Page 50 of The Alien in the Archive (Galactic Librarians #1)

50

THORNE

I can’t feel her.

The walls of my holding cell are smooth and blank, humming faintly with the energy of a psycho-suppressive field. I’ve tested every inch of it—mentally, physically—but the result is the same.

A perfect, impenetrable cage.

I sit on the narrow bench, elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together so tight my fingers ache. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here. Hours, days—it doesn’t matter. Time blurs when there’s nothing to mark it except the silence.

The bond is gone. Not broken, just suppressed. Smothered under the weight of the field that hums around me, stifling my sixth sense. The void where Page’s presence used to be is vast, a black hole that devours everything I try to put in its place.

For months, she’s been in my mind. Constant, steady. Even when she wasn’t speaking, even before she knew of my existence , her thoughts murmured in my head like distant music—a tune I didn’t realize I was humming along to until it stopped. I know the shape of her mind better than I know my own now. The sharp focus when she works, the quiet hum when she reads, the bright sparks of stubbornness and anger when she fights back against something—or someone.

Her thoughts were warmth. Light. A tether that held me fast when the shadows of my past threatened to drag me under.

And now she’s gone.

“It’s only temporary,” I mutter to myself, my voice almost too loud in the isolation. “Stop being dramatic.”

I sit back against the wall and close my eyes. A wave of nausea rolls through me, sharp and insistent, but I force it down. I shouldn’t be this weak. I shouldn’t . But the emptiness where Page used to be has carved me hollow.

I try to picture her because it’s the only thing that brings me even a shred of solace. She’s probably fine, pacing the floor of her cottage, Ashlan winding between her legs and chirping at her for attention.

I lean into that vision.

Yes…she’s muttering under her breath, furious at me for turning myself in—even though we agreed to it—furious at herself for not stopping me. She’s already making lists, organizing the chaos in her mind the way she does when the world is too much.

I almost smile at the thought. That’s her. That’s how she copes.

But what if she isn’t fine?

What if the silence is just as awful for her? What if she’s?—

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, hard enough to see flashes of light. I can’t let myself think like that. Not when I can’t do anything to fix it.

I’ve spent hundreds of years hiding in the shadows. Existing. Waiting. I thought I knew loneliness.

I didn’t .

The centuries I spent alone in the Obscuary…the endless days wandering through dust-choked halls and forgotten rooms…they feel small now. Fleeting . Like they were merely a prologue to what was waiting.

Page.

She walked into my alcove, and suddenly, I wanted everything.

Her smile. Her voice. The way she looked at me like I was something of value. I wanted her stubborn defiance, her unrelenting need to make sense of the world, her quiet moments when she would lay her head against my shoulder and tell me I’d ruined her.

I wanted—still want—the future she promised.

As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to tell her I’m sorry.

I lean forward again, running my hands through my hair as I stare at the floor. My thoughts spiral, circling the same dark places over and over. This is my fault.

I dragged her into this. She could have stayed safe, stayed whole, if I’d just left her alone. If I’d stayed in the shadows where I belonged. I told myself I wasn’t dangerous. I believed it, for a while.

But she’s paying the price for my delusion.

No.

I shove that thought away, rising to my feet. My legs are stiff from disuse, my muscles aching, but I start pacing anyway. It’s a poor imitation of movement, confined to the narrow space of the cell, but I need to do something. Anything.

This isn’t over. I force the words into my head, over and over, like a mantra. Page is fighting for me. I know she is. I don’t need the bond to know it. It’s who she is. She’s stubborn enough to take on an entire Tribunal if she has to.

I close my eyes, imagining her in front of the administrators. The fire in her voice, the steel in her spine as she argues for my freedom, as she explains everything we found. She’s brilliant, relentless, and gods help anyone who tries to get in her way.

I smile faintly, even as the ache pulls tight in my chest again.

She has to win. There’s no other option.

My steps slow, and I stop in the middle of the room, staring at the smooth walls. For hundreds—no, thousands— of years, I’ve existed without purpose. I thought atonement meant hiding. Fading away until no one remembered my name.

But Page taught me otherwise.

My greatest failure wasn’t what I did during the Convergence—it was what I didn’t do. I ran when I should have fought. I disappeared when I should have stood tall and said no.

She taught me how to be brave. How to want something again. And I owe her more than silence.

The sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway, pulling me from my spiral. I tense, every nerve on edge, as the door opens and two Skoll guards step inside. Their faces are blank, unreadable, but they’re not here to hurt me.

“It’s time,” one of them says, his voice clipped.

I nod, squaring my shoulders. I feel the weight of the cuffs as they snap around my wrists, but I don’t let it drag me down. I walk between them, back straight, head high, as they lead me out of the cell and into the blinding light of the hallway.

The air feels sharper out here, colder. Our footsteps echo against the floor as we walk, and I force myself to focus on the rhythm of each step. One, two. One, two. A steady drumbeat to drown out the noise in my head.

The walls blur past me—familiar corridors I once wandered as a shadow, unseen and unnoticed. Now, every step feels like a spectacle. I can sense the whispers, the curiosity that follows me.

I don’t care. Let them look.

I need to be seen if I’m to atone.

As the Tribunal chamber doors open, the sound hits me all at once—a wall of voices, murmurs, shuffling movements. I squint against the sudden brightness, my senses sharpening as I take it all in.

The chamber is vast, impossibly so, the ceiling arching high above like the inside of a cathedral. The Tribunal sits at the far end, their seats arranged in a half-circle beneath the banners of the Pact species. A representative from each Pact species is there: Skoll, Merati, Nyeri’i, Mlok, Jotunbei, and Human. These are scholars, not generals or politicians, and I hope that works in my favor—especially since the Skoll representative is Davina Ferhalda.

Unfortunately, the Nyeri’i representative is Kaelion Rhyss.

I walk forward, flanked by the guards, their footsteps a measured rhythm alongside mine. The murmurs hush as I approach.

And then I see her.

Page.

She’s sitting in a section near the Tribunal, Riley and Thalara on either side of her. Her back is straight, her hands folded in her lap, but I know her well enough to spot the tension in her shoulders. She’s holding herself together by force of will alone.

Still, she smiles at me, nodding as if this is all going according to plan.

For the first time in hours—maybe longer—I breathe.

The bond doesn’t reconnect. I still can’t hear her, not with the cuffs interfering with our connection. But it doesn’t matter. She’s here. She’s fighting for me, and that’s enough to keep me going.

I stop in the center of the room, the guards falling back. The Merati security administrator rises from his seat, pale robes gleaming in the bright light.

“Thorne Valtheris,” he says, his voice echoing through the chamber, “you stand before M’mir’s Tribunal as a fugitive. Do you understand the charges brought against you?”

“Yes,” I reply, my voice steady.

“And do you admit to them?”

“I do.”

The murmurs rise again, loud and curious, before Davina’s voice cuts through it, clear and sharp.

“If I may, Administrator Kyral,” she says, stepping forward. “Before judgment is passed, I would like to present evidence on behalf of the accused.”

I watch her, and then I watch Page. Her eyes meet mine across the distance, silver-grey and steady as steel, and in that moment, I know one thing with certainty.

We’ll make it through this.