All citizens, no matter their pedigree, no matter their accomplishments or education or proofs of loyalty . . . all had been treated the same. The Godhead loved their people, but they loved the ultimate survival of their people even more. Perhaps it was irony, but for the Godhead to survive, with subjects on whom they could bestow their love and grace and beauty, others—and this couldn’t be said with more clarity—others had to die. Those who dissented. Those who resented. Those who rebelled. Namely, the ones who simply did not understand the majestic leap of humanity the Godhead had planned. Planned for decades.

Having come full circle with her thoughts, Alexandra shifted on her cool stone chair and stared with dry eyes at the black pane of the open Box, the doors slid into their side compartments. Darkness shone from beneath that open space, as if the negative of light itself, beaming into the air with thick, oily blackness that could destroy all brightness in its path.

Alexandra stood up and walked to the squared edge of empty air, its depth impossible to discern in such darkness. But her servants had been down there, scoured its every inch, found nothing. She tried to clear her throat but a rough saw of ice had seemingly lodged itself there, making every breath painful. She needed to leave. Immediately. The sacred demeanor of the Godhead mattered most, even above her own desires, for now. She couldn’t show the slightest weakness. Digits, breathing techniques, whatever it took. Sometimes she laid her hands softly in her lap, as if a princess resting in peace, all the while digging sharp and deep into her own palm with a nail.

Mikhail had promised her. Promised her. He swore not to open the Box until he, Nicholas, and Alexandra met together and made plans, set a path. She didn’t feel they were ready, and she had the raw confidence in herself to convince Nicholas of that, if not the ever-growing fanatic, Mikhail. Besides that, every decision made by the Godhead was supposed to be unanimous. Unanimous or nothing. That had been their creed and should always be their creed. So regardless of Mikhail’s unstable promises, the Box should not have been opened. Period. Not only had she not agreed to it, she hadn’t even been asked—at least not by Nicholas, their leader.

They were cutting her out.

A terrible thought. A wringing, horrible thought. But it hovered there, in her mind, almost a tangible, touchable thing. She could almost see it, floating in her vision, and it looked a lot like Mikhail. What had she done? Where had she gone wrong? Why was Nicholas hiding from her, making excuses not to see her? The glorious vision of her world seemed to be collapsing, the pieces falling, the pieces getting larger.

She heard a cough.