Logan put his hand over mine under the table and I squeezed, grateful for the touch. I could do this. I would do this. I concentrated, finding that network again, fusing my connections back into place. I didn’t stop to think what it meant, how they could have been destroyed, why the power was taken from me. I just did what I could do. What I had to do.
“Brianna,” Aern whispered from his chair beside me, and I opened my eyes to find him leaned over, as if he were casually offering me water from the pitcher while the others talked. But I could see the truth, the concern in his eyes, and I came back, abruptly aware of how far I’d fallen into my task. I nodded, assuring him I was okay, and pulled my grip free of Logan’s.
It was ice cold. He watched me, waiting for some sign, neither of them wanting to cause a scene, and I said, “Tea if you have it. Something warm.”
They exchanged a glance, but Ava had heard, and a steaming mug and the fall of her auburn hair were suddenly intersecting their view of each other. I managed a casual smile and slid my hands around the heat of the cup, my gaze raking the table, finding Seth, Eric, Council women and men. Suddenly, a loud pop broke the remaining conversation as everyone’s heads snapped in my direction.
I sat the mug onto the glass tabletop, the chink of its contact too loud, and managed a light laugh. “Sorry to scare everyone.” I pointed toward the cup, keeping the rest of my hand folded over my palm. “Mug must have had a crack in it.”
Ava was there, a damp towel wiping at the tabletop and an apology on her lips, but I stopped her, “No, no, really. It’s fine. I’ve just,” I covered my stomach, as if there were a spot, some stain I was embarrassed to let everyone see, and stood. “I’ve made a bit of a mess. I think I’ll go get this cleaned up.”
I hadn’t felt it, hadn’t realized how severe the chill had been.
Logan pushed out his chair, following close behind me, and I could see out of the corner of my eye it took everything Emily had not to stand up and follow as well. But she didn’t have an excuse.
His hand went to my lower back, steps swift as we made our way down the hall. We passed a member of the staff, her hair pulled tight into a braided bun, crisp white shirt tucked into a navy pencil skirt, and I smiled at her greeting. Logan reached in front of me, twisting the lever to my room, and practically thrust me inside. The door clicked shut behind us and he drew me back to him, gently pulling my fisted fingers away from my palms.
They were clean. Free of cuts, marks, or liquid of any kind. Nothing had touched me, and his gaze came up to mine, clearly a what was that?
I raised a brow. “Thermal shock?” He stared at me, and I said, “It’s when something really cold touches something really hot. Like dropping an ice cube in coffee.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. He knew what thermal shock was.
I bit back a grin. Shrugged. “I guess the connections are working.”
Chapter Twenty
Breaking
Logan stared at me, apparently unable to form an appropriate response. I pretty much felt the same way. Of all the things we’d been after, of all the things we’d been hoping for, this wasn’t even a consideration. All we’d planned on was some spectacular talent of Emily’s. Some way to stop Morgan. A hidden thing, really. Not this.
Not this.
“Is it …” he started, his thumbs slowly crossing my palms as we stood frozen. “Is it like the old ways?” He was being careful with me, the shock not stealing from him the knowledge that this might hurt me, that I was a shade. A shadow.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I haven’t … I mean, I didn’t even realize it was so strong.” I glanced at our hands, the tattoos. “I was only trying to mend the connections, Logan. I didn’t realize …”
It was starting to sink in. The gravity of what had happened, of what I’d done. I said, “I need to sit down.” The words were flat, emotionless. I couldn’t even process how I felt about it.
Logan went with me, both of us finding the edge of the sofa, and we sat, wordless and without movement, struck still by the enormity of it. Time must have passed, unaccounted, because Emily came in, breathless and impatient from being forced to wait.
“What is it?” She knelt before me, hands hovering over mine where they lay palms open, tattoos exposed. “Brianna, what happened?”
My eyes met hers, identical despite everything else. Sea glass green, lit by tiny sparks of amber. “It worked,” I told her. My palms spread, fingers splaying open in a gesture of helplessness, explanation. She stared at them, not sure whether to recoil or reach for them, and I laughed, an edge of hysteria coloring my tone. “It worked, Emily. We did it.”
She flushed, excitement or adrenaline, or some other wild emotion boiling in her blood, and said, “It’s over?”
“Well,” I shook my head, relief warring with reason, “I …” But I couldn’t think, couldn’t decide. Surely this was it. The key we needed to stop Morgan. I had found Emily’s connections, was just short of repairing them all, and now this. This in me.