I don’t want to be alone with Roth. He’ll want an update on the Eurydice, and I don’t have much I want to offer. In the time since Council, Anora has become my prime suspect. I’m positive she lied about being from Chicago, thanks to her mom’s slip at lunch, and she recognized my scythe, which means she’s seen it before, and at the mention of Chase Lockwood, she stayed silent—I would have been more convinced she didn’t know him if she’d said so. I might not completely trust her, but I’m willing to listen to her side.

I’ve been told to hand everything on the Eurydice over to Elite Cain, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It could be because it’s Anora and the thought of telling anyone about her feels like betrayal. Or it could just be that I don’t like Roth and I think he wants the Eurydice for his own purposes, but I’m just not sure what those purposes are.

One thing is certain—Anora doesn’t like or trust what she thinks I am, which means if I were to hand her over to the Order, she won’t trust them either, and if she’s going to rid the world of Influence’s hold, we need her on our side. We need her to believe we really will protect her.

Charon knows I have to—there’s no telling what sort of damage her distress will do to my body. Her anxiety already has my chest in knots. More unanswered questions: Why do I have a connection to this human? Is it one-sided? I’ve seen little evidence that she feels the same. Things would probably be a little easier if she did. I wonder if I should ask Jacobi to look into the Eurydice’s history, but that might open up more questions I’m not ready to face. It seems that for now, I’ll just have to suffer on my own.

When I arrive to pick Roth up, he’s standing outside Temple. He throws his bag into the back of my Jeep and says, “Airport.”

“You’re leaving?” I try not to imbue my voice with too much excitement.

“Dad’s taken a turn.” He delivers the news colorlessly—as if he were reporting the weather.

My heart pounds, like it’s asking to exit my body. I don’t have anything to say. I already thought through all the repercussions of Maximus’s death. I glance at Roth. His jaw is set, and he stares straight ahead. I manage a whispered “I’m sorry.”

And I am—for all of us.

“How long will you be gone?” I ask.