focus returns to me, the anger has faded into concern.

  “What happened at the office?" he asks. "Did someone recognize you? Does anyone know you’re alive?”

  “No, that was… unrelated. One of the workers there had been at the gate when I entered, and I kind of… flirted with his boyfriend to distract from the fake ID.”