“Aw, come on.” His face fell. “Why did you have to say that? You practically guaranteed I’m going to die now, because there’s no way fate’s going to let me collect such a sweet prize.”
I felt myself redden more at the phrase, “sweet prize.” I started to say, “You’ll be fine,” but stopped myself. “Worry about it later,” I said instead. “Work to do, miles to go, all that. Come on, stay serious. We’re in the home stretch now.”
He sighed, and raised a hand in surrender. “All right, all right,” he said as the elevator dinged and opened in front of me. “I’ll head over through the tunnel.” A look of childish delight came upon him in the form of a smirk. “Try to stay out of trouble without me.”
I frowned. “You dare to jinx me? Ass.”
He laughed and disappeared around the corner toward the stairwell to the basement. “Two can play at that game.”
I stepped into the elevator and pushed my thumb onto the reader that would take me to the fourth floor. It scanned my print and beeped then started slowly into motion. I liked having a little fun with it, but I didn’t take much stock in the whole jinx thing, at least outside of movies.
Still, the thought that Scott—or anyone—might die in the last act of this war was … disquieting. It made my belly rumble.
Death is a fact of life, Little Doll. Death is a fact of war.
War is certain in only one respect, Bjorn said with a rumble. And death is the only certainty in life.
“Helpful advice,” I said, my tone only mildly sarcastic. If I was a walking violation of the “Thou shalt not be an asshole” commandment, the voices in my head were the fallen angels of that philosophy. “I know death is a possibility, and I’m trying to be prepared for the fact that more of it may be coming. But I can hope that it doesn’t.” I bit my lip.
Hope has carried people through worse, Zack said. Now that was actually helpful. I smiled.
The elevators dinged and I walked out into the darkened hallway. I headed toward my room and passed the biometrics there with a beep. I’d just downed another five Century operatives, taken them out of the game. Even though there were more coming, according to Amaterasu, it felt like I had a moment to breathe. A moment to take stock, to plan, to come up with a next move.
And then I saw the man standing in my living room, looking at the blank walls, and I knew I’d been such an effing moron.
“Hey,” he said, nodding to me as I came in. “This place is kind of … bland. What’s the matter, you don’t believe in paintings or posters or … I dunno, pastels?”
I just stood frozen at the door, staring at him like the unwanted intruder he was. I should have known, in my planning, that it might come down like this. That he might just show up, not in a dream—
“Hello, Sovereign,” I said. “I’d say it’s nice to see you, but then I’d just be lying.”
“That’s okay,” he said with a casual wave. “I’m an uninvited guest, I know. You don’t have to welcome me with false enthusiasm or anything.”
“Plus you’re already commenting on the décor,” I said. “But I have to tell you, if we weren’t in lockdown, the sunlight does wonders for the brightness of the place. You know how it is during wartime, though. We all have to make sacrifices.”
He got this vaguely pained look and nodded once. “Indeed. We do.”
I took a step into the room, eyeing him warily. Just because he hadn’t made an offensive move yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t. “So … what are you doing here? Got tired of the construction site in our dreams? Because I didn’t hear you offer decorating tips there.”
“Rebar is hard to accessorize,” he deadpanned. “But, yeah, I was tired of meeting in dreams and getting just absolutely brutalized by your sense of righteous indignation and justice.”
“So you came to receive them both in person?” I asked, taking another step into the room. “Because I’m not any less likely to lecture you in person. Or hit you,” I added. “In fact, that second one is likely to happen at some point, once we’re past the niceties.”
“You don’t have to hit me,” he said, and suddenly he looked wary—and weary—himself.
“Pretty sure I do,” I said. “What I don’t have to do is enjoy it, though I’m pretty sure I’ll do that, too.”
“Really?” He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Who was it that said that the measure of a society is how they treat their prisoners?”