Page 71 of Obliterated
I pull the door open and recognize him the second my brain has time to register. He’s taller in person, the kind of tall that makes people straighten without thinking, every part of him carrying a slow, intense kind of authority.
Weathered light-brown skin. Mediterranean, if I had to guess. A proud nose, that dark wavy hair tucked behind his ears, beard trimmed close.
Commander Roe.
He doesn’t drape himself in a cloak like the rest of the Nine when they want to remind us they’re untouchable. No, he’s in full combat gear, the same black uniform his Watchers wear, only on his head that red beret again, bright as blood, marking rank, authority, ownership. No mistaking what it means.
Behind him is Sami, and the way he bows his head, how one of his dreads comes loose from the tie at the back of his head, how his shoulders droop like he’s been hit.
I’m going to fucking faint.
Roe’s eyes lock onto me, and my heart fucking sinks further. My hand clenching on the frame. There’s something in those brown orbs. Pain. Sorrow. So much fucking sorrow. A sharp, stunned hurt, like the truth is still landing.
I already know the shape of what he’s about to say before he opens his mouth, and I start to shake my head.
“We found a body.”
My heart cracks. My stomach lurches. My fist slaps hard over my mouth because otherwise the sound that wants to tear out of me will.
No, no, no, no, no.
“They found a shallow grave on the main road north,” he goes on, all business, but there’s a crack in his voice that guts me. “Around halfway through. They, they, uh…”
He rubs his face. My pulse hammers. I can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t make the air do what I need it to do.
“There was a tag…” he finally says, broken, and raises his hand.
My eyes flick to his tight fist. The chain is there, curling around his fingers like he’s clutching on so it won’t fall. He holds it like it’s proof and a wound at the same time.
The metal catches the light for a second and my stomach flips.
Bronze. Not gold.
Tass.
Oh, fuck. Tass.
Grief hits like a freight train. My chest caves, the world goes muffled, and the air feels too thin to breathe. My throat seizes and I choke on a sound that wants to tear out of me. I want to drop to my knees, toscreamuntil something breaks.
Tass.Wonderful, amazing, Tass. The virus finally claimed her.
Then, stupid and sharp, relief slices through:it’s not him.It cuts clean and tastes like bile and shame. So much fucking shame.
They war inside me. The raw, breaking grief that wants to swallow me whole, and that horrible, selfish relief keeping me from completely collapsing.
I’m crying, and I hate myself for every wet, ridiculous sob.
A hand clamps on my shoulder, heavy and grounding, and I look up through blurry vision. Roe swallows; a single tear tracks down his cheek and he wipes at it like he’s half-ashamed it showed. Seeing this rock of a man, this damned commander, looking like that makes something in me fold even more.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, and I mean it. “I… Tass is—” My voice breaks off; the rest won’t come.
“I know.” He nods, solemn. “Thank you.” He steels himself, rights his shoulders and steps further inside, his rough hand producing a fucking handkerchief. Clean and pressed, smelling faintly of smoke. He presses it into my hand like it’s both an order and mercy.
“We can’t find Max,” he says. “We’re pretty sure she turned and he had to…”
End it.He doesn’t need to say the words for my heart to collapse.
I take a big gulp of air, trying to calm myself as I wipe my damn cheeks. “What do you mean you can’t find Max?”
