Death didn't want me yet.

He got a taste of my strong, bitter flavor and spat me back into the world, unwilling to digest something so rancid and sour.

Welt.

Upon waking, the first thing I noticed was the catheter piercing the skin below my clavicle, feeding me nutrients. The second was the dim moonlight shining through the hospital room window, signaling the early hours of the morning. And finally, I noticed the Rhean prince, leaning over the side of my bed, his head folded in his arms. He'd let his hair down, and the tendrils fell over his shirtsleeves like spilled ink. He'd also shed the tape from his knuckles, leaving his tattoos fully exposed.

I tapped his elbow to let him know I was awake, and he stiffened at my touch. Then he peeked at me out of the pocket of his elbow—cautiously, as if he were afraid to get his hopes up.

"We have to stop meeting like this," I murmured, shooting him a closed-lip smile.

He dropped his head back in his arms, heaving a deep sigh. It sounded more exasperated than relieved, but I knew he was happy to see me.

I scooted back against the headboard, surprised by my own sluggishness. It felt like my body was still trying to locate its neural pathways, and beneath my gloves, my palms stung like they'd suffered a brutal oven burn. "Jeez. How long was I out?"

"Almost five days."

My mouth fell open. Five??

Whole battles could occur in that time.  Plans could change. People could be executed.

Snatching a glass of water from the bedside table, I took a couple gulps, swashing the liquid around in my mouth to rid myself of the staleness. "What happened?"   

Will finally peeled back from the bed, but his face remained obscured in shadow, and I couldn't read his expression. "You did it," he said quietly. "You purged Sol of his demon in front of the entire chamber."

The air whooshed out of my lungs.

Gritz. "Is he...?"

"Back to his old self," Will answered, and hot tears sprung to my eyes at the thought of Rover's long-awaited reunion. "You both passed out afterwards, so we took a recess. The next day, the jury voted unanimously in our favor. The Court had no choice but to let us go...for good this time."

Relief washed over me, exterminating the anxieties crowding my brain for the past six weeks. After a month on house arrest, we'd finally been granted our freedom. Freedom to serve. Freedom to run. Freedom to choose one or the other.

It's finally over.

"And the Pans?" I breathed.

"Safe. The news spread like wildfire. No one's touching the demons after that exorcism. At least, not right now." He sat back in his chair. "Even the Command was stumped. You threw a wrench in their kill-on-sight policy. It's chaos."

"...Chaos, huh?" I whispered, wiping the water from my cheeks. "I like the sound of that."

Thanks to Beckett, we'd won the case by a landslide, the Pans were no longer on death row, and the bench had lost to its own constituents. And now, citizens across the nation would hear the astounding truth: that the highest court in the nation had lost to a 17-year-old delinquent. Specifically, a young woman fighting for the right to serve her country.

I'd just set a very dangerous precedent, and thousands of ripples were sure to follow. However, I knew my ascent on the social ladder had just begun. I'd merely established the right to kill myself in the name of duty; the climb for equality still promised a steep and perilous journey. But this was a good first step. A fantastic step, really.

Which was why I didn't understand Will's behavior.

Why was he acting so guarded? Why was he sitting there in the dark like a weirdo?

Where was my hug?

Concerned, I leaned forward, trying to make out his features in the moonlight. "Hey. What aren't you telling me?"

He didn't answer me for a second, and the silence filled my bloodstream with unease.

"Just...don't freak out," he said.

"Will."

Without another word, he stood from his chair and approached the IV stand. Then, scowling, he flicked on the lamp above my bed, and my heart dropped to the ground, smacking the floorboards with a violent thud.

A line of black ink ran diagonally across Will's face, nearly two inches thick. It started at the meat of his right temple, passed over the bridge of his nose, and landed at the edge of his left jawline, slicing his face in two.

It was a tattoo I'd seen before.

A design branded on the criminals of the Ground.

I clenched my fist, and the glass cup shattered in my grip, its small, jagged shards showering my lap. "I'm going to break them in half."

I threw the blankets off of me, glass striking the floor as I yanked the intravenous catheter out of my chest. I was almost to my feet when Will pushed me back on the bed, pinning me there as I flailed about like a violent drunk.

"Let me go."

"Stop being a psycho."

He held me in place until I stopped resisting. Or, really, until I'd completely exhausted myself.

When his grip loosened on my wrists, I looked up at those black iron eyes, my gaze roaming over a tattoo bordered by inflamed skin. And slowly, the rage in my chest cooled to devastation.

A tattoo spanning his entire face...Will could never remove something like that. Those bastards had marred him.

Permanently.

"...Why?" I got out, my voice as brittle as my state of mind. The only thing keeping me from a puddle of heartbreak was the boy's stern frown and steady breathing.

Convinced I'd given up my murderous rampage, he released my arms and sat down on the bed beside me. But as he spoke, I couldn't detect a single seed of anger or distress. "It was the Court's condition for my freedom. They wanted me labeled an outsider, someone who can't assimilate into Ellsian society.  I also think it was an attempt to retain some control over the verdict." He shrugged. "It was a small price to pay for my life."

I scoffed. It was barbaric; that's what it was.

I sat up again, glaring daggers at the door and the justices who slept beyond it. I should have been there to stop this, to protect Will from harm. But no. I had to go and sleep for five whole days!

My eyes shot wide, and I suddenly touched my own face, scared to find raised flesh.

Will's mouth curved upwards, and he shook his head. "They wouldn't dare. Not with Siren guarding your room all day."

Damn. So it was just Will then.

That made it even worse.

I reached for the blackness of his cheek, my fingertips brushing his peeling skin. His eyes dipped away.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

I traced the diagonal line, and he let me, watching me curiously, patiently. It was strangely intimate, and I was pretty sure he could feel my heartbeat shuddering through my fingertips, sense the nervous tremble in my hand.

"It's not fair," I complained.

"It's just another scar."

He said it like this was normal—people marking him up as they pleased. Warlords branding him as their own. Using him as a prop, as a power trip.

I wanted to argue. I wanted to shout and bang my fists. No, no this isn't okay! It's not just a scar. You're not property, Will!

But if he wasn't going to make this a big deal, then neither was I.  It's not like there was anything we could do about it, anyway. The mark was here to stay.

I studied his face again—holistically, this time. The natural dips and shadows. The angles and grooves and dimples. The stamp bisecting his profile, and the black bangs draped over his brow.

In a way, the tattoo simply added another edge to a boy of sharp corners.  And if you looked beyond the malicious act, it wasn't so bad.

"To be honest, it's...not unattractive," I told him, and he narrowed his eyes, despising my pity. "I'm serious. It accentuates your features. Adds this kind of symmetry to your expression." I booped his nose. "I don't know...it works for you."

Not to mention, there was nothing more appealing than a man who embodied the enemy of a sexist nation, traitorous badge and all. He was now, quite literally, a walking antithesis of Ellsian law.

How could I not like that?

A softness bloomed in his eyes once he recognized my sincerity, and he matched my grin. "It looks like you've got some new tattoos as well."

I glanced down at the scab-colored markings on my forearms. The spiraling scars had faded after the battle, but now they were back, and they were angry.

"You lit up like an Edison bulb," Will said, his gaze trailing up my wrists. "I hadn't seen that before...your hands and veins turning all white. Even your hair became...glowy."

"Glowy?" I laughed.

"You know what I mean. Incandescent."

I hummed. It seemed like I'd activated my Lantern-Mode that day on the battlefield, back when it felt like I'd destroyed the barrier between my spirit and the Mad Commander's. I wondered if our union presented itself physically now. Or maybe my burns were just a result of bodily strain. It was impossible to tell.

"You didn't lose consciousness after you brought me back," Will added, and I could hear the concern deep down in his throat where he'd attempted to bury it. "Why was Sol different?"

The question made me pull away slightly, mainly to hide the vulnerability oozing from every pore. "It was more challenging with him.  I didn't have as many shared memories to fight with, and I had to dig a while to find his core memory." My shoulders dropped. "Saving him expended all my energy."

"You nearly lost your life."

"But I didn't."

His expression darkened at my dismissive attitude, and with the harsh stripe on his face, he was twice as intimidating. "Alex, you only know a handful of soldiers on a personal level. Not to mention all the civilians down there you've never met. With so little knowledge about them, is it even possible to bring them back?"

I glanced aside, running my tongue across my molars. Why did this robot have to state my fears so plainly? Could he not grant me this one day to feel at ease and hopeful?

"Well...I guess we'll find out," I decided.

His scowl deepened.  "How? Trial and error? How will you even know which private memories to give up?"

"Because I'll absorb their life history first," I reasoned. "With that information, I'll be able to determine the most compelling memory for each individual, based on our combined life experience. Besides. If I wipe their memories of possession, none of them should be as stubborn as you and Sol. They should actually want to come home." I ignored his skeptical expression. "I think any memory will do, so long as I give something in exchange for their life. That's the cost of using—and undoing—dark magic."

"And how many memories can you forfeit until you're no longer the same person?" he pressed, shooting another deep-hitting question I couldn't answer. Because he was the worst.

I took a deep breath. "Look, Will...whether it's the Order's doing or the universe or just some crazy coincidence, I was given the unique ability to undo your brother's war crimes." My gaze settled on my gloves and the fragments of glass piercing my skin. "I can't ignore that. I have to help them."

"I know you do," he said, and he sounded tired. "But you can't repeat what you did for thousands of soldiers. If your memory loss doesn't kill you, the toll on your body will."

He wasn't wrong. With Sol's exorcism, I'd already kissed the lid of my coffin. I'd heard Fudge and Nova's ominous voices in the back of my mind. I could still picture my mother's hand reaching out to me, beckoning me forward. I'd ventured so close to the netherworld, I might as well have bathed in the River Styx.

Then again, maybe dying was the whole point.

"If that's what it takes to reunite thousands of families, one life is probably worth it," I admitted.

Cold eyes snapped my way. "Don't even go there."

I frowned at him, the fear and anger hugging his words, and he stared back, refusing to entertain my martyrdom.

A strange sadness washed over me then, a melancholy tainted with loneliness. I trusted Will more than anyone, but I wasn't sure I could confide in him about Nova's prophecies. He had a hard enough time keeping me alive already—I didn't need to burden him with my inevitable demise.

The last thing I wanted to do was cast a shadow over our short future together.

So I wouldn't.

"Fine. We'll figure something else out," I assured him, dropping the subject. "With the trial out of the way, we've got time to think of a solution."

He nodded, reaching over to help me remove the glass from my hand. But I knew we'd both heard the lie on my tongue.

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