“He’s protecting himself.”

“I’m not even sure we ever loved each other. I mean, not like my parents,” I say.

“It’s not that simple,” Erik points out. “Your parents loved each other, but your mother also loved Dante.”

“I know. That makes it even harder to understand. I know she loved Benn, my father, but why didn’t she ever mention Dante?”

“She was protecting you, but she was also protecting herself, like Jost. Some things are too painful to bear. Jost can’t stand even thinking about losing you, and he almost has several times. He thinks if he shuts you out he won’t lose you.” Erik pauses and puts his hand on my knee. “But some people have too large an impact on our lives for us to imagine we can forget them. I know if I’d known you a week and lost you, I’d miss you the rest of my life.”

“I’d miss you, too.”

I see something hidden behind his friendly demeanor and the burning force of it frightens me. But he’s slipping back into our safe relationship now. The one where he doesn’t betray his brother. The one where I don’t have to choose.

“You going to be all right?”

“Yes,” I say. And somehow, despite the empty echo in my chest, I know I will be. “I’m going to wake up tomorrow and it will be a new day. Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he says.

“That you’ll drag me out of bed if I don’t get up tomorrow,” I say, stumbling a bit over the sadness creeping into my words.

Erik sighs, but agrees. “I promise. And what are your plans after you manage that?”

“I’m going to have Dante teach me how to alter.”

“You know how to have a good time,” Erik says.

“I’m quite the party girl,” I agree.

“Can I come?” Erik asks.

“Sure,” I say.

“I wasn’t invited on their little hunting trip,” he says. “And I’m getting a bit bored around here.”

“You could swim,” I suggest. “There are about ten pools.”

“No trunks,” Erik says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I’d have to skinny-dip.”

I know my face is on fire right now, but I grin despite myself and push him out of my room. I have plenty to do today. Like cry away this ache so I can start tomorrow in a new world.

TWENTY-THREE

THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF STRANDS WEAVING IN brilliant discord through the greenhouse once I focus in on them. It’s taken me nearly a week to get to the point where I can see the strands on Earth without adrenaline pumping through me, and it’s now over two weeks since the mission left, making me feel like an empty well drained of every resource. Without the organized weave of Arras, it’s been harder to command my skill—both in manipulating the natural strands of the universe and in seeing them.

Now as I stare at them, I try to home in on one. I could grab any number of the overlarge room’s strands; the space around me is full to bursting. A low hum fills the air from the backup generator Dante has turned on to give us more light. The old halogen bulbs illuminate the room but their constant flickering seems to warn of their impending demise. Between that and the buzzing of the generator, it’s harder to feel the strands’ vibrance. The problem isn’t that I can’t see the strands, it’s that Dante wants me to find one specific thread—the time strand located within a petite orchid.

I’m trying to slip my fingers into the weave of the flower. I hold the strand at an angle, keeping a finger on the particular one Dante has asked me to find. I’m sure it’s easier for him to point one out than for me to find and grip the precise strand he’s referring to, which is exactly what he’s trying to show me. I gingerly grasp the golden thread and tug to pull it into a warp. My touch is gentle but the thread cracks through the air, splitting a petal in two. The pieces fall bruised to the ground. My eyes meet Erik’s; he’s watching from a nearby stool. He came for moral support, but I know we’re thinking the same thing: we’re going to be here forever.

“No,” Dante says. His tone is patient, which has the strange effect of making me feel very impatient.

“It’s occurred to you that this is hopeless, right?” I ask, dropping the strand in defeat and settling back against a table full of pots and plants. It creaks under my weight. I know how it feels.

“Only if you tell yourself it is,” Dante says simply, but he cracks his left knuckles as he speaks.

Never mind. The Zen master is getting a bit tired.

“If you are in a fight, your skill has to be controlled. What would happen if you grabbed the wrong strand?” It’s not a question. We’ve both seen what happens, but I’m getting tired of him constantly bringing up the ammunition factory as an example.

“We’d get out alive. That’s what matters.”

“Is it?” he demands. “And how can you be certain you would, with such a cavalier attitude?”

“I haven’t killed any of us yet.” I stop fingering the strands around me and plant my hands on my hips.

“You nearly did at the factory. You weren’t in control,” he says. “I’d call that dangerous.”

“I’d call that lucky. It bought us time.”

Dante shrugs, rubbing the frond of a tall potted fern. “We view things with a different perspective, Adelice. Your escape from Arras was brave but too risky. When you wield your power like that, you put everyone in your path at risk.”