Page 66 of Storm Echo

Her cat prowled inside her skin, not happy at being so far from him, even unhappier about the fact that he’d walked into the dark alone.

She might’ve lain awake for hours had her body and mind not been shattered after the events of the day; the deluge of joy after the pain she’d carried for so long, it had smashed every one of her foundations.

Sleep crashed over her in a silent black wave.

She bit back the whimper that wanted to escape as her heavy eyelids closed despite her attempts to keep them open. With sleep came the ghosts of all those she hadn’t been able to save. They stared at her with dark, accusing eyes, their faces pale in death and their bodies bloodied and broken.

“I’m sorry.” A faint whisper before her exhausted body and mind shut down, dropping her deep into the abyss.

Chapter 32

Re:Query about the remains of Norah Mercant

As per standard operating procedure for deceased found in such circumstances, she was cremated within two hours of discovery. Her cremains are due for final destruction tomorrow. Please advise if you wish to collect and make your own arrangements for disposal.

—Bureau of Death and Family Notification Services (10 May 2059, 11:02 a.m.)

Re:Query about the remains of Norah Mercant

Yes, we will collect the cremains. A teleport-capable Tk will be arriving at 11:15 a.m.

—Ena Mercant (10 May 2059, 11:04 a.m.)

“Ivan, we have your mother. Would you like to bury her in our private cemetery? The authorities are unaware of it and she won’t be disturbed there.”

“Is she ash, Grandmother? She told me the death guard makes people like us into ash.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it was done before I was ever notified. You won’t be able to see her again. I’m sorry for that.”

“She wasn’t inside there anymore. She was hollow.”

“The respect we give to the dead is not to the hollow shells left behind, but to the people they were in life. And she was your mother. I know you’re angry with her, but that is also why such ceremonies are important: they allow us to create a line between what has been and what is to come.”

“She always wanted to see the sea. She heard about it, but she never saw it. Can we take her there?”

—Conversation between Ena Mercant and Ivan Mercant (10 May 2059, 12 noon)

SOLEIL KNEW SHE was sleeping, but she still couldn’t stop the dreams from unfurling. They always began the same way, with bloody claws ripping away the soothing nothingness of rest, to expose faces and bodies and a world that shimmered gray with fog.

It had been foggy that morning when it all went so terribly wrong.

She’d been frowning as she walked through the trees, the cool brush of the fog against her skin and her cat alert inside her. Her head had been full of worry about the man with pale eyes who she’d had to leave with no warning. He was soimportantto her, and he’d think she’d left because she didn’t want him. She had to fix that, had to—

Her chest clutched, her breathing speeding up.

The fog was whispering away, the dead ready to confront and accuse her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whimpered in her dreams. “I’m so sorry.”

But the boy who stood in front of her wasn’t bloody or broken or gray. He was warm with life, his eyes a piercing pale hue and his hair wind-tousled black. “Why are you sorry?” he asked. “You didn’t kill her. She killed herself.”

Trembling, she went to go to her knees so they’d be at the same height … but they already were, her body as small as his, and her hands delicate and childish. “What’s happening?”

A frown marring that smooth brow, he looked down at the hands she’d spread out in front of herself, then lifted his own hands. “Regression?” he muttered. “Dream mechanics.” He didn’t sound like a child.

Soleil couldn’t help it. She poked him with a finger … and jerked it back as fast when she felt flesh and bone. Looking down at the spot on his shoulder that she’d touched, he frowned again, then looked back at her, so solemn and serious that it made her sad.

“Why do you have green hair?”

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