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“No!” Svend claps back, inciting me further. “It has been years of this.Years! I do not want you to suffer anymore. If there is a chance or a way, I will grasp it in both hands and never let go. I will meet her and decide for myself.”

Both of our breaths are harsh as we battle for control. For Svend, it is easier. He’s married to hisanamcara, has children, and a clan of his own. I have none of those things to keep me tethered to a calm state. I have forsaken them to punish myself for failing her.

I can still see her slate blue eyes, hollow and unseeing. Long dark hair framing a gaunt face. I was never allowed to see her without a door between us. I could not speak to her or hear her voice. The sickness they injected me with made control harder to attain, almost impossible at times. Only she could stop it.

I felt a kinship with that small child like nothing I have ever known. A comradery built from suffering and survival. Stronger than even the bond I hold with warriors I bled for during battle. Svend is convinced that she could have been my soulmate. She was far too young for me to ever find out, taken from me mere moments before I got to her.

My last vision of her overtakes the image of her tiny form, looking up at me blankly. Replaced by blood and instruments of torture, her body fastened to a fallen table while her insides spilled to the floor. It’s my last memory of that place before theriastradtook me over,and I curse it. I can’t remember one without seeing the other.

I never imagined they could hurt a mender. They are a perfect peace in this world filled with horrors.

I failed her with that assumption.

“You said that menders can bond with anyone, regardless of race. What if this mender could be yours?”

She can’t. My mender has been lost to me for over a decade.

“She is more than likely a charlatan. We have dealt with those long before my imprisonment. What makes this one stand out?” I ask, suddenly resigned to this farce of a conversation.

I know Svend. He won’t give up until he’s dug up any path possible, and then he’ll start bucketing water from a flood to continue his quest to save me from myself.

“One of our brothers went missing not too long ago,” he begins. I’m not sure why this would be notable. Clansmen go missing all the time. Sleeping off the drink, bedding down with a partner, even going on unplanned trips. It’s what we do. We don’t lie back and let life pass us. We take life by the throat and squeeze.

“I wasn’t worried at first, but it’s been two months now with no word. There are also rumors of more people going missing.”

I’m in motion, checking the laptop on the desk near the television. Thebastairdis still there, sleeping peacefully without a single care.

I want to gut him again. And again. Until this bloodlust he built in me is purged. I drop into the chair and sigh before rubbing my face.

“He’s still in my sights. How bad is it there?” I tell him grimly.

“Nothing is verified yet. Everyone is at each other’s throats. One person goes missing, and it’s fine. Several from different walks of life and fingers begin to point. The TGT agents assigned here are doing nothing. They haven’t been seen out of their high and mighty manor in years.”

Mitri is stationed in that territory. I can’t picture him sitting idly by while this goes on. Could he be in his sleep?

“And now a female is claiming to be a mender in your territory,” my fingers press into my closed eyes to force my building headache back. I try to relax my jaw so my teeth won’t break from tension.

If people are already going missing, the arrival of a mender is sure to bring him to the territory.

“It will draw his attention if nothing else,” Svend follows my thoughts and makes a disgusted grunt.

I look back at the computer again to see the sleeping form.

“There is also an opening for a Delegate to come in,” he needles me. He has wanted me back in the Delegates’ clutches since my fall from grace among them. After seeing their inside workings, I want no part of it. I’m better in the field.

“Which one died?” I ask absently, mind farther afield.

“Oh, I meantfouropenings. The Queen of the fae has already staked out one of them for herself.”

“What? Four of them? Have we gone back to the golden age again?” Delegates rarely die. For four of them to perish suddenly is unheard of in this age. And the fae Queen has one? She’s never been interested in Other politics, only with her own.

“Murdered is what I’ve heard,” Svend says calmly.

“Does anyone know who?” I ask. I would personally like to shake his or her hand.

“No one.”

“A shame. Thebastairdwill be traveling to your territory then.”