Page 264 of Scarlet Wars
Then everything dropped into silence.
And darkness swallowed us whole.
FIFTY-SEVEN
EMMA
Being a type-A, neurotic perfectionist has its ups and its catastrophic downsides.
Normally, charging headfirst into any kind of conflict or battle without a carefully drafted plan—color-coded, annotated, possibly laminated—was not something I considered myself capable of. I was the girl who made lists for her lists.
However.
After losing Saoirse to those assholes—after the hollow, gutting realization she was really gone—and then when Caden’s call cut off mid-sentence and the line went dead, something inside mefractured.
Fear. Grief. Rage. All tangled together, choking out reason like logic had lost its voting rights.
My brain just stopped caring about strategy, about fallout, about consequences.
All it knew was I had already lost too much, and I was not about to losehimtoo.
Caden.
The man I loved with every fiber of my body.
And even James, someone I still cared deeply about, albeit in a very different way.
They wouldrueever laying hands on either of them.
Plan or no plan, I was going after them. The world could burn behind me for all I cared.
I had no way of knowing for certain, but every instinct in my body screamed the Chiefs were involved. So, I clung to the only plan I had and portaled into Cyclos less than half an hour after that last phone call: thirty minutes of absolute agony spent spiraling, replaying Caden’s voice cutting out, and briefing Rachel, Sean, and Jackson on what I believed had happened.
The portal snapped shut behind me with a loud crack of displaced air.
My vision blurred as my eyes struggled to adjust to the blinding light. After months in Kanata C’s brutal winter, Cyclos greeted me with all the subtlety of a heatwave to the face, since clearly, climate moderation was too much to ask.
The atmosphere was thick and humid, clinging to my skin like a needy ex. Sweat prickled down the back of my neck, and my heart was already pounding in overdrive, which the sweltering heat wasn’t exactly helping.
I moved fast, my boots hitting the sun-scorched pavement with purposeful strides. My pulse hammered in my ears as I navigated the winding streets toward the Bastille. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, knuckles white.
The mouth of the subterranean cave loomed ahead, a dark wound carved into the earth. The rough stone beneath my boots was uneven and slick, and the sharp scent of damp rock and burning torches curled through the stale air.
My throat tightened with slight fear, but I forced my feet to keep moving.
No time for a panic attack, Emma. No weakness.
As I picked up the pace, a sudden prickle of unease crept up my spine, cold despite the heat.
My Skindo shot into my hand with a familiar thud as my heartbeat spiked, thudding against my ribs like a war drum.
A flicker of movement in the darkness.
There was someone here.
My grip tightened around the hilt of my trusted weapon.
Come on, then.
