Lifeblood (Everlife #2)

“Yes,” I say. “You are.” It’s true. There’s no denying it, no coating it with sugar. “But don’t stay in here and wallow. Get out there and help the people you hurt.”


Reed joins us, squeezes my hand. “Victor and the other Myriad supporters would have found a way to attack us even without you.” A bandage covers his left eye and there’s a gash on his neck. “I just wish you’d come to me, told me what you were planning. I could have talked some sense into you.”

She sobs again. I let her cry it out, and as the minutes turn into hours, I doze on and off in my seat. I’m aware of people coming and going, but don’t snap to full attention until Deacon peeks his head through a slit in the tent. Our gazes meet, his expression grim; he motions me outside. I stand a little too quickly, bid the others a hasty goodbye and rush out.

As soon as I’m standing in front of him, he says, “Despite the attack, Dior’s day in court has kicked off.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. “We should reschedule. Just for another day. Levi needs rest, not stress.” We all do!

“In the chaos, we missed the deadline to reschedule. To postpone now is to lose.”

I rub the back of my aching neck. “So what do we do?”

“The warehouse where Shells are made still stands. Now we collect a Shell, go to the Courthouse and offer what support we can.”





chapter twenty-eight



* * *



“Focus all your energy on your problem until it’s solved.”

—Myriad

I’m a jumble of apprehension as I enter the courtroom, Deacon at my side. The room has to be at maximum occupancy, Myriadians on one side and Troikans on the other. As the doors close behind us, emitting a high-pitched squeak, every eye darts to us.

The proceedings—which are already in session—pause. Quiet reigns.

Game face on.

I lift my chin as I move deeper into the chamber. Javier is seated on the front bench of Troika’s side. He’s got his own game face on, hiding the thoughts rattling inside his head.

Because Deacon and I are encased in Shells, Javier can see and feel us. Deacon sits next to him and gives him a little push to make room for me at the edge, Deacon remaining a buffer between us.

Javier’s hands are wrapped over his knees, his knuckles white. Well. There’s a hint of his thoughts, after all. He’s petrified.

His infection reacts to my presence, the veins of black writhing. The Grid buzzes, irritated by our close proximity. Light spills through me, lining every inch of me to create a barrier.

I skim the faces of other spectators—

My gaze collides with Killian’s, my heart nearly kicking down my ribs in an effort to escape my chest and get to him. He’s sitting with Sloan on Myriad’s side. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

Why did he come? To see me? Or Dior? He has to know she’ll take one look at him and be more determined to side with Troika.

My spine suddenly snaps straighter, as if it’s been strapped to a board. He’s here for us both, isn’t he?

Brilliant boy. My boy.

I’m not sure I’ll ever have the words to thank him for everything he’s done for me. I just hope he sees the gratitude and love in my eyes.

Concern and longing stare back at me. I force myself to look away and nod at Sloan. She offers me a wobbly smile.

The proceedings resume, and much like the other case, the judge’s chair is centered on the dais at the back of the room. Dior sits next to him, and Levi sits next to her. He’s in a Shell and draped in a pale blue robe.

The same Myriadian Barrister who presided over the last case presides over this one—and he’s doing a great job. Dior is already crying, scenes from her life playing over the walls. He makes sure to emphasize the many times she allowed a Troikan loyalist to be hurt or killed, simply to avoid being punished.

“You’re selfish,” he says, his tone harsh. “Yes, you made covenant to help your father, but in doing so, you hurt so many others. I know, I know. You’ve stated your defection will allow you to help others—to help Troikans. Do you truly believe those Troikans want your help? How many times did you allow their brethren to die simply to save yourself from castigation?”

She keeps her gaze downcast, as if she can’t bear to face the crowd. “I don’t... I don’t know.”

I stifle a moan. Come on. Get your head up! Resist self-loathing and forgive yourself.

As the footage continues to play, hour after hour, and the Barrister continues to berate her, her shoulders sink in and her head dips lower.

When the recordings finally end, he slams his hand on the wooden bar between them, leans in and shouts, “This man, Levi Nanne, claims he knows everything you’ve done and wants you to be part of his realm, anyway. Do you think it’s possible he wants you there simply to get revenge? And what of the others? Your actual victims. They live there. Do you think they want to see your face every day? They must hate you.”

The unexpected suddenly happens. Around me, one after the other, Troikans stand and speak.

“I forgive you.”

“I forgive you.”

On and on, until they’ve all spoken. And I think... I think they are the very people the Barrister mentioned. The ones she allowed to suffer and die.

Her head begins to lift at last.

The Barrister sneers. “Pretty words. And maybe they’re true—but maybe they aren’t.”

“They are true,” Levi announces, jolting me. “I won’t speak for you, Barrister, as you’ve attempted to speak for me, and I won’t claim to know what you see when you look at Miss Nichols. I will only state what I know to be true. Everyone in this courtroom has made mistakes, in Firstlife and in Everlife. None of us can cast stones. When I look at Miss Nichols, I see a woman with great potential. A woman with a heart that beats with kindness. A woman I will be proud to call family.”

I want to stand and cheer.

The Barrister blusters, but it isn’t long before he regains his equilibrium. “I’d like to present to the court a statement made by Miss Nichols’s boyfriend, Javier Diez, this very morning.”

The crowd quiets, tension thickening. And yet, Javier relaxes in his seat, his tension gone. He expected this, whatever it is—he wants it to happen.

My gaze meets Levi’s. He gives an almost undetectable shake of his head. He has no idea what’s coming, either.

The Barrister points to a spot on the wall, where new footage plays. In it, Javier is speaking to Dior. “We can be happy in Myriad. We can have the life you once claimed to want. My covenant will make provision for you, ensuring you’re able to practice medicine for the rest of your Firstlife—on anyone—without consequence. If you defect to Troika, they’ll insist you practice only on Troikans. You know they will. You’ll be in the same situation, only you’ll be stuck, with no way out.”

In the video, he caresses her temple, and I stiffen. Does no one else see the shadow he left on her skin? An oily residue now absorbing onto her pores.

Did he...infect her? Without the possession of a Myriadian General?