“You truly are Maxwell, through and through.”
Alvin lowered the gun and dropped it back into its holster. Milla’s frame receded from him in the distance. She moved with purpose and direction, and hadn’t even flicked a glance over her shoulder at him.
The mercenary couldn’t decide if that was trust, naivety, or arrogance. Maybe some combination of the three. He found himself wishing that she had turned, and shown weakness. She never would. Milla was as implacable as an oncoming storm.
Maxwell. The name had been a constant whisper among Exodus, bound up with fury and terror in unequal parts depending on who you talked to. Alvin couldn’t fault them for that; she did the same to him, though he’d somehow fallen into the so-called enviable position of being the one closest to her.
Of being the one to see her delight in simple humanity. Of being dragged along with her unyielding resolve. Of watching her cleave through the obstacles in front of her as if they were water.
Of being the victim of his rotten luck and her impeccable timing. He leaned back against the lamppost, his strength fading along with his bravado. She’d been right in that he should have been resting. He’d been out here only to collect a sylphjay, which she’d neatly interrupted. He closed his eyes, the chill of the steel seeping through his coat and into his bandages. It would probably be another five minutes before the bird circled around again, waiting for its recipient to be alone.
Dammit, she set him on edge. Made it easy for him to mock himself in front of her. The all-powerful Maxwell, who could end his problems and his mother’s with a wave of her hand if she so chose. Who’d even offered to in Xian Du, had she only known what she’d offered.
Alvin wasn’t fool enough to believe she’d keep that unwitting promise. Not after the rain of death she’d unleashed on the Exodus base. Not after how she kept destroying spyrix after spyrix, with little compassion for their wielders. A mission to protect this world? Human and spirit alike? Bullshit. If Maxwell was so damn caring about her humans, why’d she leave three-quarters of them stranded on the far side of a magical barrier, where all they could do was slowly starve the planet of its spirits?
He looked back up at the sky and muttered a curse. Still no sign of the bird. The bruises and punctures peppered across his ribs ached. He ran a hand across his forehead, willing the pain to stop. It wasn’t in the mood to oblige.
She didn’t make sense to him. One minute she offered to help him, the next she was refusing to help Elize, even though pursuing the booster would have drawn her further onto Exodus. Hadn’t she already put together that the Lance was the key to Exodus’ plans? Maybe she hadn’t. Wasn’t it obvious that if you wanted to solve a problem, you cut it off at its source?
Hell, why didn’t she know what Exodus wanted? She was Four-blessed Maxwell, for crying out loud. Or so she always claimed. Alvin gritted his teeth. Even though he’d just admitted it, now he wasn’t so sure that he believed it himself. None of it added up. She didn’t know things he thought she should, and yet —
It wasn’t the first time Alvin had thought about simply telling Milla the truth and calling her out on the offer made on the streets of Xian Du. What Exodus wanted. Why the Lance existed. Just flat-out begging her to drop the Schism so he could take his mother home. Desperation warred with self-preservation. It lost. She’d murdered scores of his fellow Elympians when he was still a child. She killed Exodus agents even now, although he would admit that it was self-defense, and defense for the spirits who died for their spyrixes. He couldn’t take a risk on the faint hope that somehow she’d be bound by enough honor to follow through on that promise.
More likely she’d just kill him, when she understood where he was from. And then his mother, who didn’t stand a prayer of defending herself. For being in the way of Maxwell’s so-called mission to protect.
But there were those kids. The ones she’d played with at the Exodus base before it all went to shit. The ones she’d seemed genuinely pleased to see again, until they turned on her. The ones whose marble she’d kept for years, until she’d given it to Jude as a gift. He’d seen it slip out of the kid’s clothes at night.
Hell. Who could understand the whims of a god, anyway?
A shadow crossed over Alvin’s face, then dove down. He raised a hand without thinking about it, and the bird settled onto it with a beating of white wings. The message tucked in its pouch was only three words long.
gummygunk
jimmyeatworldofficial
izzy806
amandla
turnnoffyourmind
