Connor

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She didn’t come with me. Why didn’t she come with me? Look, part of me is glad. It means not having to talk her into what I spontaneously decided the second I saw Sheyla’s thigh bone playing peek-a-boo. Molly’s head is epically hard. She’s on the right side now, where she needs to be. The other part? Fuck, she didn’t come with me. What’s she thinking right now? Is she hurting?

I shouldn’t care, right? Molly’s a cyst, I’ll give you that. You know that shit is gross, yet you can’t stop squeezing the fucker. You need to get the gunk out. After a while, your disgust morphs into morbid curiosity. Like, does it ever end? How much ick can really be in that thing? The problem is you have to get the sack. If you don’t, it’ll keep coming back. With Molly, I’ve never been able to extract the sack.

If you take the Sumair out of the equation, she’s still fucked up. We all are, if you want to get philosophical about it. Humans, Sumairs, and Solathairs alike. What drives us is unique in presentation while uniformly self-serving at the base. Sure, you can play semantic soldier, arguing people are altruistic, but are they really? At the end of the day, those selfless acts reward them with a feel good dopamine rush right to the mid-anterior subregion of their orbitofrontal cortex.

Sad fact, not all of us are drivers. Some are riders. Molly? She definitely needs a driver to steer her away from the cliff. Who drives her now? I’d like to think she’ll let Sheyla take the wheel, but even I’m not that naïve. More likely, she’ll grab her hand, then those two fucks will Thelma and Louise their way right off a fucking cliff.

Codependency is a theme with us. We haven’t been apart in thirty-five years. We like it that way. Two peas in a pod? Fuck no. Two sides of a coin. Yin and Yang. Night and day. Light and dark. You see where I’m going with this? We’re the best of both worlds. Now she’s on the other side of this impending war. At least she thinks she is.

“Sorry about your friends,” the mother murmurs, drawing my attention.

Yeah, I lost more than Molly in that clusterfuck. Phelan might’ve been riding the berserk bus, but he didn’t deserve to go out like that. Brody? Fuck, what was up with that blown fuse bullshit? “What did I miss?” I redirect. “What the hell was even going on with Brody?”

“When Sheyla snipped Tyler’s tether, it changed him. He can’t shapeshift anymore. Instead, the lingering energy converted into something new. In his case, an electrical specialty. That’s how they…” she pauses, drawing in a steadying breath. “That’s how they woke me up. This time for good. He shocked my consciousness back into my body, fusing it there.”

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“Where the fuck was Derry?” I push. “He should’ve heard us coming with his mindreading shit. Given them a heads up. Maybe the whole thing could’ve been avoided. There was plenty of time for that. We waited.”

“Derry wouldn’t have been any help,” she contends. “Sheyla reverted him.”

My brow hits the ceiling. “On purpose, or was it another Sheyla misfire?”

“He wanted it,” she claims. “She did it under duress. Actually, I’m confident that’s the reason she ended their relationship. Not because of the disconnect, but because of his constant attempts to manipulate her. She isn’t a fan of that.”

Our girl’s finally growing the backbone she was lacking. “I’m proud of her.”

Her brow scrunches. “I am too, though I’m confused why you’d be proud. I’m standing here in Sheelin with you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, about that…” I swipe my hand over my face. “Sometimes we have to give the illusion of support to achieve the end goal.”

She considers my statement, while Sheelin’s rock shifting denotes our alone time is coming to a close. “Illusion of support,” she echoes.

Standing in the entryway is a Solathair I rarely see in the subjective flesh—Fire Supreme.

“Shane,” she addresses him informally. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Amber.” His tone is surprisingly warm…and responsive. “You look well.”

She is well. I mean, she went from unconscious as fuck for eighteen years to totally awake with some shock treatment, courtesy of Brody. Turns out, Amber Tierney wasn’t a Sumair as they assumed, which we discovered in that bomb shelter when it lit up like a rainbow light parade upon Phelan entering. Sheyla’s mom, who she’s spent her life feeling guilty for ruining, is a Solathair. Blame reversal to the max. Amber’s responsible for everything Sheyla’s been through. I don’t feel super shitty for handing her off to Shane. She kind of earned whatever fucked up shit he has planned for her.

Shane’s reaction, on the other hand, is confusing as fuck. Dude runs two temperatures: hot and cold. I’ve literally never seen him warm. What is she to him that draws out this disturbing behaviour? Is it a good or bad thing? Is she good or bad? Fuck, this is why I need Molly and Brody. If she were here, I’d lean heavy on the good, she’d lean heavy on the bad, and Brody would force us to meet in the middle. Voilà warm.

Shane extends his hand, basically ignoring my presence. “Shall we?”

She smiles and slides her hand into his, invoking a level two grimace from me. As they exit the room, leaving me to simmer in my hot garbage soup thoughts, I know what needs to happen. I was pretty sure when grabbing Amber, but now I know for absolute certainty my trajectory is right. In Sheelin, from behind enemy lines, I can do something even more supportive than feed information to our ground team. I can rally for Sentry support that’ll turn this whole thing around. Defector dominos level ten. Final level.

Molly will understand. She’ll be mad, and probably beat the ever living fuck out of me, but she’ll understand. Sheyla? She might not even give me a chance to explain. I killed her best friend and swiped her mom. She might fire first, ask questions never. Fuck, what a skeleton I’ve just shoved in my closet. At least it’s not naked. You have to be wearing a coat to turn the fucking thing around, alright? Semantics. See, I can play that game too.