Page 12 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Brice

I can barely breathe.

I’ve been in the same room as Florentine for less than ten minutes and already I want to do everything in my power to rile her up.

I don’t know why.

I have no specific reason for it other than the fact that she turns a deep crimson when she gets furious and I like the sight of it.

And knowing that I don’t feel much lately, just that is enough to be a feat in itself. And yes, I don’t care if it makes me look childish, it feels like forever since I’ve actually had urges of that kind. Of any kind, truly.

I’m not hungry. I don’t even feel like eating my toast or drinking my coffee, but I have to keep my mouth busy or else I’m gonna say something that’s going to make her mad and as much as I would love to see her get ramped again, that’s not why I did all of this.

When she finally finishes her croissant and licks her fingers, I stand and walk to the door.

My toast is half eaten and I’m pretty sure there is still some coffee in my cup, but I don’t care right now.

All that matters is the ‘plan’.

It’s all I’ve been following ever since I ran away from Notre Dame.

I need structure. Without structure, my mind will crumble and I will start seeing my hands wrapped around a very long sword with Elhyor’s hands on the blade, bleeding, as he uses brute strength to prevent me from piercing his heart with the sword.

Not a lot of people know how to kill a dragon. But I did, I do, and they used it against me. They used it against him.

Because I was just a tool to them, and I can’t even get revenge because they’re all dead.

The team that rescued me made sure of it before they even knew what happened to me.

They couldn’t know, though. None of them got the special treatment I got while here.

The only one who has an inkling of an idea is Gabriel, but I heard that they managed to stitch back his wings.

Not that it fixed everything. He was here in the hands of the bastard who used to be Michael—the previous one, not the one that just died by the hand of none other than my own daughter, Cassiopé—and he had time to do much more damage than he did to me.

The man is hardly a shell of himself now.

He spends all his time buried in books. From what I understand, it’s not much of a change for the former archangel of knowledge, but it’s all he does now.

Interacting with people is causing him panic attacks and, other than his son, no one has been able to visit with him for more than twenty minutes at a time.

At least I can function normally.

Or as normally as my situation can permit, which means I don’t freak out or go crazy as long as I don’t see or hear Elhyor.

I don’t react much to anything either, in any type of situation.

I walk to the dreaded first floor. Other than me, no one is authorized here.

The men and women who followed me here are almost all people who got caught in Versailles with me. They didn’t turn their back on Elhyor, they just had more trauma in common with me.

So when I moved here, they followed.

But they know better than to wander in this part of the castle.

It’s been cleaned, but everything is as it was when I was saved, from what I’ve been told.

All the graphics and documents are still in the neat piles they were, and I didn’t find it in me to look at them.

Not that I would understand much of what is written there.

There is a reason why Elhyor and I became friends in the first place.

There is a reason why my daughter loves books so much.

I like words and stories. In school, I studied history and met Elhyor around that time.

But like him, I also enjoy fighting and I’m damn good at it.

But like I said, I’m a man of letters, not of numbers, and I don’t understand anything science related.

Plan ‘A’ was to get Florentine’s father to do the job, but I discovered quickly that he’s just a technician. A very good one, but still a technician. Every weapon that has been sold with his name on it for the past ten years was not of his conception.

It was his daughter’s.

So I moved to plan B.

Actually, Florentine triggered plan B all on her own.

I was going to send her father back home, maybe with a little scare because not once during the time he was detained did he mention he needed to be back to take care of his girls.

I might not feel much anymore, but I still have my memories. I still know what I felt when I brought up Cassiopé, and I would have done anything to get back to her.

He didn’t.

Once he realized he wasn’t going to get hurt, that he would be treated decently and that I would compensate him for the work, he simply started to act like all of this was normal.

It’s not.

I know it. I don’t care, but I know it.

I wait at the door to Michael’s lab.

I still have nightmares of this room. I need this to be over soon, but for the sake of explaining once again what’s wrong, I’ll stay here for a few more minutes.