Page 103 of Love, Nemesis
She’s just a memory, Lethe reminded himself as the intensity of his old guilt welled up in him in her presence. He’d never wanted Emma to see the Burning of the Strike. His best parts through Emma and worst parts through the Burning combined in one memory felt like blasphemy, and he had to resist the urge to turn away from them both.
The death of so many was a horrific victory, but they’d made a commitment. They’d sworn to erase the Strike and everything they’d touched from the face of the earth. That had included the ROSE. They hadn’t excluded themselves, knowing that if they were to destroy the lives of so many, they would do it only at the cost of their own. It was the only way to contain any memories of them, memories that many Strike might be able to use, even beyond death.
At the time, it had seemed like the fairest price.
In Emma’s eyes, under her gaze, none of it seemed that way. He felt like two beings more than he ever had, unable to consolidate these vastly different parts of himself. In his own self hatred, he also hated her. She’d been his saint, and in the end had become his monster.
Cal put his Atlas away, and Emma took his hand as she started toward the doors. Lethe followed through the scene until she stood before the Bleeding Grin. She released Cal’s hand as she approached it.
There was an impression of a hand on the doors, visible by the firelight. Emma lifted a hand, filling the impression as her fingers darkened to black.
Cal watched the scene in horror, stumbling away from Emma as the doors opened and she drew her hand to her chest. She looked over at Cal, showing him her fingers. “It’s okay, see?” she said and the blackness faded. “It was just a Strike’s hand for a moment—not my hand. A mutation I have, you see?” She continued to show Cal her hand until he calmed down.
She stepped aside, opening the path for the inside of the Bleeding Grin.
“Go on,” she said to them both.
Lethe waited near Cal.
Cal looked up at him.
“Go on,” Lethe said. “I need a moment.”
Cal nodded warily, looking between them as he backed into the building, seemingly relieved to escape the carnage outside.
Lethe looked down at Emma, her hands held up near her chest. She looked directly into his eyes.
“You were wrong,” Lethe said to her. “I became exactly what I thought I would without you. You shouldn’t have believed in me like you did.”
She didn’t look out at the carnage to see the evidence; she looked directly at him as if none of it fazed her.
“What more proof do you need, Emma?” he asked.
She remained silent.
“Say something,” he demanded.
“Don’t you dare pick this fight with me now,” she barked coldly, fury now on her face.
“You’re just a memory,” he snapped back.
“Exactly. And how you treat me makes all the difference,” she argued. “Look at me. Right now.”
He forced his attention to settle fully on her.
“You set out to do something. We all did. Don’t you dare, Lethe,” Emma said firmly. “Don’t you dare lose focus. You never asked permission from anyone else to do what you wanted, and you aren’t going to get it from me.”
He held her eyes, absorbing the words. He nodded once and her expression softened.
“Let me see your hands,” she said softly, and he hesitated. “Let me see them,” she pushed.
He removed his gloves, showing them to her.
She checked the fingertips. Finding nothing, she just held them.
“We should have talked about it more than we did,” she said, looking up at him. She held one of his hands in hers. “I should have been more willing to talk about it. I should have listened. You always wanted to be one of them, didn’t you? A Strike. You fall in and out of love with things so fast. The Riders were just a temporary fix for you. I saw that. When they caught me, I knew it then. They kill me, right?”
Lethe looked away.
