Sins of the Lost

And then, opening his own wings, he followed the other warrior.

Chapter 89

Alex sat on the narrow platform at the rear of a paramedic bus, apart from the hive of activity even in the midst of it. Yellow wooden barricades held back a throng of onlookers. A group of officials stood off to one side in earnest discussion. Dozens of emergency personnel moved from one place to another, tending the wounded, checking the building, their feet crunching through piles of tempered-glass pebbles from dozens of disintegrated windows.

Her colleagues were clustered together, as far from her as the emergency vehicles and barricades would allow.

Cold from the hard steel seeped into her.

She burrowed deeper into the blanket’s folds. Her eyes burned from holding them open too long, hardly daring to blink, because every time she did, she saw it again. Aramael sprawled amid the black feathers of his wings. Dead. For her. Because of her. The image burned into her brain for eternity, because that’s how long she would live without him. With this loss and all the others to follow.

Forever and ever, amen.

Hell.

The platform beneath her gave a little, and a second blanket settled around her shoulders. She looked over to find Joly at her side, Abrams and Bastion standing beside him. Bastion held out a paper cup, steam curling up from the hole in its plastic lid.

“Probably not what you could use right now,” he said gruffly, “but it’s warm.”

Her thank you wouldn’t emerge, but she accepted the cup and managed a nod. Bastion reached across Joly to pat her shoulder. The three of them joined her in staring at the scene.

“The others?” she asked after a while.

Joly cleared his throat. “They’ll come around. You’re one of us, Jarvis. We watch out for our own.”

Except maybe she wasn’t one of theirs anymore. Not after what Seth had done.

“Those things that came out of the window up there,” said Abrams. “The ones with the . . .”

“Wings,” she supplied, when it was apparent he wouldn’t—couldn’t—finish.

“Yeah. Those. They looked like . . .”

“Angels.”

His skin tone took on the same gray as the November afternoon. He exchanged looks with Joly and Bastion —or tried to, but they were wholly focused on the pavement at their feet. “That’s insane,” he muttered.

She neither confirmed nor denied the conclusion.

After a moment, he scuffed at the street. “Jesus Christ Almighty.”

There seemed no point in contradicting him on that. More silence ensued, and then a new set of legs entered her field of vision. She looked up at Roberts. Someone had loaned him a firefighter’s coat, but despite the day’s chill, he hadn’t closed it to hide the dark brown streak of dried blood marring the shirt and tie beneath. Seth’s blood, acquired when Roberts had enveloped her in a wordless hug on the washroom floor.

He stared pointedly at her companions.

“Give us a minute?”

With more awkward pats on her shoulder, Joly, Abrams, and Bastion wandered back to join the others. Alex felt her supervisor studying her.

“You all right?” he asked.

Damn. Was she going to tear up every time someone asked her that? She nodded and tugged the blankets closer.

“There’s an awful lot of blood on you for someone who has no injuries, Alex.”

Hers, Aramael’s, Seth’s. But they’d found only her at the scene.

“You want to talk about what happened?”

“Nope.”

Roberts sighed. “I’m going to have someone take you home. Is there any chance Trent . . . ?”

Her tears overflowed, sending hot trickles down her cheeks. Clamping her lips together, she shook her head. Quickly, fiercely. Roberts’s hand settled onto her shoulder and squeezed.

“I’ll get Joly to drive you, and I’ll have Dr. Riley meet you there. No argument.”

The latter as her head snapped up in objection.

Her supervisor shook his head, compassion and concern clouding his eyes. “There is no goddamn way I’m leaving you alone, Jarvis. Not tonight. Which reminds me—” He held out his hand. “I need your service weapon.”

She stared at his open palm. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he didn’t have to worry, that even if she did eat her gun, it wouldn’t kill her.

That nothing could.

Not anymore.

Instead, she reached to her hip, unholstered the weapon she’d retrieved from the washroom floor, and held it out to him. “I wouldn’t, you know.”

Roberts pocketed the gun without comment and turned to go.

“Staff.”

He looked back.

“Not Joly,” she said. “Make it a uniform.”

Someone I don’t know. Someone I don’t have to talk to.

He regarded her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll let you know where our new quarters are,” he said. “Take a few days off, then—”

“Monday,” she said. “I’ll see you Monday.”

* * *

Alex let herself into the apartment and dropped the keys on the table. She didn’t lock the door—partly because she knew Riley was coming, and partly because she didn’t care. Because it didn’t matter.

She turned to stare at the home she had shared with Seth. The hallway stretched before her, empty and accusatory, still resonant with the anger from the last time they’d stood in it together. She flinched, reliving again the slam of the door as he’d left. Her breath stabbed beneath her ribs. So much accusation and betrayal—so many dead because of it.

How in hell could she have been so wrong?

She leaned against the wall. A thousand little details crowded in on her. A thousand misgivings that she’d ignored, dismissed, convinced herself weren’t real or important. She’d been so determined to love him, so set on saving him as he had twice saved her, and now . . .

Now she’d lost it all, everything that ever mattered to her, and because of Seth’s gift to her, she would live forever with those losses. Jen, Nina, Aramael.

Her legs slowly buckled beneath her. Beneath a past, a present, and a future that had become too heavy to bear. She slid down the wall until the floor prevented her from sinking any farther. Wrapped arms around knees. Held on tight as the first tear fell. A second followed, then a third—and then the dam inside her gave way to an anguish that enveloped her, sucked her under, closed over her soul.

From a long way off came the sound of knocking and Elizabeth Riley’s voice calling her name. A part of her tried to respond, but the rest of her wouldn’t cooperate. Couldn’t through the spasms racking her body. Then a door opened, footsteps approached, and gentle hands lifted her chin. Soothing murmurs washed over her, then something sharp jabbed into her arm.

Too late, Alex tried to pull back, to reassure Riley that she was okay. Still sane. Wasn’t she?

She slid beneath the surface.