Page 3 of Vanish Into Light

Tris and Gallo began readying his gurney for transport, but he swatted them away. “For fuck’s sake, I can walk, let me up.”

Rose watched them unfasten the straps and take him by either arm, helping him sit upright.

Morgan appeared beside her, silent as a ghost save for the brush of their jacket sleeves: Rose’s only warning of the conduit’s presence before Morgan said, quietly, “Arthur Becket wasn’t the one who stabbed him.”

Rose whipped around to face her. “No. Did you think it might have been?”

Morgan lifted wide, unfathomable blue eyes to meet her gaze. “I wondered, when we first arrived. But when I touched the wound, I could feel none of his presence in it.”

“His…presence?”

Morgan tipped her head to a birdlike angle. “Hell marks what it takes. It leaves a scent behind.”

Brimstone. Ash. Something metallic and crackling with electricity. She’d smelled it up close; had tasted it on her tongue.

Rose swallowed. “He wouldn’t hurt Lance.”

Morgan nodded, accepting her answer, and turned to step down out of the helo.

Tris and Gallo had Lance on his feet, and though he said, “I’m fine,” he still leaned on them. They shuffled forward as an awkward, six-legged entity in the confines of the helo, and Rose thoughtI suppose I should stay, more than a little shocked at her own reluctance to do so.

In the back of her mind, she was aware that her brain was misfiring right now, perhaps dangerously so.

When Lance was in front of her, he tipped his head, his gaze searching. “Are you okay?”

She blinked. “You’reaskingme?”

His gaze tracked back and forth across her face, and his brows drew together. “Rose. Are you okay?”

There he stood, freshly healed, with a bloody, holey shirt, unsteady on his feet, and he was asking ifshewas okay.

“I’m fine.”

He frowned. His gaze lifted over her head, out through the open hatch. “Is Becket back yet?”

“Let’s go find out,” Tris suggested.

By the time they’d crossed the tarmac, rain lashing at their backs the whole way, Lance was walking unassisted, albeit slowly. He held himself stiffly upright, hands clenched in fists at his sides. Rose recognized the posture of someone doing everything he could to keep from collapsing on the spot.

Belatedly, she realized she’d been walking a half-step behind him, and closed the distance so they were side-by-side. “You probably need a transfusion,” she said. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Funny, no one believes me when I say that.”

He slanted her a sideways look, but it lacked the half-smirk that usually accompanied that kind of regard.

A young private stood at the door, and opened it as they reached it, so they didn’t have to slow.

“Did Mr. Becket return yet?” Lance asked as they passed him.

“A few minutes ago, sir.” The young man’s voice trembled.

“Where did he–” Lance started to ask over his shoulder, but he cut off when he spotted Captain Bedlam charging toward them down the hall.

Rose’s stomach clenched unpleasantly. She’d seen her captain angry before, but not like this – never like this. Her eyes white-rimmed, her face pale, her steps not just forceful and ground-covering, but hurried. She was angry, yes, but she was also terrified.

“Greer,” she snapped when she reached them, halting, hands unsteady before she clamped them on her hips. “What in the ever-lovingfuckjust landed on the roof?”

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