Page 158 of I Will Mend You
His words hang in the air. I stare into his profile, my chest squeezing at the weight of his confession. Xero doesn’t give me the chance to answer, turning away before I can process his meaning. By the time we leave the cottage and walk across the darkened lawn and through the trees, I’m still reeling, and his words echo in my mind like lurking ghosts.
Aren’t we almost the same? Delta broke down Xero over several years. Dad did the same to me, with the help of Delta and Charlotte, in the space of months. Xero might be a trained assassin, but my past makes me the closest definition of a serial killer.
We reach the main building, a sprawling log cabin that blends into the forest. A canopy of tall oaks hangs over the roof, creating the impression of a tree house.
Armed guards patrol the perimeter, their silhouettes darting like specters in the dim light. As we step through the main entrance, Xero pulls me closer, his fingers interlacing with mine.
“Charlotte’s in an underground holding cell. What do you want to do with her?” he asks.
“Don’t you need her to access all the adoption records?”
He shakes his head. “Tyler already hacked into them. Another operative is interrogating Becky Taylor to see how much she knows.”
We pass a reception desk at the entrance, manned by two guards, male and female. They nod at Xero as we head deeper into the heart of the building. He stares at the side of my face, waiting for me to object.
“As Dad’s assistant, Becky had a vested interest in being nice to us,” I say. “All I remember about her is a facade.”
Xero nods. “What should we do if she’s involved with the trafficking?”
“She should die,” I reply.
We continue through a hallway lined with wooden panels, dimly lit by soft wall lights. The scent of pine fills the air, mixed with the lingering aroma of cooking. As we advance toward the end, my mouth waters at the mingled smells of roast chicken and freshly baked bread.
“This place is more like a summer camp than Three Fates,” I mutter.
The corners of his mouth lifts into a rueful smile. “We wanted to create a nice atmosphere for the children.”
Xero opens a door to reveal a vast, wood-paneled dining room with two sets of long tables. The girls we rescued sit on the left among only female staff, and the boys on the right sit witha mix. On the far end of the space is a head table on a podium, where Dr. Dixon sits with Isabel and two more of Xero’s people.
“This looks familiar,” I say, lifting my chest with nostalgia.
“Our maintenance staff might have gotten some inspiration fromHarry Potter.” He places a hand on the small of my back and guides me toward a serving hatch to the left of the room.
A middle-aged couple with kind smiles serves us tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and slices of apple pie. The woman adds an extra chicken leg on Xero’s plate before he leads us to the head table.
Isabel scoots down two seats, giving us space to sit in the middle, while Dr. Dixon greets us with a tired nod. Xero settles into the chair next to his Chief Medical Officer, while I sit beside his sister.
“No incidents last night,” the doctor says. “And the young operatives are in excellent health.”
“Children,” Xero mutters, tearing into his grilled cheese.
The older man nods, his gaze settling over the tables. “Although some of them are showing the beginnings of PTSD.”
I lean close, my heart sinking as I scan the dining hall, taking in the haunted looks across both sets of tables.
“A trauma specialist will arrive tomorrow,” Dr. Dixon murmurs.
Xero’s lips tighten. “Do whatever’s needed. We’ll provide the resources.”
The two continue talking in low voices about the logistics of bringing in additional staff and implementing counseling strategies, but my attention is fixed on the children. Not all of them pick at their meals. Others chat with each other and the older staff, although the atmosphere is subdued.
“How are you doing?” Isabel’s voice breaks me out of my musings. I turn to face her, meeting dark eyes filled with concern.
“It’s hard to see them like this,” I say, offering her a weak smile.
Her gaze never leaves mine. “Did returning to the Three Fates Boarding School jog any extra memories?”
“Not as many as getting cold-cocked by your sister.”