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“Put this on. It’s chilly outside,” he says, his voice so gentle that my throat thickens with emotion.
I slide my arms into the plush robe, the heavy fabric barely brushing against my dressings. When Xero’s fingers brush against mine, heat rises to my cheeks and creeps up my neck. I dip my head, hoping to disguise the flush.
My first steps are shaky, my legs weak from days of being confined to the bed. Isabel told me I tried to run away the first time she released my restraints to let me into the bathroom. I’d even torn some stitches on the back of my legs. Since then, she’s restricted me to a bed pan.
I shuffle out of the room with Xero at my side. His presence is steadying, his gaze never leaving me. Each time I stumble, his hands hover close, ready to catch me if I fall. I can’t remember the last time anyone cared so deeply for my wellbeing or even showed me this level of concern.
“Give me your arm,” I say.
He hesitates for a heartbeat before offering me his elbow. I grip his biceps, feeling secure in the strength beneath his leather jacket.
The walk through the house is silent, the air thick with unspoken words. I barely remember running through this hallway, thinking the Xero running beside me was a hallucination.
My most intense memory is the overwhelming surge of euphoria at discovering Xero was still alive. It even overshadowed the relief I felt at being free. As much as I hated being Delta’s captive, thinking that I had murdered Xero was far worse.
We descend the stairs at a gentle pace, with Xero taking care to support me with each downward step. My heart flutters at theattention, my chest filling with warmth. He’s treating me like I’m fragile, even precious. Each touch, each glance, feels like what I’ve missed for a lifeline.
After passing through a short corridor to a side door, Xero pushes it open to reveal a vast garden bathed in the golden afternoon light. The sight steals my breath. We step out onto a lawn resembling a green carpet, edged by vibrant flower beds and low shrubs.
Sunlight warms my skin, and I inhale, savoring the freedom and the beauty. The air is filled with the scent of fresh grass and blooming flowers, a welcome change from the sterile infirmary.
A shudder runs down my spine at the thought of how this garden would look after a decade of neglect.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice edged with worry.
“It reminds me of the asylum.”
He turns to me with a frown. “That forest of weeds?”
“It wasn’t always like that,” I murmur, struck by the irony that my hallucinated Xero reminded me of what the asylum gardens looked like when I was little. “Its lawn and flowerbeds were well maintained once, just like this.”
“You remember that much of the time you spent there?” he asks, his voice softening.
“Enough of it,” I reply with a shiver, the memories flitting through my mind like dark shadows. “I’m almost grateful for the memory loss.”
“Want to talk about it?” His concern wraps around me like a warm blanket.
“Not yet.”
“Just know if you need a sounding board, I’m here. Or a shoulder to cry on, I’m here. If you need a valet to hold your weapons while you tear through the city on a violent rampage, I’m here,” he says, his voice lightening with amusement.
I turn to meet his eyes. Eyes that gaze down at me like I’m the only woman in the world. Eyes that belong to the man who captured my heart with his letters, phone calls, and unwavering devotion. Eyes that never stopped searching for me, even when I thought all was lost.
Tension builds between us, the air thick with unspoken words. I forget about the garden, and the entire world narrows down to Xero. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about what happened at the asylum, or even share my feelings. I’m certainly not ready to lash out at my attackers.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Eyes softening, he steers me back toward the house. We walk around its perimeter, passing flower beds that fill the air with their sweet scent. The house’s brick facade gives way to a large patio with a fire pit at its center, surrounded by comfortable seating.
My legs tremble, and I point at a bench that curves around the pit in a semicircle. Xero guides me to sit on its cushioned seat, his touch lingering on my arm. I gaze out onto the grounds, the lush greenery calming my racing heart.
The garden is not as regimented as the one Mom kept at the house in Alderney Hill. This one blends into small trees and larger shrubs carpeted with wildflowers. Taller trees frame the background, their canopies forming the beginnings of a forest. The tranquil surroundings, the distant bird calls mingling with the rustle of leaves, form a sanctuary that makes the asylum feel like a distant dream.
“We bought this safe house before I went to prison.” His posture straightens, his gaze sweeps across the grounds. “It’s going to be one of many halfway homes for children we rescue from the academy and the underground facility.”
“You wouldn’t take the older ones to the catacombs?” I ask.
He shakes his head, a lock of platinum hair falling across his brow. “Everyone who defects from the Moirai gets a choice on whether they want to join us or have a normal life.”
