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MARA

A fter Wes left, I marched into the ballroom, scanning until my eyes found the exact person I wanted. Javier was at the end of one of the tables, dressed in his black uniform, sitting next to Lin. And they were very much busy.

His hand was in her hair as he grazed kisses down her neck, only to forge a new path back to her lips. I swallowed, feeling a little flushed just at the sight of them. But I shook it off and marched forward.

“Javi?”

He stopped, and then lazily looked up at me, hand never falling from Liddy’s hair.

“Buenos días, primita. Good morning.”

Lin smiled at me, muttering a greeting before resting her head on Javier’s shoulder.

“Me gusta su nuevo traje,” he said with a knowing smile.

I cocked out a hip, hand resting on it. “Which means…?”

“I like your new clothes.”

“Oh,” I said, standing up straight as I looked down at my cadet uniform. I hadn’t worn it since before my last mission in Telvia but putting it on today…it just felt right. “Thanks. ”

“De nada,” he said as he stretched his arm over Lin’s shoulders. “You’re welcome. What can I do for you, little cousin?”

I took in a deep breath, feeling the angst and determination at war within me. “Javi, I want you to give me wings.”

Liddy looked confused, but Javier’s obsidian eyes glowed. And he smiled. “I’d be honored.”

***

An hour later, I was straddling a chair in one of the parlors of the estate, staring out a window. The sky was overcast and angry, as though the heavens knew what Raúl had done and was now mourning.

I had a towel against my bare chest as Pennelope Quills sat behind me. Javier stood just to the side, his arms crossed as he watched.

“Can you feel that?” Pen asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

I heard her chair creak. “What about that?”

Was she actually even doing anything? Or was she playing mind games? “No.”

“Interesting,” she muttered. “How about this?”

I heard a whirring sound, but felt nothing. “No. I don’t feel anything.”

The sound ceased. “Huh. Well, that’s fantastic, actually.”

I looked over my shoulder. “So, can you do it?”

Pen had her hair tied in a tiny bob of a ponytail, with wisps of electric blue coming down at either end. She leaned back in her chair, legs spread apart. “That’s a lot of ink, babe. And it usually hurts worse over scars like this.”

“I can handle it. Can’t be worse than being whipped or caned, right?”

I noticed my cousin shift his feet. A scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. He’d never seen my back before. When I pulled off my shirt, the muttered slew of obscenities that came out of his mouth in two languages brought a sad smile to my face.

“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” Pen agreed. She tipped her head, pursing her lips as she scanned the length of my back. “Something this big can take anywhere from twenty to forty hours depending on your pain tolerance. Your butt’s gonna be in this chair for a while. Sure you wanna do it?”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Well,” she said, slapping her thighs. “I’m game if you are. I’ll start with the middle part. That’s gonna be the most painful ‘cause it’s right over your spine. If that goes well, I’ll move on to the rest of it.”

“Perfect.”

“?Cuándo quieres empezar?” Javi shifted, bringing himself into my line of sight. “When do you want to start?”

I took a deep breath. “Now.” I didn’t want to risk chickening out, and I wanted the whole thing done before Wes came back.

“Esta bien,” Javier said with a nod. “I’ll cover your shift, Quills.” Then he walked out of the parlor.

“All right, babe. It’s just you and me. Just black ink, right?”

I nodded.

She clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “This is gonna be sick .”

***

WES

I leaned back in my chair, resting my right elbow on the armrest and my chin on my curled fist, staring out the oval window of the jet .

“I couldn’t help but notice your attire this morning.” My mother sat across from me, dressed in a black skirt, black blazer, and light pink blouse. Her ankles were crossed and to the side, flashing heels the same color as her skirt.

I didn’t say anything, just kept staring out the window.

This morning, when I got dressed, I decided to put my cadet uniform aside, and I opted for something different—black slacks and a black button-down shirt. Black to mourn the death of so many people. Slacks and a dress shirt to represent my decision to become someone better.

There was no way I was wearing a tie and a blazer, though. Fuck no. I wasn’t the type. But, then again, I wasn’t the type for slacks either. Give me jeans. Give me cargos. Give me military garb. I’d wear that all day long. It’s who I was.

But it wasn’t who I needed to become.

I blew out a breath, turning away from the window, shifting my gaze to the floor.

“It’s hard to do what must be done, my darling.” My mother shifted her perfect posture, lifting a delicate leg and crossing it over the other. I looked at her.

“But for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you and the man you’re shaping up to be.” Her smile conveyed warmth. Her eyes told me she loved me, and that she truly was proud of the man she saw before her.

I grimaced, feeling uncomfortable, but enjoying her approval nonetheless. “Thanks, Mom.”

She tipped her head to the side. “You’re welcome.”

I blinked. Shifted back to looking out the window. The next three days were going to be hard. I was going to see firsthand the ruins of my faction at Raúl’s hands. See how the people suffered and mourned the loss of their children, their family, their friends.

And I was going to miss Mara. Because no matter what was going on in the world, my heart had one focus, one priority.

Three days .

Seventy-two hours.

12,960 minutes.

777,600 seconds.

Three days.

But who was counting?

***

MARA

That night, I had to sleep on my stomach. I sat in that chair for twelve hours and felt so stiff afterwards, I thought my muscles were going to snap. The tattoo itself wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be, which was good.

Pen lathered my back up in some sort of ointment, swearing that it would speed up the healing process and take care of any discomfort.

She was half right. There was still discomfort.

But from when I first looked at the image on my back when she initially finished for the day, to when I stared at the reflection in the mirror right before bed, it really did look almost healed.

I had lunch in the chair, but I enjoyed dinner with my friends. Edith’s eyes just about popped out of her head when I told her what I was doing. And then she wouldn’t leave me alone until she got a chance to see it.

“Damn, Mara, it’s going to be beautiful,” she said, admiring Pen’s work later on in my room. “Fountain Pen’s a serious artist. It’s going to kick so much ass when it’s done.”

“Fountain pen? What’s fountain pen?”

“Quills,” she stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Get it? Quill, pen, fountain pen…? ”

Was it possible to think only in punctuation? Because I was pretty sure I had a thought bubble above my head with nothing but question marks.

“They’re all types of pens?” she added, thinking it would help.

It didn’t.

Edith slapped her palm to her face. “Jesus, Mara. I swear…”

It went downhill after that.

The following day, I was back in Pen’s chair for another twelve hours. And once she was done for the day, she did the same thing as the day before—lathered me up.

Edith, apparently, couldn’t keep her damn mouth closed, because Chelsea came around wanting to see my tattoo, and then it was Matias, and Rincon, and Jay, and every other Dissenter and Northerner.

All of them…except for Calista. All she did was make snide remarks about how wrinkly and saggy tattoos looked when people aged.

But for once, I didn’t care what she thought. She could kiss my wrinkly ass in thirty years if she wanted. And when I didn’t react to her in the slightest, she huffed and stormed off.

The following day, Wes was due to come home, and Pen swore that it was only going to take her another hour or two, and then it’d be done. So I sat patiently, and after an hour and fifteen minutes, Pen turned off her coil machine.

“Finished, and damn, does it look good,” she remarked triumphantly.

“Can I see?”

She handed me a mirror while she angled a second one behind me, and my jaw hit the floor. Pen was a master .

The landscape of scarred tissue had been converted into folded wings, just beginning to open themselves up for flight.

The radial joint of each wing began at my shoulders, and the feathers extended downward, covering the expanse of my back as though I were an angel.

In the upper middle, over my spine and between my shoulder blades, was a blooming rose .

The silvery shine of my scars gave the blossom a glimmery, muted white appearance. And the feathers of my wings didn’t hide my scars but used them, transforming them into the details of each feather.

It all shimmered.

It all glistened.

It all glimmered…much like the hazel diamond on my finger.

I sniffed, feeling a knot forming in my throat. “It’s beautiful, Pen. Thank you,” I said as I caught her face in the mirror.

She smiled. “Now all you gotta do is soar, babe. Open up those wings and fly.”