Page 249 of Lana Pecherczyk

River’s gaze lingered on his friend for a moment longer, then he nodded, allowing Blake to guide him away from the shadows and back toward the shoreline where the others had clustered.

They joined a small group that included Clarke and Rush. Aeron was holding baby Ivy while Trix stood beside him, head on his shoulder, eyes wistfully locked on Melody. The sight of the little family should have been heartwarming, but Blake found herself glancing back toward the tree line, that uncomfortable tightness in her chest refusing to ease.

“Will he be okay?” Blake asked quietly, keeping her voice low enough not to disturb the performance.

Her question had been for River, but Clarke answered.

“Not yet,” she said, her gaze following Blake’s to the treeline. The psychic’s expression grew troubled.

“But he’d better be,” Rush added quietly. “Because no one else can do what needs to be done to stop Nero.”

“What does that mean?” River asked.

Aeron and Trix heard, both turning concerned eyes to Clarke.

“It means,” she said, “that Cloud and Ash both need to sort their shit out soon.” A glint of something flickered in her eyes, suggesting she was holding things back. “But now’s not the time to push it. We have a little time before we need to worry.”

When the song began to wind down, its final notes floating across the water, Cloud finally left the shadows and walked down to the lake’s edge. A quick look around their group revealed no one else had noticed.

It seemed like another private moment, so Blake kept the knowledge to herself. Still, something kept tugging her gaze to the side, to where Cloud knelt at the water’s edge, cupped water in his hands, and brought it to his face. Once, twice, three times. He washed away the V marking that had branded him for half a decade.

When he was finished, he remained kneeling for a long moment, staring out across the dark water. Then Blake saw his fist open over the lake.

The single black hair drifted down like a fallen star, disappearing beneath the bioluminescent surface without so much as a ripple. Cloud watched it sink, his shoulders rigid with the effort of letting go.

Blake felt tears prick her eyes. This was grief in its purest form, not the dramatic collapse she’d expected, but something quiet and devastating in its simplicity. She turned away. Hugged River’s arm tighter.

As Melody’s voice faded into silence and the gathered crowd began to stir, Blake kept her gaze firmly fixed on the other mourners. Rush stepped forward, his jaw set with determination.

“I’ve had enough of waiting for Willow to get back to us,” he announced to the gathered group. “We need answers.”

“Rush,” Clarke started. “I told you she’d contact us when she’s ready.”

“Don’t care.”

Blake pulled out her glasshole, offering it with a helpful smile. “You can use this if?—”

“No,” Clarke sighed, shaking her head. “I appreciate it, but I guess if he needs to do this, the lake will suffice.” She glanced at River. “Stay with us? It might be handy having someone near who can transport matter through a blood connection.”

“I’ve not tried it with blood other than my kin,” River said. “But happy to give it a try if you need it.”

River’s hand found Blake’s as they followed the others to the shore of the ceremonial lake. Residual magic from the memorial ceremony created patterns of light that?—

Clarke stopped so abruptly that Blake nearly collided with her.

“What is it?” Aeron asked, shifting baby Ivy protectively to his shoulder.

Blake followed Clarke’s gaze across the moonlit shore and felt her breath catch. Where Cloud had been kneeling moments before, a dark shape lay gathered on the sand.

Silently, they drew closer, as if sound would manifest the illusion of what they dared not name. The dark blobby shape resolved into something that made Blake’s throat close completely.

“Cloud?” River’s voice broke the silence.

No answer. Only the gentle lap of water against the shore and the distant calls of crows settling into their roosts.

There, on the sand, were piles of belongings. Leather. Black Guardian leather, carefully folded. Weapons arranged with military precision. A bandolier. Boots placed side by side as if their owner had simply stepped out of them and vanished into the night.

And there, placed with deliberate care atop the folded uniform?—