Page 67 of Elas

“What about the human military?”

I snort and shake my head. “Worthless. They’re given posts and assignments in the cities, but it’s nothing more than busywork to keep them occupied.”

“Alright, so there are hardly any humans on the bases,” August says with a nod. “Odds would be astronomical.”

“Yet somehow, here we are.” His smile softens as we both lean forward, and the sweet kiss makes my chest flutter like I’m some simping idiot in one of those romance novels he loves to read.

Okay, maybe I’ve read a few of them, too.

“So, they’re quarantined,” he continues, “and transported to Ljómur under the guise of treatment. Did yours fight? The couple from that first file I read in the clinic had to be restrained for transport, but this one went willingly.”

“Mine were restrained. A guard was almost killed, and they were both sedated.”

“Alright… so they’re moved to Ljómur, then given a small apartment. Their needs are provided—food, water, even books and puzzles to pass the time.”

“Nope,” I say as I shake my head, shoving an apple in my mouth. “Mine were separated into cells. Their treatment is more like a prisoner than any sort of voluntary participant.”

“Itwasn’tvoluntary, from the sound of it,” August says, glancing at my file with a frown. “Alright, so once they’re settled, the experiments begin. The humanfrom my case had never heard of the prophecy, but once it was explained to them, they agreed to take part in the study.”

“Same, except they didn’t give mine any sort of explanations. They just started… doing tests? I didn’t understand most of that part,” I admit as I take a bite of my sandwich.

“They were extremely thorough… bloodwork, analysis of the heart and nervous system, behavioral studies. They even used an X-ray to examine the skeletal system. I’ve never even seen one of those machines,” he adds thoughtfully.

“Mine kept referencing ‘the essence,’” I say, and August nods his agreement. “How to isolate it, how to extract it.”

“It’s like they were attempting to remove it from the mates, but what is it?” he asks, and I hold out my palm while he stares at the glow underneath my skin. “Okay, say that’s true… they’re trying to get their hands on whatever this is that marks the mates. But for what reason?”

“Trying to sever the connection?” I guess, but he chews on his lip and scrunches his nose.

“To what end? How would that benefit them? No, it feels like they want to use it for something.”

“A treatment?”

He shakes his head again, but it’s more thoughtful this time. “Are there any illnesses that affect your kind?”

A vision of my mother’s sickly, smiling face flashes through my mind. “Yes, but most of them never crossed the rifts. The sick would never have been part of the military. We tend to die by each other’s hands these days.”

He snorts a dry laugh that makes me grin before nodding at the file I’d been reading. “How long did it take before their marks changed?”

“Changed?”

August frowns then, leaning forward like he does when he’s eager to hear something. “After a few weeks, the color of their marks shifted. The glowing went away and was replaced by solid patches the color of their mate’s skin. In my file, Bronson ended up with a silvery mark on his left shoulder, while Saria had his coppery-bronze on her right one.”

I wrinkle my nose. “They touched shoulders?”

“They bumped into each other in the market,” he explains in a rush, “and I’m sure it was all very romantic, but that’s not the point here. According to the notes, at the time, they hadn’t confirmed what causes the change, but their hypothesis was...” He trails off, uncertainty clouding his eyes before they dart away.

“Their hypothesis was what?” I prompt, and he chews on his lip for a moment before he finally looks at me again.

“They believe the mark changes when both sides have accepted the bond. The final step in the mating process.”

“Oh,” I say in surprise, and August’s eyes move to the wall as my mind spins.

Is he having second thoughts?

Is that why he didn’t want to tell me their theory, because he isn’t sure that this life with me is what he wants? My stomach is suddenly full of lead as I consider that August might not want to be tied to me. That thispairing—by fate’s hands or otherwise—might not be his choice.

I push my panic down, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. “The marks in my file haven’t changed,” I finally say after clearing my throat. “They’re still, uh, glowing. Like ours.” He nods, but things are awkward and stilted as we finish our dinner.

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