“How many since the Honeycomb came into effect?”
“A statistically ‘ordinary’ number,” Ivy replied, lines of strain around her mouth. “That in itself is a miracle after all the upheaval.”
“Was the E able to sense anything from Edward at the moment of death?”
Expression sad, Ivy shook her head. “She did say he’d been difficult to bond with even on the shadow level needed for the Honeycomb. He said all the right things, did what she asked, but the bond she had with him was more brittle than any of her others.” She turned on her heel. “I should get back to her. She’s fragile right now.”
Leaving Ivy to comfort the distraught empath, Aden tore apart Edward’s life in an effort to find the reason for his suicide, Zaira by his side. “You’re mourning him,” she’d said bluntly when she appeared at Central Command. “You’re not thinking rationally and need someone who can act as a sounding board.”
“He was always stable,” Aden said. “One of the foundation pieces of the squad and of the rebellion.” As he went through Edward’s personal belongings searching for a reason to explain the inexplicable for the hundredth time, he tried to understand and failed. “I didn’t focus on him because I thought he was all right.”
“Stop, Aden.”
“I can’t. He was one of mine and I didn’t protect him.” Edward had lived decades under Silence, survived decades under Ming LeBon’s cruel control, only to break when there was hope on the horizon. “I didn’t protect him, Zaira.”
Zaira couldn’t fight her instincts. Not here. Not with this man. Going to him, she held his strong, beautiful face between her hands. “You’re only one man,” she reminded him. “You can’t protect us all.”
Aden just looked at her, and she knew the answer: He was their leader. The Arrows were his responsibility.
“No. I’m here.” She couldn’t walk with him into a new way of life, but she could shoulder some of the weight of responsibility. “Tell me what you need.” Breaking the physical contact before she couldn’t, before she went even closer and drew his head down to her own, their lips touching, she stepped back.
Aden shoved a hand through his hair in a rare physical sign of internal agitation. “I’ve been through everything, found nothing.”
“The PsyNet. He could have created a psychic vault.” They were trained not to do that, as even the most intricately built vaults could be penetrated, or might eventually degrade, leaking data into the Net. But—“Edward wasn’t thinking clearly at the end, could’ve broken operating protocol.”
Jaw a hard line, Aden shook his head. “I’ve alerted a PsyNet team to hunt for a psychic vault, but as far as I’m concerned, Edward was thinking very clearly. He didn’t degenerate, didn’t break down. He made a decision and carried it through.”
Zaira could see his point. From what they knew, Edward had come home from his shift, taken a shower, dressed in a fresh uniform, then sat down on his bed and fired the laser pistol at an angle that meant he’d fall back onto the bed.
Making it easy for his body to be carried out and for the blood to be cleaned up. Not a drop had fallen off the mattress.
“He was the perfect Arrow to the end,” Aden said, and she could see the brutal truth of it shredding him from the inside out.
Unable to bear his pain, she looked at the metal trunk at the bottom of the bed. It was where most Arrows kept their belongings.
“I’ve searched that,” Aden said, his voice rough.
“When I was first made an Arrow and given my own quarters, I didn’t trust that I wasn’t being monitored.” She tried to lift up the trunk.
Aden bent down, helped her flip it onto its side. “You stored things below?”
“No. These particular trunks have a gap between the bottom and the floor—I added another panel to create a hidden compartment.” Seeing the smooth wooden surface with its patina of age and marks at the edges, she nodded. “Edward did the same.”
Aden passed her a knife from his boot and she eased the tip under one of the deepest marks.
The false bottom flipped out. Several notebooks fell to the floor.
Picking up one, Zaira opened it. Neat, tidy handwriting filled the pages. “This entry is about an assignment he was given to disrupt the technological advances of a certain human group.” There was no emotion in the report, not even an opinion, just the unembellished details of the op, but the fact that Edward had felt the need to write it down was an answer in itself. As with Zaira’s small, secret treasures, it had been an attempt to hold on to a piece of himself that wasn’t supposed to exist.
Aden had been going through the other notebooks. “I have it,” he said as the notebook in his hand fell open to a blank page. “This must contain his final entry.”
The decision instinctive, Zaira took it from him. “I’ll find it.” Flipping to the page with the final lines of text, she absorbed them, looked up at Aden. His expression was carefully controlled. “Is there an answer?”
Zaira wanted to shield him from it, but there was no way to do so without blinding him to information he needed. She passed over the notebook in silence, the words already embedded in her brain.
I don’t belong in this new world. Like an old and obsolete piece of machinery, it’s time for me to be decommissioned.
Aden read the words three times and still they didn’t make sense to him. “He was part of us,” he said. “We even spoke about the new direction of the training—I wanted him to be one of the head teachers.” Edward had never been violent, never caused a child harm, and in him, Aden had seen a man very similar to Walker Lauren. A man he respected.