Page 130 of The Alien in the Archive

I try to picture her because it’s the only thing that brings me even a shred of solace. She’s probably fine, pacing the floor of her cottage, Ashlan winding between her legs and chirping at her for attention.

I lean into that vision.

Yes…she’s muttering under her breath, furious at me for turning myself in—even though we agreed to it—furious at herself for not stopping me. She’s already making lists, organizing the chaos in her mind the way she does when the world is too much.

I almost smile at the thought. That’s her. That’s how she copes.

But what if sheisn’tfine?

What if the silence is just as awful for her? What if she’s?—

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, hard enough to see flashes of light. I can’t let myself think like that. Not when I can’t do anything to fix it.

I’ve spent hundreds of years hiding in the shadows. Existing. Waiting. I thought I knew loneliness.

I didn’t.

The centuries I spent alone in the Obscuary…the endless days wandering through dust-choked halls and forgotten rooms…they feel small now.Fleeting. Like they were merely a prologue to what was waiting.

Page.

She walked into my alcove, and suddenly, I wanted everything.

Her smile. Her voice. The way she looked at me like I was something of value. I wanted her stubborn defiance, her unrelenting need to make sense of the world, her quiet moments when she would lay her head against my shoulder and tell me I’d ruined her.

I wanted—still want—the future she promised.

As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to tell her I’m sorry.

I lean forward again, running my hands through my hair as I stare at the floor. My thoughts spiral, circling the same dark places over and over.This is my fault.

I dragged her into this. She could have stayed safe, stayed whole, if I’d just left her alone. If I’d stayed in the shadows where I belonged. I told myself I wasn’t dangerous. I believed it, for a while.

But she’s paying the price for my delusion.

No.

I shove that thought away, rising to my feet. My legs are stiff from disuse, my muscles aching, but I start pacing anyway. It’s a poor imitation of movement, confined to the narrow space of the cell, but I need to do something. Anything.

This isn’t over.I force the words into my head, over and over, like a mantra. Page is fighting for me. I know she is. I don’t need the bond to know it. It’s who she is. She’s stubborn enough to take on an entire Tribunal if she has to.

I close my eyes, imagining her in front of the administrators.The fire in her voice, the steel in her spine as she argues for my freedom, as she explains everything we found. She’s brilliant, relentless, and gods help anyone who tries to get in her way.

I smile faintly, even as the ache pulls tight in my chest again.

She has to win. There’s no other option.

My steps slow, and I stop in the middle of the room, staring at the smooth walls. For hundreds—no,thousands—of years, I’ve existed without purpose. I thought atonement meant hiding. Fading away until no one remembered my name.

But Page taught me otherwise.

My greatest failure wasn’t what I did during the Convergence—it was what Ididn’tdo. I ran when I should have fought. I disappeared when I should have stood tall and saidno.

She taught me how to be brave. How to want something again. And I owe her more than silence.

The sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway, pulling me from my spiral. I tense, every nerve on edge, as the door opens and two Skoll guards step inside. Their faces are blank, unreadable, but they’re not here to hurt me.

“It’s time,” one of them says, his voice clipped.

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