Page 64 of City of Stone and Silence

“This is different. Trust me. I know you have no reason to trust me, I’m sorry. But I’ll help you.”

“Even if you’re right,” I say, “I can’t get into Prime’s ziggurat. I’m not going to waste more lives with another attack.”

“We’re working on that,” Hagan says.

“I have an idea,” Silvoa says, nodding. “But you need to get to the other two accesses first. That way, when you reach the third one, you can shut Prime down on the spot.”

“That makes … sense.” Sort of. “But I don’t know if the others—”

“He’s on to us,” Silvoa says. “Ice and rot. Isoka, Hagan will try to get in touch with you again. But—”

Her ghost-form freezes, mid-word, and then vanishes in a puff of Eddica energy. Hagan looks around frantically.

“I need to run,” he says. “And so do you. Good luck.”

I open my eyes.

I’m still at the bottom of the pit. The dog-angel is already moving, backing up from the edge, and I scramble up toward it, bare feet shifting in the dirt. The field is still dark and quiet, and the Harbor angels sit motionless, but other figures are rapidly approaching. Corpses, lurching toward us at surprising speed.

The dog-angel—Hagan—gives me a final nod, then turns and lopes off into the darkness. He leaves me alone at the center of a ring of monsters, which I suppose counts as a vote of confidence. I find myself grinning as I raise my hands, blades igniting with a snap-hiss. The first corpse-thing comes into range, and I take its head off with a single cut and send the flailing body into the pit with a well-placed kick.

The others pause, or at least I imagine they do. I spread my arms, blades cutting cracking trails through the darkness. The old rage sings in my veins, the old rush. No one else to get hurt, no one to get in the way.

Bring them on.

By the time I get back to our ziggurat, the eastern horizon is fading from black to gray. I jog up the ramp, clothes and skin spattered with mud and black blood from the corpses. The guard gapes at me, and I give him a manic grin, still high from the adrenaline of the fight. He hurries off ahead of me as I stroll down the corridor, stopping in the main chamber to borrow a rag and clean myself up.

Meroe arrives after I’ve managed to scrub off the worst of it. Her face is composed, but her eyes are puffy from crying, and just a look from her rips my heart in half. She stops in front of me, takes a deep breath, then looks around at the gathered crew, who are watching our every move.

“In here,” I tell her, taking her arm and ducking back out through the corridor and into an empty storeroom. Some of Catoria’s gifts are piled here, but no one is around, and a glance at the guard trailing Meroe keeps her at a safe distance.

“Isoka—”

“I’m sorry.” The words spill out, without any conscious thought on my part. “I’m sorry, I’m so rotting sorry. You were right. You’re always right.”

“I’m not.” Meroe takes a deep breath again. “I haven’t been … I didn’t think about how this must be for you. I got…”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” She glares at me, tears forming in her eyes. “You don’t get to make me the perfect one, Isoka.”

“You’re right.” Her mouth curves upward, and I roll my eyes. “Sorry. You’re wrong, too. But it is fine. At least, I don’t know what will happen, but you and I…” I shake my head. “Next time, please punch me sooner?”

“I’ll take that under consideration,” she says. I can tell she’s trying not to grin. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“Fine. Some of Prime’s monsters turned up. Nothing I can’t handle.” My mind feels like it’s fizzing. It won’t last long—I’ll crash hard, soon—but for now I’m flying. “Call everyone together, the pack leaders. I need to talk to them.”

She nods, and half-turns. I grab her shoulder, turn her back toward me, and kiss her. After a startled moment, she melts into me, our bodies pressing together as though slipping back into the place they most belong. She holds me so hard I can barely breathe, hands sliding up and down my spine, sending warm shivers across my skin. For a moment there’s nothing in the universe but her, the soft, dark, beautiful glory of her.

Fighting always leaves me wanting to rut, after, a deep, sweet ache. I consider, briefly—the bags of cloth in the corner look soft enough—

Meroe breaks the kiss, reluctantly. I let my arms fall away from her, and she takes a trembling step back, breathing hard.

“I’ll … get everyone together.” She gives me a shaky smile.

“After I talk to them,” I murmur.

She raises one eyebrow. “And after you’ve had a bath.”