Page 65 of Broken Ties
What horrors I’ve seen of Nox’s past came from moments when his trauma was so overwhelming to him that not only was he drowning internally, but those images leaked out and into my mind without my participation. It changed the way I saw Nox, but not in the way either of the Dravens thought it would.
Memories can be misleading but reactions aren’t, especially to my Gift. The real advantage I have over most Neuros is the fact that my ability covers the entire brain, meaning I can see what parts are in use at any time. I can decipher trauma from nature, a physical limitation from a conscious decision, or a severed pathway from a bridge purposefully built. All of this means that in that moment of extreme distress, the snapshot of Nox Draven that was slammed into my mind was an absolute truth, on par with the laws of physics.
Selfish whims or desires don’t drive his actions at all—it’s preservation, the type that comes from trauma endured from birth. The world through Nox Draven’s eyes is a twisted and sick thing. He can learn to decipher what’s real and what’s fabricated, and learn how to function ‘normally’, but it’ll never change what his eyes will always see. In moments of extreme stress and fear, his instincts will override his training ten times out of ten.
That was the moment North stepped fully into our friendship and began to trust me, no exceptions. The fact that I know he was the one to kill that disgusting excuse of a woman, that he had the same ‘slip’ that his father had, and I never breathed a word to anyone,thatwas the true beginning of our Bond Group.
We can argue among ourselves, disagree, play petty games, and hold grudges until the end, but everything stays with us. When the blood tests came back and confirmed what we’d already guessed, we closed ranks. The only difference was that Gabe was slowly integrated into those conversations. We filter and manage the worst of the bullshit to keep it from hitting his radar, but that’s about his age, not his standing or trust. Our Bond Group was unshakable, unmatched; a testament to the work and sacrifice we all put in.
Then we found our Bond.
North’s eyes widen a fraction, the only reaction he gives his brother’s words. “By ‘this’, do you mean the grave or the bones themselves? Or is it the entire area? What, specifically, is it reacting to?”
Nox ignores North’s question, stepping forward before he crouches down over a pile of bones. Enough of the pieces are clumped together for me to say it’s a skull and jaw bone, but Nox examines it intensely for a minute before he carefully plucks a piece out.
North has two incidental Gifts, a duality Death Touch that isn’t just rare, it’s unheard of. He has the ability to take the life of another with only a touch and the ability to decipher the cause of death the same way. Nox has called him here to confirm what his own Gift is telling him.
He stands and hands it to North, all without a word. He starts to turn back away only to stop with a scowl, and I glance at North to see what’s gotten his attention.
North’s eyes are black, voided out in that eerie way the Dravens’ eyes do, but all color has leeched from his face. He’s usually more restrained with his reactions, but he looks like he’s about to pass out.
“What is it, North? How did they die?”
He swallows. “I don’t… know.”
I glance at Nox, but he’s scowling at the bone still clutched in North’s hands. “You always know.”
North shakes his head, still rattled. “They just dropped dead, but for no reason. Nothing happened to them; no attack, no injury, no poison, nothing. They just… ceased to live.”
The imageof the patchy field of overgrown grass clumps littered with the eerie scattering of bones stays fixed in my mind even after we get back to Draven and debrief. I see it while I shower and change clothes, when I stop to grab something to eat, and even after I go for a drive to get some air.
The white, cracked remains of Gifted murdered and left behind like trash stays hanging over my head until I arrive at my Bond’s door without ever really intending to seek her out. I’m far more likely to get into an argument with her than be comforted, but I knock, regardless.
Seeing her face is enough.
Except my Bond doesn’t open the door. I don’t have to pry into her head to know that she doesn’t even move from her bed. I’m sure she knows it’s one of her Bonds, but she’s probably just too tired to want to deal with another argument.
I can’t help myself.
“Open the door, Oli.”
The Bond who opens the door is a very different one than the snarling and furious girl I’d first laid eyes on. There are dark circles under her eyes, and the corners of her lips are turned down like she’s trying not to outright scowl at me.
She’s exhausted.
The longer I stare at her, my own face carefully blank as I make my assessment, the more skittish she gets. It starts with her cheeks turning pink, then she fidgets with the pen still in her hands until her face is almost glowing with embarrassment. Still, I can’t look away. She never reacts so easily. I’ve seen her enraged, ashamed, and even sacred, but there’s always a build up, some sort of catalyst to tip her over the edge.
All I’m doing is looking at her.
I step forward on instinct, my body drawn to her and ready to comfort her, but she stumbles away from me as she lets me into the tiny dorm room where North has her tucked away. The hallway was already empty, but having a closed door behind us both is still a relief to my bond.
It’s practically seething with discontent even before I lock the door and find it the most worthless excuse of security I’ve ever seen. Anyone could break it down, and the fact that whoever North tasked with finding suitable housing for my Bond has endangered her like this is unconscionable.
I can’t decide if I want to kill the petty excuse of a Gifted myself or watch as the Dravens’ nightmares consume them. Both are as tempting as the other, but I already know it’ll come down to North and whether he can see past his own bruised ego to admit that he wants to deal with this slight against his Bond himself. Never one to care about the opinions of others, he’s taken her rejection harder than most realize. He’s a classic case of only caring about the opinions of those he loves and cares for… and his Bond’s opinion mattered most of all.
It doesn’t excuse this lapse in the least, but I can see clearly how we’ve gotten to this low point.
When it’s clear my Bond isn’t going to break the silence, I do. “The Healer did a decent job. I thought for sure you’d be bedridden from the pond bitch’s bite.”