Page 129 of The Alien in the Archive

There’s no pity in her eyes, just understanding. “It sounds like fate,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “It was.”

Riley clatters something in the kitchen, breaking the moment. “Okay, so you’re out of everything useful,” he announces, poking his head into the living room. “But I found pasta and some frozen vegetables, and we’re gonna call it dinner. You’re eating.”

“Riley—”

“Nope,” he says. “Not negotiable. You need food if you’re going to fight for your boyfriend tomorrow.”

I don’t bother arguing.

Thalara watches me closely, her tone even softer now. “You’re strong, Page. You’ve already done more than most people would. But we’re here now, and we’re not going to let you fight alone.”

The knot in my chest loosens, just slightly. I nod, though I don’t trust myself to speak.

Riley comes back into the room, a wooden spoon in hand like it’s a weapon. “Pasta’s cooking, soup’s simmering,” he says, flopping into the armchair. “Thalara, are you telling Page how much we all love her, or am I supposed to do that?”

Thalara shoots him a look but smiles faintly. “I’m handling it.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Good. Because I’m really bad at pep talks.”

Ashlan purrs louder as Thalara opens another book, spreading the pages out across the table. She flips to a chapter on Borean dissenters and taps a passage with her finger.

“This is where we start,” she says. “It’s not a lot, but it’s something. We’re going to piece this together, Page.”

For the first time all day, I believe her.

Riley leans back, propping his feet on the coffee table. “And you’re going to eat my terrible soup while we do it,” he adds.

I roll my eyes, but there’s a faint smile tugging at my lips. Ashlan stretches in my lap, content.

The bond is still quiet, but I’m not alone.

Not anymore.

50

THORNE

Ican’t feel her.

The walls of my holding cell are smooth and blank, humming faintly with the energy of a psycho-suppressive field. I’ve tested every inch of it—mentally, physically—but the result is the same.

A perfect, impenetrable cage.

I sit on the narrow bench, elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together so tight my fingers ache. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here. Hours, days—it doesn’t matter. Time blurs when there’s nothing to mark it except the silence.

The bond is gone. Not broken, just suppressed. Smothered under the weight of the field that hums around me, stifling my sixth sense. The void where Page’s presence used to be is vast, a black hole that devours everything I try to put in its place.

For months, she’s been in my mind. Constant, steady. Even when she wasn’t speaking, evenbefore she knew of my existence, her thoughts murmured in my head like distant music—a tune I didn’t realize I was humming along to untilit stopped. I know the shape of her mind better than I know my own now. The sharp focus when she works, the quiet hum when she reads, the bright sparks of stubbornness and anger when she fights back against something—or someone.

Her thoughts were warmth. Light. A tether that held me fast when the shadows of my past threatened to drag me under.

And now she’s gone.

“It’s only temporary,” I mutter to myself, my voice almosttoo loudin the isolation. “Stop being dramatic.”

I sit back against the wall and close my eyes. A wave of nausea rolls through me, sharp and insistent, but I force it down. I shouldn’t be this weak. Ishouldn’t. But the emptiness where Page used to be has carved me hollow.

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