Page 236 of Scarlet Wars
“Cara, wait!” I surged forward instinctively. “Do you need me to portal in for backup?”
She froze. “You want to back up Radicals?” she asked slowly, like she needed to confirm she hadn’t hallucinated it.
“They’re hurting women for their bodies,” I snapped. “I don’t give a fuck who you are.”
For a single heartbeat, Cara didn’t move. Simply stared at me through the shimmering projection, as if she were reassessing the entire world.
Then—softly, almost grudgingly—she said, “I’ve got it handled. Don’t need backup. But… I appreciate the offer.”
The projection collapsed in on itself.
Rachel exhaled first. Hillary swallowed hard.
And me?
I was already shaking with the kind of fury that promised I wasn’t staying out of this for long.
FIFTY-ONE
CADEN
Nexing Rachel—and processing the horrific scene she, Hillary, and Emma had witnessed in South Africa—left me more than convinced the Collabs were being led by Gordon.
The way they described what they found, combined with what we uncovered at Sisu, made it painfully clear the Collabs weren’t only helping humans figure out where magic comes from. They were actively trying to merge species.
Exactly what Julian had done. With Gordon.
Once Sean and I finished mapping out our intel run to try and chase down the bastard’s shadow, which led to nowhereagain, I needed to grind the nerves out of my system before we moved.
The clearing was quiet enough I could hear my own pulse.
Only trees, snow, a small body of water, and the kind of cold that tried to crawl into your bones and set up permanent residency. I stood in the center of it, breath fogging the air, hands bare despite the temperature.
I rolled my shoulders back, braced my feet, and let my inked haze rise, slow at first, then faster, until it hummed under my skin like a live wire.
Training to shorten my interface had always been satisfying, but now? With Emma in my life, with that stupid, intense happiness lodged somewhere behind my ribs?
My haze listened better.
My body moved cleaner.
Hell, even the almost failures didn’t piss me off the way they used to.
But when she walked into the space about an hour into my training, something shifted. A stillness settled over us—not heavy, just…intent. There was no real reason for it, but I knew instinctively not to speak.
I tracked her as she crossed the snow and settled onto one of the larger branches, the wood creaking softly under her weight. She stared out over the clearing, gaze distant, crowded with emotions I couldn’t immediately parse.
Whatever was going on in her mind, it wasn’t nothing. And it wasn’t small.
So I waited.
And then, without warning, she spoke.
“My mom lost her own dad the year she turned thirty.”
The words slipped out of her like they carried toward the water instead of me.
“Plane crash,” she muttered. “How ridiculously mundane.”
