Page 56 of Descent

Of course it will. It always is.

Circe inhales, stretching long and languid. Her feet tap against mine as she does and I pin them between my boots, amusement playing at my lips as she glares back at me. It’s accompanied by a little pang in my chest.

Idiot.

Stop falling for her.

That, or cave in and open up to her. Maybe Ciro has a point.

We’re the same. Trapped in our little spy games, indentured to Ananke and the Pantheon. Yet, I get the feeling she knows more, or has a different set of orders sometimes.

Stepping from the jet, I taste the air, the smells of the city nearby. It sends a shiver down my spine. Chills my blood.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Feels like I’ve been here before,” I offer, testing the waters.

Circe gives me a side-eye, failing to conceal a twitch of her eyelids. She knows something about this place. About my history here.

The real question is, does she know what I really was? Do I?

All I have is an image of myself wearing that black mask. Sitting in a room that reminds me of this part of the world. A bloodred fingerprint…

Our journey to the safe house is quiet, a little shithole apartment in the heart of the city. So many of these places look familiar, the smells in the markets rattling through my mind like a night train passing a tenement.

The senses rattle the walls, crack the glass. Items fall from the shelves of my mind.

By the time I set my bag down inside the door, I feel a sense of awful dread, like some sort of horrifying homecoming. Death watches me from around every corner. Fear hangs in the air.

Makes sense.

According to Ananke, there’s been no leadership here since the last despot was killed. Part of the reason we’re here.

“Head out in thirty?”

“Yeah,” I grumble, booting up the laptop. I’m no wiz on a computer, but I know enough to do what we need. Ciro was always way more tech-savvy. So was…

Adriano?

A tremor spasms in my hands over the keys. My breath catches. For a second he’s there, sitting across from me. His favorite wool coat, his hair short and neat. Cool. Quiet. Always thinking.

Then he’s gone.

Tucking the thoughts away for another time, I plug in the flash drive. It contains all of the footage gathered by our scout of the derelict palace on the outskirts of town.

I speed the playback up, scanning through the material quickly. Looks like squatters may have moved in. Of the warlord variety.

“Um, Ero?” Circe’s voice breaks my concentration.

“Um, Circe?” I mimic, turning my head.

Her expression sets me on my heels. “I’ve asked you the same question about five times. You’ve been spacing out since we got here.”

“Um. The answer is … yes.”

“So you want to play this like Minsk?” She twirls the handcuffs.

“That was a one-time thing.” I couldn’t walk right for a week.

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