I remain in the living room, playing catch with his ball. There’s really no need to think about his offer, I decide. I’m not going to help him with his plan. I’m not going to feed other people’s fears. Archer would rage if I did. There has to be another way to win everyone over.

    As for stopping the war...my chat with Victor has helped me in that regard. I’ve been thinking on too large a scale. Because he’s right about one thing. Want to reach a thousand people? Start with one. That one will help you reach others. Those others will reach others, and so on and so forth.

    A whisper can become a roar.

    Excitement sparks, hotter than before. One by one.

    My first—Dior.

    I can help her. I must. The fate of Troika depends on it.

    * * *

    I head to the Veil of Wings, my spirit tucked securely inside my Shell, Whells strapped all over me. Just in case. My hold is secure. I’m not going to be kicked out by anyone or anything; in fact, I’ll die before I let go. I stayed up all night, practicing with my Shell and reviewing information about Dior, as if I was cramming for a test.

    Before being taken to the safe house, Dior Nichols lived in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. She was a resident at Baptist Hospital, assigned to triage in the ER. On her days off, she played with her dog, Gingerbread, and volunteered at a Myriadian homeless shelter.

    She has a kind heart, almost too good to be true, but her life is far from perfect. Every time she’s helped a Troikan loyalist, Myriad has taken away something precious to her—a right she gave them when she made covenant.

    The once-happy girl is now miserable. Court is her only chance.

    She’s considered killing herself, a notion that cuts deep into my compassion. I want to shake her and say, “Never give up! If you’re breathing, there’s hope!” The only reason Dior hasn’t ended her life is a clause in her contract. Fine print states she’ll have to spend one hundred years locked inside the Kennels if ever she commits suicide.

    One hundred years trapped in a tiny cage.

    Did she not read her contract before signing? Or did she just not care at the time?

    I know how Killian won her over, at least. He approached her when she was at her most vulnerable, after her father, her only guardian, had broken his spine in a car accident. After multiple surgeries, his health had declined and death seemed imminent.

    Archer told her: Trust us to make it right.

    And she had. For a little while. But the situation had grown worse instead of better. At least in Dior’s eyes. As a human, she hadn’t seen the things happening in the spirit realm. The small fixes for big changes being set into motion.

    Killian told her: No more waiting. Your father will walk out of the hospital, and he’ll go home today. Just sign here.

    Patience is a virtue for a reason.

    Impatient, she’d done it, and her father had walked out of the hospital, as promised. Only, he’d collapsed right outside the doors, his heart bursting from strain. He’d died right there on the dirty concrete.

    He’d gone home, again as promised, but he’d gone home to Myriad, his realm of choice. Another reason she’d agreed to their terms. She’d wanted to spend her Everlife with her beloved father.

    What Killian did to her...it was ugly. So very ugly. To hurt Archer, he distorted the truth in the worst possible way. A despicable act from a despicable boy who’d laughed in Archer’s face immediately after Dior made covenant—laughed at the heartache he’d caused.

    I know deep in my heart he isn’t that boy anymore, but I’m still sickened by his actions—which makes me angry with myself. Who am I to judge anyone for anything? I’ve made mistakes. Many, many mistakes. I’ve hurt people, unintentionally and intentionally. I’ve killed people. I’ve ruined lives and broken up families.

    I never want people to judge me for the person I used to be, so I shouldn’t judge Killian for the person he used to be.

    Troikan rule one: love everyone, even yourself.

    Troikan rule two: forgive everyone, even yourself.

    I get it now. Though there are many other laws, number one is the be all and end all. The reason for the other rules. Number two helps us do the first.

    I’m not dealing with Past Killian anymore. I’m dealing with Present Killian. He’s searching for Dior right now, and he won’t stop until he finds her. It’s his job. Chances are, we’re going to fight. And fight hard, just as he warned.

    No matter what, I will do what needs doing. I’ll do what’s right, and I won’t quit.

    Victor, Clay and Elizabeth beat me to the Veil of Wings. Elizabeth won’t meet my gaze. Meredith’s description of her life rings in my head, and I begin to melt.

    I destroyed her in the worst possible way.

    Everyone is in a brand-new Shell, dressed in a plain T-shirts and a pair of jeans. The Shells look as if they were made with wax, making it obvious they are, in fact, Shells. But then, we aren’t supposed to blend in with humans today. We are supposed to stand out.

    I stop beside Clay, who clasps my hand and squeezes.

    “How does this work?” he asks. This is his first mission, too.

    “Madame Meredith has a lock on our Shells,” Victor says. “As soon as we step through the Veil, she’ll send us on a beam of Light to a specific location in the Land of the Harvest. Clay and I will stand guard outside the safe house, along with a hundred or so Laborers we probably won’t be able to see. They’re already in place, and Reed is among them.”

    “You, Numbers.” Elizabeth snaps her fingers without glancing my way. “You will observe Dior inside the safe house. The goal is to learn the feel of your Shell in the Land of the Harvest and communicate with your teammates without alerting humans you’re doing so.” Finally her gaze meets mine. Her eyelids narrow to tiny slits, her lashes nearly fusing together. “Remain calm at all times. Fear draws Myriadians like flies.”