Page 70 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Florentine

I feel like I’m on a cloud. Who would have known bat-shifters had the speed that matches the vampires in the human lore, and that it could be used like that.

I have never been so happy my period was actually over. I would not have enjoyed Brice going down on me if I was still bloody. I know he enjoys the taste of blood, but it would have grossed me out a bit if he had enjoyed that kind of blood.

I move back to the bedroom and discover that a whole side of Brice’s wardrobe has been filled with clothes in my size and now I know where the clothes I got yesterday came from, but also … I have even more questions.

Did he plan to house us here in Notre Dame? Or did he fill the wardrobe at the last minute yesterday? I’m pretty sure the clothes are also from the same brand I ordered while in Blois, so I know he found it through the billing since I paid with his account.

But why did he fill the whole wardrobe?

I don’t get my answers though, because as soon as I’m dressed, Brice comes out of the bathroom, gets dressed, and we’re already on our way to my workshop.

I want to be here to tell the girls what happened to Dad, but we’re now on a tight timeline, especially since we got slightly delayed in the shower.

So instead, I warn Amélie that he didn’t come back to Notre Dame during the night but that I have a plan and that everything will be okay. She’ll tell the others.

I didn’t tell Brice my plan until now, and when we finally arrive at my workshop, I explain what I want to do and we argue. I knew we would after all, and that’s why I waited to get here, because I can still argue and work on my wings.

He probably wouldn’t have flown us here if he had known in the first place. We would have argued for hours—because yes, it takes me about two hours for him to see the appeal of my plan—and those are hours that would have been lost completely.

We go back to Notre Dame to sleep—about five hours—and then Brice flies us here again. And then repeat.

Come morning of the second day, we’re severely sleep deprived, but the wings are ready and foolproof.

It’s only eight in the morning when I finally send the blueprints to Christina, along with instructions on how to make them function.

“How long will it take for Libération to build enough of those wings?” Brice asks me as he flies us to Blois.

This is the last item to cross off the list of things that absolutely need to be done before I start my plan, and it’s probably the part I’m dreading the most.

“A day, hopefully,” I say. “They have huge printers that can print any material, so if they run them all night they should be ready in the morning.”

“You perfected those printers too, didn’t you?” Brice asks, and I want to play humble, but I don’t.

“Yes.”

This is the reason why I know they can print everything on time and thanks to that, level the fighting field.

And I think Brice trusts me about anything I build.

Now I’m basically running on fumes though, because I have to double check all my protocols for Brice’s surgery and I feel like I can’t see straight anymore.

I took one of those anti-sleeping pills this morning—the ones that could keep an elephant awake for twenty-four hours straight—because I knew I would have to work well into the night, and yes, I feel super energized, but my body is still exhausted and my eyes are burning from the very little sleep I’ve gotten the past two nights.

So, yes, my mind is ready to work, but my body is starting to realize it’s well past my bedtime.

Or that I need sleep.

Brice has been helping even if he doesn’t have a single clue what he is doing, and that’s saved me way more time than I care to admit.

I’m not sure we could have made it on time to send the blueprints this morning if he hadn’t helped, because like always, I’m awful with the deadlines I force myself to meet.

If I’m being honest, I would have taken that anti-sleeping pill a day earlier if it was only me, and I would feel worse than a zombie now because I would have taken a second by now.

Brice didn’t take any. He says he doesn’t need as much sleep as I do, but I can see it in the way he strained when he scooped me up this morning before flying. Not sleeping is taking a toll on him, too.

At least he’ll be forced to sleep very soon. I won’t have that luxury yet.

When we land in Blois, Charles is already here with a woman I only recognize because I’m the one who listed the surgeons who are competent for Brice’s surgery.

There were only three names on that list who weren’t either bird shifters or notoriously working for them, and only two of them live close enough to Blois to be here on short notice .

Marie Carpentier is human and from what I read about her, she’s fifty-two and has a reputation for being the best neurosurgeon of her generation, and right now, she definitely looks the part.

Her blue scrubs look immaculate and not a single hair—that I know to be black—pokes out of her cap. Her dark skin looks to be devoid of any makeup and her lips are stretched into a tight smile.

She’s been warned ahead of time about what this surgery pertains to and I’m glad to see that she’s taking it very seriously.

She and Charles greet us quickly and then we’re on our way to the room I’ve called my office for a few weeks.

We’ve barely been out of town for three days, and yet it’s been completely remastered in the meantime.

The part of the room with my holo-puter and chair hasn’t changed, but everything else looks brand new and straight out of the most advanced hospital.

I don’t know what half of the things are used for and I’m too tired to decipher it.

It’ll probably be something that will wake me up in a couple nights and I’ll have to search everything just to understand, but right now, I can thank the anti-sleeping pill because it’s giving me focus that I’m not sure I would have otherwise.

The room is also full of people I don’t know. Some part of my brain tells me they’re Marie’s team and that I probably saw their names at some point when I listed the surgeons, but at the moment I’m coming up blank.

It might also be because I can’t see them properly through the sterilization screen that is now adorning the room’s entrance.

That or I’m too tired to see correctly with how tired I am.

Which isn’t good. I still have to be in the room and type the commands at the right moment. At least I’m not the one who will insert the metal probes inside Brice’s brain. I would be too scared to mess things up and do more damage than good with his mind.

“Breathe,” Brice tells me as he grabs my hand and presses it against his chest .

I didn’t even realize I was panicking. My mind was spiraling, that I noticed, but I didn’t think anyone could see it.

Except Brice seems to see everything when it comes to me.

I sync my breathing with the ups and downs of his chest, and slowly, I relax.

“I feel like an idiot,” I say out loud.

“Why is that?” Brice asks softly as he tucks me close to him.

He hasn’t left my side ever since he came out of the bathroom a couple days ago. He’s made sure I was highly aware that he was here, always an arm’s length away at worst, as if the mere idea of being separated from me was torture to him, and I don’t know what to think of it.

I’m not used to having anyone doting on me and asking me if I’m alright, if I’m able to do things not because they need me to finish something, but because they want to make sure I’m not overexerting myself. I’m not used to people asking if I’m okay for any other reason than politeness.

Brice’s behavior is so out of the norm for me that I don’t know how to react.

“I should be the one reassuring you,” I answer.

“I mean, you’re the one about to be cracked open a second time, and I’m the one on the verge of panicking.

It doesn’t feel right. What if I programmed something wrong?

What if I’m making everything worse? I shouldn’t even ask you that. I’m going to freak you out. Sorry.”

He turns me in his arms so I’m facing him and tips my face up so I can’t avoid his eyes.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t need reassurance,” he says softly as he tugs one of my curls behind my ear.

“I trust you. I’ve seen you work and I know you already double checked or even triple checked everything before we even left three days ago.

I know you and I know the value you put into your work, so no, I don’t need reassurance, but even if I did, your feelings are valid, too.

You are allowed to panic, to cry, or to crumble without it overshadowing me or my feelings.

It’s okay to not feel okay. You don’t have to hide it with me. ”