Page 95 of The Alien in the Archive

Maybe he isn’t wrong after all.

“So I guess…fuck, Lyn,” I murmur. “Is that why you went into cybernetics?”

She nods. “Yeah. Gran used to say her body was a prison, but it didn’t have to be. She thought maybe someone could figure out how to fix what they did to her. She didn’t live to see it, but I wanted to try. I wanted to give people like her a chance to feel human again.”

I hesitate, wanting to say something comforting but not knowing how. “It sounds like you’re doing something incredible, Lyn. I think your great-grandmother would be proud of you.”

Lyn snorts softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe. Or maybe she’d tell me I should’ve focused onweapons instead. She always said the only way to stop monsters was to fight back.”

The knot in my stomach tightens, and I force myself to smile. “She sounds like a force of nature.”

“She was,” Lyn says, her tone softening. “And she deserved so much better.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of her story heavy on my heart. I take another sip of the overly sweet mead, my thoughts racing. Lyn is just one of millions of people; the legacy of the Borean Empire is the scars they left on their way to annihilation.

Scars that would never allow her to see Thorne as anything other than a monster.

I force myself to focus on her, on the present. “Thanks for coming over tonight,” I say, trying to steer the conversation back to something lighter. “I didn’t realize I’d end up unloading all this on you.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one unloading.” Lyn gives me a wry grin. “But anytime, Page. Seriously.”

I nod, the smile on my face feeling brittle. Lyn may have offered me her support tonight, but I know now that it comes with limits. And if I’m not careful, those limits could cost me everything.

36

THORNE

Without much else to do, I reviewBorean Dissenters…and I continue my chronicle.

I grapple with my self-loathing, with the way I’ve made excuses or made myself unredeemable. Memories surface of old friends and colleagues, more and more painful recollections. My writing is deliberate and careful, each stroke of my pen painting another fragment of lost Borean history.

But the tether between Page and me pulls at my focus, her thoughts a faint whisper at the edges of my mind.

She’s conflicted. Troubled. The echoes of her emotions flit through the bond, disjointed but undeniable. Anxiety coils within her, sharp and persistent, and I feel her restlessness like an itch beneath my skin.

It’s the middle of the night. She should be sleeping. Hours ago, she connected with me and whispered good night.

Now, she’s stressed…afraid.

I put my pen down, leaning back in my chair, trying to leave her undisturbed. She needs sleep; and even more than that, we’ve been practicing ignoring each other for the sakeof at least a semblance of privacy. It’s difficult now, though, as it feels as if her psyche is under attack. I’m so distracted by her distress that I hardly even notice Ashlan jumping onto my lap, butting his head against my hand.

I look down to find his antennae glowing gold, eyes fixed on me.

“She’s worrying herself sick,” I murmur, stroking his fur. “And I can’t even ask her what’s wrong without making it worse.”

Ashlan tilts his head.

“Are you telling me I should check on her?” I ask.

He’s absolutelynottelling me I should check on her.

But it would be so easy…and the temptation is irresistible.

I close my eyes and let my mind drift toward hers. Even asleep, her thoughts are a chaotic tangle, flashes of conversations and memories flickering in the dark.

I hesitate for a moment. I shouldn’t wake her. But…she wouldn’t mind if I looked, just for a heartbeat, would she?

The first memory I see is of her sitting in her cottage with her friend Lyn, drinking together. She’d told me she discovered she wasn’t pregnant—I didn’t realize that Lyn had been there to hear it first, though. Something about that hurts, makes me feel a flair of jealousy.

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