Kilon bursts out of his room just next to mine with his gun ready and pointed.

“Kilon! It’s Arek!” I yell.

It takes just seconds before Kilon slides across the ground on his knees, ending just at Arek’s side.

“How did he find us?” I ask Kilon.

“Our group has a tracker for things like this—one that no one else can connect to,” Kilon explains as he rips open Arek’s shirt to reveal multiple gunshot wounds.

Soon, everyone is there, and the men carry Arek into a dark hotel room as Sassi calls for a Velieri doctor. He is lifeless as they lay him on a bed.

“Why hasn’t he healed?!” I ask over my father’s shoulder.

Geo doesn’t look at me but speaks while he pulls off Arek’s clothing. “It doesn’t work like that. The bullets will continue to kill unless they’re removed. It might be too far already. Any Epheme would have been dead immediately.”

It takes ten minutes for the doctor to arrive. With my back up against the wall, I watch as they pull the bullets from deep holes or cut into him to remove those that lie within the swollen and deteriorating tissues. For three hours his naked body doesn’t move as the doctor works. He doesn’t groan and his arm hangs lifeless off the bed.

“He has one in his head. I don’t know what it has done,” the doctor says, quiet and controlled. Just then the heart monitors start to alarm, causing everyone to rush. Geo jumps on the bed and starts compressions until they must pull Arek to the floor for a harder surface.

“What’s happening?!” I call out.

Yet Beckah grabs my arm and pulls me from the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

When I was a child, my mom took me on one of her business trips where we stayed at a hotel that was the nicest I had ever been to. Every morning, we woke early and would walk the empty halls, take the elevator, and end up in the restaurant downstairs to devour breakfast. There is something about hotels when no one is up—not even the sun—that gives me a peaceful feeling . . . hopeful for what is to come. My mother’s short-lived job had provided us a memory to cherish. The lower light of the early dawn cast a calm glow on everything, and holding her hand as I walked through the halls was all the comfort I needed in the world.

Now, in the early hours as I stare out the window of the Velieri Hotel to the quiet street below, this memory runs through my mind, yet it seems slightly tainted. Had we known the truth, or what would become of my mother, or what would become of this life, would she have treated me differently? What is now abundantly clear is that I never truly belonged to her. Obviously, there is so much more to the universe than I can ever claim to understand. My mother’s beautiful face smiling at my reaction to the elevator, the grandness, or the moment to be alone with just her, flashes in my mind and there is no doubt . . . it happened. She and I had done this.

The safety of her nurturing sits within my soul like the most valuable memory of my life, since it is real. The memories that have come back to me are deep enough to see and touch, yet somehow it still all feels like a dream.

When will Remy’s memories and mine become one?

The only ounce of comfort has come from a man I didn’t know just a month before. His room is just steps away. The metal lock of his hotel room door is propped open and my fingertips pulse as they push the heavy door to peer inside.

The cold air smells like eucalyptus and lavender from a steamer at the other end of the room. Blue shadows tell of his body lying on his side in the clean, fresh sheets. There are no more signs of the traumatic events that have taken place. Slowly, so as not to wake him, my feet pad the carpet while my white baggy shirt falls off one shoulder and I gently crawl onto the bed behind him. All I can see are his large shoulders on top of each other, outlining the strength of his frame.

I can’t explain why being near him feels easy and comfortable. After the trauma, to feel his chest rise is like the earth takes breath once again and the natural order has come back to life. Moving carefully, just an inch at a time, closer and closer to the cliff that sits between his back and the mattress—I want desperately to just fall inside. When my nose is close enough to his shoulder blades to smell his clean skin, my hand hesitantly hovers over his arm until finally my fingers drop onto his warm skin and my body molds to his.

I am grateful to absorb the movement of his chest rising and falling with each breath. My body sinks, heavy and tired, as I close my eyes, letting my cheek rest against his back. Nothing is more peaceful.

Unexpectedly, his fingers run gently down my arm, then weave one at a time until our hands are one and he pulls me closer; my body spoons his.

After a few minutes, he slowly turns as though no damage has been done, yet the remnants are in his shaved head and pink spots along his skin.

In the darkness he reaches out and pulls me closer. “It’s been so long,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” is all that I know to say. For a moment it seems he is about to pull his hands away from me, but I take them in mine and return them to where they had just been. “Don’t,” I beg.

He relents.

“How are you feeling?” I whisper, as my fingers trace along the healing pink skin.

“Like I’m ready to put an end to all of this.”

“You need to recover first,” I say. “You knew we were here . . . at this hotel?”

He grins as though he knows something that I don’t. “I always know where you are.”

He gives no explanation, nor do I ask for one. After a moment he drops his lips to mine, sweeping me into him until, once again, the power is so intense I can’t handle anymore, yet I want it all.

“I can feel everywhere you touch,” I whisper.

He lifts his hand to my cheek, then runs it down my arm, forcing me to grab his lips again with mine. His fingers run through my hair then wrap around my neck. His eyes roam up and down from my eyes, to my mouth, to my chin. Then he presses his lips on mine and I can feel the stubble of his unshaven face. At first, he is hesitant, but then pulls me tighter. I drop back on the bed, pulling our lips away for just a moment. He doesn’t rush back into the kiss. Rather, he takes his time. His heavy body rolls to cover half of mine. His hand travels down my arm, then entangles with mine—his fingers leaving a shock with each place they touch. My stomach tightens with hope that he won’t stop. His palm travels the skin to my chest, but it is then that he pulls away. After a moment he stands to his feet.

My lips are still pulsing as I watch him—my heart feeling the crush of distance. He begins to dress but stops to speak.

“When you fall for someone—at the beginning you think it’s love. Even for the first five years . . . ten years you might convince yourself that you’ve finally made it to a long successful marriage. But Willow, it’s not until you’ve been with someone for thirty years, fifty years, or for us . . . hundreds of years that you suddenly realize that love isn’t in the newness. It’s in the old. The things that still keep you in love after so many years together. It’s the choosing this person over every other for so many years that you’ve lost count of how many memories you have together. All you know is that you wouldn’t want those memories with anyone else. The years alone bring that feeling back to you. I know Remy is there . . . you come out occasionally, but you are still Willow. You have no memory of what made you my wife—the countless moments we chose each other. And until then . . .”

The silence falls between us while his words play in my brain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

And suddenly, my comfort is gone. I’m grateful for the knock that sounds on the door.

“Yes?” he calls out.

“Arek?” It is Peter. Peter’s timing seems to be impeccable.

Quickly, Arek opens the door and pulls Peter inside. It is obvious the young boy feels uncomfortable when he sees me on the bed, so I climb to my feet.

“What do you need?” Arek asks.

“Briston needs you immediately.”

“Why?”

Peter looks awkwardly my way and I understand instantly. “It’s about me?”

“It’s not about you, Remy—I mean Willow . . . sorry.”

Together we follow Peter down the hall to Briston’s room. When we enter, the TV is on and he is watching several news channels at once. Some I have seen and others I haven’t.

“Navin’s trying to do everything he can to start an uprising,” Briston sighs. “The Reds and CTA have managed to put out many of the fires, but some of these things on social media and other media, especially large cities—there is no explanation for them. There’s no way to answer the questions of so many without telling everyone who we are. Navin’s doing everything he can.”

“Why now?” I whisper.

“To finally get what he wants,” Arek answers. “His followers have increased and this gives him more chance to take the Ephemes out.”