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Hehas more than earned his bullet in the head. I don’t even care who does it. It needs to happen. The guilt over GV is still present. Even though King claimed that she wasn’t being controlled, it doesn’t change the fact that I will never know for sure if she was a bad guy.

This guy? Is all bad and then some. No doubts.

I finally fully undress and scrub my body roughly, trying to get the imaginary feel of hands, needles, and various instruments off.

Mitri.

He wanted information and found a way to get it. It’s out there now. I was already risking that when I decided to start healing people openly.

Because of him, I know that there are people left that need to die. I now know that the lab didn’t begin with me and has never ended. I need to stop caring about their judgment of me and take care of my own shit.

Like the Old Man, love or hate me, but I’m not stopping.

The quiet, nagging voice inside me is whining about how he could have asked me, still suffering from the pain of betrayal. I try to squash it with hard facts.

Even if he had asked, I would have lied or simply not answered. It’s not his business. Would he answer if I asked about his sordid past? No way.

The only difference in that situation is that I only cared about his past because I wanted to know him. To see what shaped him into the male I see today. I once had a file on him in my hot little hands. Not that it had any real information on it, but I read it. Without a shred of remorse. How are we different in that? You need to know your enemy.

I’m hurt because I feel something more for him than I should. I’ve been viewing him with rose-colored glasses that need to come off. He will never be able to understand that what he did was a violation. He hasn’t before, and it’s not going to change. I don’t see a point in rehashing it or discussing my feelings with him. He won’t understand. Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter becausehe doesn’t feel.

Mitri isn’t mine. It’s time to cut the cord and let him be himself. I don’t think I would change anything about him, even with this. Yeah, his method sucker-punched me in the face, but it was informative, and he had his reasons, I’m sure. I don’t want to know what they are.

Now, I just have to figure out how to look at him without trying to gouge his eyes out. I guess I can console myself that it would be a waste of time, and he’d regenerate quickly.

A lot of effort for minimal satisfaction? Not my style.

The need to find the missing is now an avalanche of stress. My brain was focused on facts while I was in shock. I noticed several things that make the urge to vomit rise again. I suspected the connections and now I have hard facts to back it up.

Whatever happens with the Delegates, the Humans, people from uptown or downtown doesn’t matter. I will find these people and get them home. For that, I need help.

Going it alone hasn’t worked. Going with just Mitri or just Ben hasn’t worked. I need them all, whether I like them or not.

With my mind made up, I shut off the water. I’ve rubbed my skin raw, and I look like a lobster. How many times am I going to shower today? I don’t want to know because the answer might depress me.

I dry myself quickly and sigh as I realize I once again left a change of clothes out there. I look around the floor and discover all of my wet clothing is gone. Ben snuck back in?

I open the door, towel firmly wrapped around me, to find Ben lying on his mound of blankets. He’s still in his towel, not bothering to get dressed as he waits.

I pause in my walk to get more clothes. The same clothes that were just a waterlogged mess on the bathroom floor are now folded neatly on top of my cardboard box.

“The kitchen spell came in here?” I ask in surprise.

He hesitates as he lies with his eyes closed before he says, “Yeah.”

He doesn’t sound pleased by the thought.

I, on the other hand, am delighted. Way to overachieve, kitchen.

I snag the clothes and dress as quickly as I can in the bathroom, fumbling around. Then I waltz out all smooth and crawl up beside him.

He’s on his back with his arms tight to his sides, holding himself still. His body is rigid with a tension I’ve never seen in him before. This isn’t a cuddle position, and he isn’t reaching for me. I guess I’ll do the work on this one?

After a tiny mental debate, I continue my crawl until I’m sitting cross-legged at his head. I put both hands on his chest, close to his shoulders. “Lift up and scoot back.”

His eyes open with a frown, but he does what I say without question. I position his neck over my ankles, his head resting against my pelvis. It should feel weird to be this close to him and not have it be sexual, and it does, but only a little.

I start running my fingers through the wet strands of his hair, pulling them away from his forehead so I can see his eyes clearly.