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I snapped my view to him and sneered. “And you think of Paolo.”
Pavel blinked and edged back as if I had slapped him.
I pointed at my mouse. “Paolo needs Emily to be healed. To him, she is everything. Just think of the mother my mouse would be if she were truly able to fully heal.”
Pavel rubbed his forehead.
But still the fear of becoming trapped, of becoming a ghost in her psyche, unable to leave, unable to live, haunted me.
I was a man of action, not of introspection.
Yet, here, action and introspection were one and the same.
I gritted my teeth and did my best to shove away the fears.
The little girl watched me. “I can take you to Lunita.”
Am I going to do it? Go to Lunita? Or wake up?
And there it was—the crux of it all.
Choice.
The foundation of all our lives, human or otherwise. Every action, every decision, tended to lead to the crossroads between action and reflection.
Echoes of my past life, the cold steel of guns, the whispered oaths of loyalty to the Brotherhood, the blood spilled, the deaths, all seemed distant yet hauntingly present, as if Emily’s subconscious had somehow entangled with the dark undercurrents of my own existence.
“I should meet everyone,” I murmured, more to myself than to Pavel and the little girl. “It could help somehow.”
Pavel frowned. “Help?”
“I could search for the original. Narrow down places or. . .somehow get clues.”
“Clues?” Pavel deepened his frown. “This is not a mystery, cousin. This is a horror—one where if you die at the end. . .in here. . .you may be a vegetable in the real world.”
A cold shiver ran through me.
Pavel pleaded with me. “Would that be helping Emily?”
I sighed. “We do not know what could happen.”
“Kazimir, every moment here could be a gamble against her sanity—and yours.”
I fisted my hands at my side.
“Which is why we should leave.”
I wanted to punch him in his face. “How can you be dead and also be a coward at the same time?”
“I am being smart. That is a big difference.”
I turned back to Emily, her form still and peaceful on the cold cement. This was more than about getting out; it was about going in, deeper into the heart of my mouse’s darkness, to maybe, just maybe, bring her into the light.
To my surprise, the little girl whispered into the stuffed lion’s ear, her small frame leaning in close to the toy as if sharing a secret with a trusted friend.
And for some reason, that made me smile and. . .it helped me to truly understand what I needed to do.
I knew the risks.
