Page 69 of Spark of Madness

“It was brutal,” Owen says, “I’ll give you that. But every full moon brings the potential for that level of brutality in service. It’s the entire point. We purge our impulses when the moon is brightest and we’re all at our celestial worst. Delle knew that before she served. She was trained.”

“But you can’t train the humanity from a person.” My voice rises in agitation, and I take a deep breath to calm myself. “No sixteen-year-old girl can be truly mentally prepared for that. And she’s certainly not mentally prepared for the trials. She doesn’t understand what she’s volunteered for. She doesn’twantto participate. She was scared, she saw a way out, and she took it.” We all know it was never really a way out, but who could’ve expected Delle to understand that? “I want to take the burden for her. Let me right her wrongs. Double my burden, and let my efforts absolve her of her sins.”

“Mercy,” Clyde speaks from the projection on the wall behind me, and I whirl around to face the three Elders, anxious for turning my back on the collective Control. “I’m sure you realize how absurd it is that you’re standing here before us, asking for a favor. You’re not in God’s good graces, and we don’t hold you in ours.”

“Absurd, indeed,” Edgar agrees on screen. “We could’ve burned you at the stake like your mother, but we’ve granted you this chance at absolution from the compassion within our hearts. And here you are, standing before us, asking us to change the rules because you think you understand something about humanity that we don’t?”

“We hold the secrets of God as the Elders of this community,” Clyde says. “We are the keepers of the Impulse Edict. We know what God wants for Ember Glen, and you knownothing.”

Chair legs scrape against the floor behind me, and I turn to see Killian slowly stand, buttoning his black blazer. “I think we’ve all heard enough from you, Mercy. You had your time, now kindly leave us so we can pretend to discuss your ridiculous request.”

I have to try one more time. “I just want to—”

“Enough,” Killian snaps and it startles me. He stretches his arm toward the door, pointing his finger. “Out.”

I glance at Arlo, our eyes catching for a moment. Then he leans back in the chair, shrouding himself in shadow, hiding from me. Defeated, I nod slowly, then make my way to the door.

I WAIT INthe foyer, pacing across the starburst-patterned tile for another fifteen minutes before they’ve finished their meeting in the courtroom. I know it didn’t go over well, and I don’t expect they’ll return a result in my favor, but I still have hope. I had to try.

I stop my pacing abruptly, landing perfectly on the center of the sun, as I hear the courtroom door click open from down the nearby hallway. The sound of male voices filters out and moves closer.

Killian is the first one out, and he pauses for a moment as his eyes land on me, the corner of his mouth quirking up with a sneer that makes me feel terribly uncomfortable. His eyes scan me from top to bottom before he moves again, crossing from the hallway into the foyer and heading in my direction.

Wesley and Owen follow close behind him as they all move toward me. They hardly veer as they approach, and my shoulders tense as I pull my arms close to my sides, shrinking myself to take up less space. But they still come in far too close as they brush past, heading for the staircase at my back.

“See you soon, sinner,” Killian mutters, his shoulder bumping mine as he passes.

“Looking forward to that first trial,” Wesley says at the same time.

Park and Ryker aren’t far behind, sharing their whispers of warning, which make anxiety wash over me. All their words whirl around me like a tornado of dark promises for the upcoming trial, and suddenly, I worry that standing before them today has prompted them to hate me all the more. Their hatred will, in turn, prompt more brutality when it comes to the trials.

Have Ijust worsened my fate while trying to spare Delle’s?

Five of them are on the staircase and climbing when Theo appears from the hallway. He comes close and stops just beside me, moving in so the front of his shoulder touches the front of mine.

The softness in his brown eyes catches me by surprise before he leans in to whisper, “Thank you for trying. I mean it.” He looks sad—sadder than I’ve ever seen. Yet the gratitude he has for me is humbling…heartwarming.

He and I haven’t interacted much outside of service, but we’ve spent enough time during those purges that we grew something akin to friendship—however shallow it was, it existed, nonetheless. And he was always happy, always joyful and enthusiastic. I sense none of that now as our gaze meets, and it aches in my chest for him.

He gives me a tight smile before walking away, heading up the stairs behind his brothers. I sigh as he passes, but when I raise my eyes again, I see Arlo coming toward me.

My pulse quickens, and though I want to believe it’s from the anxiety over waiting to hear what they’ve decided, I know it’s not. I know it because I feel that swirl of wanting through my belly as my eyes drop to take him in.

The black sleeves of his button-down are rolled up to the elbows, revealing the lines of sinew in his forearms that draw my gaze to his large, gloved hands. His fingers clench and unclench, mirroring the anxiety I feel. I almost feel like the sinner they claim me to be when my eyes sweep lower to see the outline of his length beneath his perfectly ironed black slacks. When we meet in the center of the sun, my heartbeat stops altogether.

I blink up at him expectantly, tucking both sides of my newly shortened hair behind my ears. “What did they say?”

“The answer is no,” he says flatly, his blue eyes scanning my face, “which was to be expected.”

My chest sinks as I let out a drawn-out breath, feeling deflated, defeated. My head drops, knowing that I tried, but I failed. I failed to save Delle.

Arlo’s fingertips tap beneath my chin, lifting my head and forcing me to look up at him. When I do, he moves his fingers to tug the hair from behind my ears. It’s a clear assertion of his authority over me, a reminder that he cut my hair, that he controls me.

“I think there’s something to be said about the fact that you tried,” he says quietly, almost a whisper. “Perhaps absolution will find you yet.”

He says the words with such earnest that they breeze right through me, blowing gentle embers of the fire from within him to brush against my soul, threatening to spark a fire I can’t control. I hate the way it feels because of how much I love it, how much I crave it, how much I need it.

My head tilts against his fingers lingering beside my ear, and for a moment—just a brief, perfect moment—he opens his palm to cradle my cheek. And for that moment, I feel comforted.

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