Page 55 of Scars Run Deep

It had forged us together as one.

It had renewed their faith in me amid previous doubts because of the subterfuge I’d had to employ prior.

Hell, I was always employing it.

And until this was over, I would continue to do so.

It was the only way to stay ahead of our enemies.

The only way to protect them.

Information itself wasn’t power, the way you wielded it was.

And, sometimes, whether you actually wielded it.

I’d had Bryce function as my cover tonight. He was picking up something for me just outside Hexwood, something I’d ordered a couple of weeks ago. It would put suspicion about where I was tonight to rest, functioning as a sort of camouflage. Well, more than that, given what the item was. It meant something. Even to a perceived stone-cold bastard like me. It was a shame that I had to taint what it represented by using it as cover.

I fingered my onyx bracelet, rubbing the beads back and forth. Although I didn’t actually believe in the healing power the thing itself espoused, it was the ritual of it that assisted with my high levels of anxiety that surged forth more often than I liked.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

This situation was what it was.

Regrets were only useful if they could be used as lessons. Otherwise they were useless, a detrimental emotional reaction bordering on guilt that promoted weakness if they were entertained.

Taking another scan of my surroundings, I pulled my phone from my leather jacket pocket and scrolled to my messages.

Over the last couple of days, I hadn’t been stepping away from any of this and clearing my head like I’d had the others believe.

I’d been reviewing every single shred of intel we had, including everything that had been spoken and that we’d encountered from the moment we’d reached Site A in Strenwell. I’d even reviewed the intel on that flash drive. It had listed all remaining dollhouse locations, as well as draft tactical plans that Revenant had drawn up to take out two out of the remaining ten.

That would have been all well and good, enough for me to move on, beginning with scouting the locations to ensure nothing had altered in the three years that he’d been gone. And, following that, working out any kinks, then taking them.

But with this new player in the Heretics, it had thrown a wrench into things.

There was an unstable element in play now. And worse, unknown.

I couldn’t risk us making a move until I knew more, until I could be sure they wouldn’t be there to interfere and ruin our plans, possibly even try to abduct Aurora and me again, if we went at the dollhouses.

And so, I’d contacted the one person who knew more than I did.

By trying to protect us—well, Aurora, and likely only the rest of us by association—he’d unwittingly revealed that he was familiar with the enemy.

And it was time for him to pass that information along.

I reviewed the conversation we’d had earlier this morning that had prompted this meeting.

Asher: Still using this number?

Blocked ID: Was another eighteen hours left, but you making unauthorized contact again renders it useless effective immediately.

I’d put the curt and abrasive attitude he’d given me at the tail end of our battle with the Heretics down to him being in soldier-mode at the time, focusing purely on the immediate of the mission, the proceeding cover-up that he’d needed to take care of. But it had become clear during our recent text exchange with him still maintaining it, that it had been more than that.

Asher: I’m sensing some animosity.

Blocked ID: Still haven’t lost your perceptiveness. Good. That will assist in keeping you alive.

Asher: Is this about Aurora?

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