Aern didn’t want to hurt Ellin. Her father had been a Council elder; Aern had grown up with the man. Their lives had been changed when Aern’s father was killed, all of them losing some part of their family in the ensuing battle. Ellin had lived through knowing her own father had died protecting Morgan. She had made the choice to join the Division later, not because of her loss or those feelings, but because leaving was right. Because fighting the man who was systematically destroying the Seven Lines was the only choice she had.
“I’m sorry,” Aern said. “Brendan was found, and he will live, but there is something broken inside of him. The men who captured you have taken his mind.” He let Ellin process the information, certain she’d only recently heard of Brendan’s rescue, then added, “When he wakes, he won’t remember any of this, won’t be Brendan. He’ll be only an echo of himself. Empty.”
Ellin’s expression fell, shot through with pain, and then her brow furrowed as she sorted out his explanation. “He’s not awake?”
“No,” Aern said. “Brianna has seen it. Whatever they’ve done to him, it shattered his mind.” He took hold of her hand, the skin pale and pink and healing. “I’m sorry, Ellin. I know what he meant to you.”
She squeezed Aern’s fingers, the sadness in her eyes deeper than Aern had seen in years. She’d thought Brendan was going to die, thought she would have to watch him as he was slowly brought to that fate by the men who’d held them captive, only to be rescued, to be informed that Brendan was rescued as well. “He was never mine,” she said softly.
A humorless laugh escaped, and she shook her head at the irony. “Brendan belonged to the Division. He belonged to himself and the world he created. And now all of that’s gone.”
She pulled her hand free to wipe at her eyes. When she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, Aern could see the scars that ran the length of her neck.
“He saved countless men,” Aern said. “What he established in the Division may have saved us all.”
Ellin knew that. She was as much a part of the Division as any of them, and more so the reason for its success. But she was right about Brendan. He’d wanted it for more than just an escape from Morgan.
The room fell silent for a long while as Ellin processed the news. Nothing but the steady tick of a vintage grandfather clock filled the time, almost hypnotic as Aern got lost in memories of Brendan, of his father, of a carefree childhood with Logan. When Ellin spoke again, it startled him, even though her words were a ghostly murmur.
“Who are they, Aern?” She turned to face him once more, her scars distorting where she twisted her neck, recalling him to recent battles, to new fears. “Why are they doing this?”
“Because the stories are true,” he answered evenly. “Because the shadows are real.”
Chapter Sixteen
Brianna
The room was nothing like Brianna had expected. No place at the complex that housed Council was institutional, but this room was warm, comfortable. The walls were an earthy shade of brown, carpet plush and inviting. Two large windows centered the back wall, the sheer curtains hinting at a view of the south lawn. Ornate vases and sculptures decorated the mantel, artwork hung on either side of a modern block hearth, and she had to remind herself this was not simply some horrible, horrible man. This was Aern’s brother. This was the once-great leader of their only Council. Someone they loved.
“Leave me be,” Morgan said, not turning to discover whom he was addressing.
Brianna stepped forward, closer to where he sat at a plain black desk, back to her as he stared in the direction of the sheered window. His shoulders were slumped, form tilted where he leaned on one arm of the chair. Everything about his posture had changed, the way he’d held himself gone, his suit coat missing, button-down shirt draped over the other arm of the chair. Her eyes went from his cotton tee shirt to the floor, where fine Italian loafers rested beside his bare feet, something that seemed more unlike Morgan than anything else.
He deserved this. Whatever his pain, his resignation. No part of her wanted to feel sorry for him, sorry that he appeared less.
Morgan sighed, a deep, giving-up kind of sigh. “What now?”
She didn’t answer, simply stared at the back of him, his short, dark hair, his thinning frame. He finally turned, glancing first over his shoulder and then spinning the chair. “Brianna.”
The word came out of him like a breath, as if he’d never expected to see her again. But why would he? She stepped forward, closer to this man who had been everything to them. The one to fear, the one to ruin their destiny, the one to bind her to that other prophecy.
But this wasn’t that man.
She moved toward him, suddenly uninterested in whatever she’d planned to say. Her businesslike tone surprised even her when she said, “I need to check your connections. To see what my sister has done to you.”
Morgan’s expression fell, and he nodded. “Of course.”
He stood, the same height as ever, excepting the loss of his shoes, but somehow smaller now. More human. His arms lifted over his head as he removed his shirt with a quick, easy motion, and she froze. She’d only wanted his hand.