Her head swings loose on her neck, rain pooling in the dip between her collarbones and trailing down the neck of her shirt. Her eyes roll under her lids, flickers of her memories appearing to me in distracting flashes through the narrow slits as I stumble through the park gate. Thunder rumbles in the distance. My soaked boots tread through puddles in the street. By the time we make it back to the townhouse, Fleur’s shivering violently.

I kick the front door. A hand peels back the curtain over the sidelight. The face of the same nervous Guard from before appears through the glass. As soon as the door cracks open, I shoulder through it. Fleur’s lips are blue in the dim light of the foyer, and I curse myself for missing the signs. She’s not Gaia. Not a Guard or a god. She’s a Spring, and this weather isn’t warm enough to sustain her.

The Guard locks the door and rushes after us toward the stairs to the cellar. “Is everything okay, Chronos? Can I do something?”

“Stay out of my way.” I shift Fleur upright and sling her over my shoulder. Her dead weight swings against my back as I descend the narrow stairs and pound the button for the elevator. The doors slide open and I heft her inside. Rainwater drips from her hair, spattering the floor, as we make the long trip down.

The Guards in the Crux back away as I emerge from the elevator with Fleur on my shoulder.

“Get Commander Lixue on the phone,” I snap as they part for me. “I want fresh towels, extra blankets, and a change of clothes delivered to my suite. And a meal cart with something hot to drink.”

“Yes, Chronos.” They lower their heads as I brush by. I’ve grown used to it, their aversion to my eye, as if they’re unsure how much I can see in theirs and they’re not willing to take any chances. If I thought they were bowing their heads out of respect for my position, maybe I’d be happier about it. But most of them are doing it because they’re hiding something and terrified of the consequences. The more of my own people I’m surrounded by, the fewer of them I trust. Loyalty motivated by fear is easily won, but those bonds are just as easily broken. Any one of them would turn on me to save their own skin. At least Fleur has the guts to fight me.

One arm around her knees, I use the other to unlock the door with my key card and swing it open. Plaster dust and broken glass still litter the carpets in my suite. It crunches under my boots as I carry Fleur into the bathroom and crank the shower as hot as it will go.