Shifting Fate

by Melissa Wright

  “Aern has the power if he has the chosen,” Morgan said. “But without it …”

  He smiled again and my eyes closed in defeat. I could feel it. It was over. Everything we’d done to get here, gone. Morgan would win. The world would end in fire. In death.

  Metal scraped across the floor and Morgan’s footfalls began to recede.

  “If you touch her,” I hissed, “there will be no help from me.”

  He stopped, turning back to face me. “Do you know how I escaped their inescapable prison, Brianna?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Brendan.”

  He shifted the heel of his shoe on the concrete floor, giving me a moment to let that sink in. “Brendan was so distraught that you’d been taken, and under his care no less, that he rushed to my quarters and tore the door open. I don’t know what kind of little trick you played with the ginger boy, but you didn’t do it to Brendan. And the moment I touched him,” he smiled, emphasizing the ease of his sway, and said, “there is no better leverage than hurting someone you care for, Brianna. You will do as I say.”

  The door closed behind me, leaving me in darkness. Alone. I stared at it, the names of those I had lost, those I was about to lose, falling helplessly through my mind.

  Wesley.

  Brendan.

  Emily.

  Aern.

  Every soldier I’d met at the Division. The entire staff of Council. Every person that had ever helped me would be gone.

  But there was one name that didn’t come, one name I couldn’t bear to think of. Because it was probably already too late for him.

  When the door opened again, I had no idea how much time had passed. I stared numbly on as the man who’d been called Fisher approached, carrying a basin of water. He crouched beside me, a full arm’s length away, and sat the bowl between us. The damp cloth touched my face, trickling a bead of warm water down my neck. I didn’t look at him when I said evenly, “He wants me cleaned up for him. You didn’t do a good enough job.”

  The man didn’t respond, trailing the cloth down my skin as he reached over the basin, arm fully extended. He was staying as far away from me as possible. And he’d come in alone.

  I glanced at him sideways. “Where is the other one?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Your boss, dark hair, GQ face?”

  His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, but he still didn’t reply, only moved to wash my other side.

  I stared at my feet, smudged and dirty. I had full movement of my legs. I could wrap them around him, if he got close enough. If he were to just move within striking distance, I could snare him, a quick twist and snap his neck. Couldn’t I?

  And then what? I’d still be tied here. A dead man lying at my feet. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t taking his eyes off me, wasn’t going to move closer. He would leave, without so much as a word. “Fisher,” I whispered, “you know who I am.”

  The movement of his cloth faltered, but he didn’t reply.

  “Morgan told you,” I said. “He told you all that I was important, that I was a prophet.” I wet my lips, desperate for water, and went on, “But he didn’t tell you what I see.”

  The man shifted, drawing his hand back from me, creating more distance from what he clearly thought was danger.

  “I see the world end,” I told him. “All of it, in fire and heat and ash.” My eyes came up to meet his, the promise of truth undeniable. “Morgan will bring this future, Fisher. Morgan will be our undoing. Yours,” I whispered, “and mine.”

  His hands wrapped around the rim of the bowl, ready to bolt from the room.

  “Wait,” I begged. “It doesn’t have to be this way. There are things I can do, things Morgan doesn’t want you to know I’m capable of.”

  He hesitated, facing me without apprehension for the first time, but with something else, something like curiosity.

  “You know,” I said. “You’ve seen it. You hear the rules. No one with me alone. No one else sees me except you and the other. No one but Morgan.” I tilted my head, gesturing toward my legs. “And he left the strongest part of me free, Fisher. My legs are unbound, but my hands, my tiny, useless hands, are strapped to the wall behind me.” I leaned my head toward him, voice low. “You see it, Fisher. You know. I’m just a girl, a hundred pounds of nothing, and he’s got me strapped here. So no one can get to my hands.”

  He leaned back, but it wasn’t fear on his face. It was indecision. He was deciding whether to run.

  “That’s all I need, Fisher. Get my hands free and I can show you why Morgan hides me, why it’s so important I’m kept from everyone.”

  “Fisher!” a voice called from outside the door, its echo muffled through heavy walls, and he stood, knocking the basin in his haste to move clear of me.

  Water sloshed free of the bowl, running toward me in a dirty rivulet as he leapt forward to sop the mess with the damp cloth. His fingers were inches from mine, but he didn’t touch me.

  “My hand,” I whispered, “my hand.”

  He looked up at me then, our eyes level, close enough I could see the color in them, a lush green under dark lashes, beautiful and unnatural. “I can’t,” he said, and I knew it for the utter truth it was. Morgan had instructed him, given him orders under sway. There would be no help from this man.

  “Gods save you,” I whispered to his back, “because no one else can.”

  I was wondering how long it would take—which of the people I cared for Morgan would be dragging in to bind to the wall across from me, and how he would torture them to get me to obey—when the door came open again. It was different this time, slow and deliberate, and I looked up, waiting for whatever new horror the occurrence held. It was the dark-haired man, GQ.

  He strolled forward, chin dropped as his eyes focused on me as if I were a naughty child, an animal that needed to be disciplined. As if he planned to enjoy it. Wiping his hands on a towel, he crouched near my legs, daring me to use them. I had to admit the urge was overwhelming, but there was something that stopped me, some instinct to stay still.

  “Brianna,” he admonished, tone low as he shook his head, “you should have known we’d be watching you.”

  I froze, not allowing my eyes to find the corner of the room, knowing it was too dark there. I’d already looked, there was nothing to be seen, nothing my eyes could detect. He smiled, somehow knowing the thoughts that rushed through my mind, and tilted his head toward the material hanging on the far wall.

  “Doesn’t take much these days,” he said casually. He tossed the cloth he’d been using aside, dark material damp with something even darker, and tapped a finger to the side of his nose. “Just keep that in mind, in the future. Fisher was a good man, he’d have made a fine soldier.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but my heart dropped; the smile and the rag and the words all screaming that it was too late, they’d reprimanded him. And when Morgan’s men were reprimanded, they were no longer Morgan’s men. They were no longer anything. I’d gotten him killed.

  One side of GQ’s face rose when he saw recognition in my expression. “I see we understand each other now.”

  “Bring her some water,” he called over his shoulder, and the second man disappeared through the open door. GQ leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper, and said, “Maybe Morgan isn’t the only one you should be worried about, Miss Drake.”

  My heart raced, his warning, his proximity generating a push in me that wanted to tear free and fight. It was too strong, too intense.

  “What are you?” I hissed.

  He smiled, moving to stand as the second man returned. “Give her the whole bottle. She’s going to need her strength.”

  He stepped out the door, the mass of muffled footsteps—a dozen or so men following him—fading as he disappeared from sight. I didn’t drink until I was sure he was gone.

  Fisher’s replacement didn’t give me a chance to try and persuade him, simply grabbing the towel and empty water bottle to disappear from th
e room the moment I was finished. I breathed deep to the sound of the heavy metal door slamming shut and leaned the inch or so my restraints gave me to the side. My hip was better, the drug at least giving me the ability to sleep in a situation I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise, and the swelling on my mouth had gone down. But my shoulder still needed to heal some, so I closed my eyes, not wanting to think about Morgan and his plans for me or the others.

  It was a long while before the vague feel of a half-sleep dream came, the far off sounds of banging, shouting, thunder. And then I jerked, torn back to consciousness by the sound of rapid gunfire in the building outside my room. It grew louder, coming from every direction, a ceaseless torrent of clatter. It didn’t make sense. My mind was convinced that it was already too late for all of us, that Aern and the Council were gone, and I had to force myself to believe, to hope it was true.

  That they were alive.

  Boots slapping concrete echoed past my door, Morgan’s men running, fighting. They would have a plan, wouldn’t they? Some out to remove me from the property? My eyes found the material hanging from the wall opposite me, where the guard had indicated a camera. “I’m here,” I whispered to anyone but them. “Here.”

  Something slammed against the metal door, sending a jolt through me. I pulled at the ties on my wrists, fresh blood welling to run over the dry, caked mess they’d left of my skin. The clang of bullet striking steel reverberated through the room, and a shadow fell over the thin crack of light beneath the door. A body slumped against it. One of Morgan’s? One of ours?

  An unnatural shriek tore through the building, some metal structure falling against pipe or wall. I cringed, drawing my shoulders up short, unable to even cover my ears. Dust fell from the brick above me, sprinkling onto the floor and reminding me of the last attack. Explosions couldn’t follow, not while I was locked here, strapped to a block wall. Light flickered, the man blocking my door having vanished, and narrow strips of black as boots moved in front of it. I held my breath, praying it wasn’t Morgan, wasn’t one of his men. Suddenly, the door was flung open, light spreading across the floor quicker than a heartbeat to reveal my savior.

  A gasp of air escaped my lungs, leaving me breathless, unable to even speak his name. I’d thought he was gone, I’d thought it was too late. Every part of me wanted to go to him, to grab hold of this reality with all of my might, but I was bound, tied to the wall and unable to do anything except stare.

  “Brianna,” he said, already to me, his hands crushing the sides of my face, moving down my arms as he verified I was unharmed. My chest heaved in a silent sob of relief, finally able to capture a breath. It was him. It was Logan.

  He reached down to his leg where he knelt beside me, grabbing a tool that would cut me free without taking his eyes off mine. And then he stopped, his voice was deadly, “Where is he?”

  Morgan. Morgan wasn’t here. Panicked, I said, “Emily. He’s going for her, Logan. He knows.”

  He leaned forward, working to free my hands, but I wanted him to understand, to realize what was happening. “Logan,” I said again, “Morgan figured it out, he knows what she can do.”

  My hands came free, the sudden release causing me to sag forward. My arms were numb, asleep, and I dragged them forward as Logan released my waist. He was in front of me, rubbing life back into my arms, purposefully not looking at the wounds crossing my wrists, when he said, “I know.”

  My mouth fell open, ready to argue that he couldn’t possibly have understood, and his expression was so relieved, so tortured, that I wavered. “Where is she?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he answered. “They were looking for you, we all were.” He straightened. “We need to go, Brianna. Can you stand?”

  I nodded, not entirely positive I could given the pins and needles running through my arms, but my legs had been free. Surely they could get me to safety. “Where are we?” I whispered, listening for the sounds of fighting outside, though they seemed to have faded.

  He took my arm, helping me to my feet, and said, “About an hour south of Stanton.”

  It wasn’t what I expected. My brows drew together. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I didn’t,” he answered, a trace of fatigue showing on his face. “That’s what took so long. We’ve been to every property listed on the Council registers.”

  It was an apology, and it tore through me.

  “Logan,” I started.

  “We have to go,” he reminded me, cutting off any chance of argument when he called to his team outside the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Key

  Our escape was a blur. Logan’s team had rushed us from the building so quickly, so expertly, that I hadn’t even had time to process it. They’d found Aern—reached him via cellphone where he’d been fighting with a small band of Morgan’s men—and he and Emily were unharmed, heading for the Council buildings to meet us. Logan had me wrapped in a blanket, pulled tight against him as we rode in the back of a large SUV. Neither of us cared that two of his men were in the seats ahead of us.

  He squeezed my fingers in his, stroking the back of my hand with a thumb, his other arm around me. My palm was filthy, covered in dirt and rust-colored blood, but I wasn’t about to take it out of his hand. Raw, red lines marked my wrists, skin torn in bloody bands through the tattoos that marked me chosen. Unable to look at it, my gaze trailed over Logan’s strong hands, smudged and dirty in their own right. And then I realized it was his own blood.

  “Logan,” I breathed, sitting up to face him, “you’re hurt.”

  He shook his head, trying to pull me back to him, but I saw his face then, the scratches, the thin line of a cut running into the collar of his shirt. My stomach turned at the sight of it, but not because it was life-threatening. Because all this time, all the hours we’d spent together, I’d not protected him. My eyes found the scar at his temple, the faint line disappearing into his hair I’d noticed days ago, and I winced, brushing a finger over the wound with the barest of touch.

  He saw the pain in my face and took my hand in his. “Brianna, I’m fine.”

  “No,” I whispered. “Logan, I’m so sorry.”

  I laid eyes on the wound on his neck and he knew my intention. He placed his palm against my cheek, turning my gaze to face him. “I’m fine, Brianna. Save your strength.”

  My chest squeezed at his words, his touch. It was as if I’d forgotten to help him, to let him heal faster the way I’d done with the others. I knew why. I’d been afraid to truly be with him, to connect with him. Because he’d been the one in the vision. My one. He pulled me back down to hold me, and I allowed it, but I wouldn’t save my strength for something else, I wouldn’t risk him again. I laid my palm against his, searching for the connections to repair Logan’s power. It was the one thing I could give him.

  Because of what I was.

  If he noticed the tingle or the warmth in his palm, he didn’t mention it, but the change had definitely taken effect, because by the time we reached the Council buildings, both of us were completely asleep.

  “Brianna,” Emily yelled from the open door of the SUV. I jolted and Logan tensed beneath me. Emily held a hand to her chest. “What is it with you people?”

  A half-laugh escaped as I moved for her, hating that we’d scared her by looking so motionless, but deliriously happy to see her safe. I stumbled out of the vehicle, Emily, Logan, and two guards all reaching to steady me, and wrapped her in a hug. It was more than being glad we were okay. It was the letter.

  Emily had read it, too; I could see it in her eyes, feel it in her grip. She had known that other language and Logan would have given her the only clue, the pages I’d left in his room when I went missing.

  I pulled back, staring into her eyes, willing her to be okay, and she said, “Well, it’s good to finally know.”

  I smiled. She hated being made to find the good in every situation. “Yes, there’s that,” I said.

  Logan
took my elbow. “Let’s get you inside.”

  They escorted me to a room, where food and water, a clean wardrobe, and anything they could think of that I’d possibly need waited for me. However, there was one thing missing. I turned to Emily. “Is Aern hurt?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He’ll be fine, Brianna. He’s just sleeping.”

  “Was it bad?” I asked, knowing there was only one reason he’d be asleep in the middle of the morning.

  She bit her lip. “It wasn’t good, exactly. But,” she glanced at Logan, back to me, “he’s healing really fast, Bri.”

  I didn’t say anything. That was how it worked, wasn’t it. Just like Morgan, the powers he’d received from our mother. She’d only made the connections, they’d had to be used, strengthened. The last time he’d shown up to attack, he’d turned Division men without as much as a glance.

  But it didn’t matter anymore. Because we knew what Emily could do. She had the power to break those bonds. She could shut down their gifts.

  All I had to do was figure out how. To find a way, let her use it.

  “And what happened at Southmont?” I asked. “Who else was hurt?”

  “There was a lot of damage to the lower levels,” Logan said. “The first blast was dulled by the reinforced walls they installed a year ago. Fortunately, it served as a warning and got most of us moving before the next run of them.”

  Logan had apparently been protected by one of those walls, and had returned to his room in time for the second blast, the one that had thrown me into a wall, to find six of Morgan’s men waiting for him. He’d been lucky to get out before that wing collapsed.

  “And the fire,” Emily added.

  “Yes,” Logan said, his gaze sliding away briefly. “The final detonation ignited the estate. But most of the Division men escaped with their lives.”

  “Wesley?” I asked.

  “He’s fine,” Emily promised. “He’d tried to stop Morgan, but he’s recovering well from the fight. Eric and Seth got both he and Brendan out in time.”