Page 249 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

My best chance of getting us both out when the time came was to become someone she trusted. Someone she felt safe with, at the very least. I drew a steadying breath and reached back into my training—lessons, years of Cornell notes, my suddenly far-too-brief stint in psych.

“Hey, Alvara,” I said softly, wanting to remind her. Anchor her. There was a reason they called her Elly. The sickos knew it was close enough to the pet name her family adoringly doted on her with. Close enough for her mind to slide between one and the other. “I’m Blythe. We met at breakfast the other day.”

“The doctor,” she said, voice an eerie singsong.

“That’s right.” I nodded even as her eyes stayed fixed somewhere far beyond the gray window, hands moving automatically through the yarn. “Dr. Blythe Briar.” I paused, wishing it would click. That she’d wink. Give me any sign the woman of legends still breathed inside this shell. “I, um… help people who’ve survived all kinds of horrible things.”

“Like the brothel?” she breathed, but those emeralds stayed unfocused.

I nodded. “Like… all manner of traumatic events. Can I sit with you for a while?”

Consent. In a world that had stripped her of everything—freedom, mate, autonomy, identity, reality itself—the best thing I could do was hand even a crumb of it back.

She said nothing, but seemed to nod faintly—to me or herself, I couldn’t tell—as she rocked.

“Okay,” I breathed, setting my bag on the floor. I glanced outside, already knowing what I’d find. She had a view. A pretty one. Green stretched to dark stone cliffs, countless plump tuxedo-wearing birds chattering so constantly I’d long since stopped hearing them. “The birds are fun to watch, aren’t they?”

“Free,” she breathed. Her fingers never stopped, looping yarn like she’d done it countless times. Maybe she had. Legends probably skipped over the Angel of Death’s grandma hobbies.

“They look free?” I prodded, smiling when she blinked rapidly, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes.” Her voice rang with that strange, ethereal quality. “Do you like the birds?”

“I do. They’re cute little things, but I wish they were quieter.”

“A ruckus.”

“Yes,” I said, even as tears burned my eyes. She was talking. Good. But gods, what had Moros done to her? I looked toward Adrastos and found his gaze fixed on the floor, face drained of color. His fault. He was the one who’d impaled her and dumped her on the ground like trash.

After all that shit about protecting innocents. All his speeches about the brokenness of the world. He’d still handed this beacon of hope over to be crushed.

Magnolia aside, I could hate him for that. For her.

Slowly, those rich brown eyes found mine, burdened and haunted, his mouth drawn too tight as though both held truths he refused to speak. He dipped his chin almost imperceptibly. A nod? Confirmation of my anger? Resignation to it?

Bartholomew brought me a chair, his cousin watching warily from the bedpost behind Ally, looking vaguely nauseous.

She seemed fully dissociated, but her speech was clear—if strange in that otherworldly seer way. Was she seeing visions again? Had they lowered the reaper’s venom? Risky as hell, but I couldn’t help hoping they had. Maybe her power could set something right.

“You look a little tired, Alvara. Did you sleep?”

“Some,” she said hollowly, still avoiding eye contact. Fine. Talking was enough. Talking was probably exhausting.

Our time was likely limited, and I had a million questions. I chose the only one that mattered first. “Is there anything you need right now?”

A body hit the floor. I shot upright, eyes snapping to Adrastos, curled on hands and knees and gasping for breath.

“Draz!” Barry barked, shifting through shadow to drop beside him.

I rushed over before I knew I’d decided to move, my own chest constricting as the color drained from Adrastos’ face.

“What’s happening?” I demanded.

“Falling, falling, falling,” Alvara sang softly. “Far to the rocks below we go.”

“What?” I breathed, glancing between the two of them.

“Falling, falling.”