Chester takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly.
Releases the stranglehold on his anger just enough to try and see the situation from Obie’s point of view.
Obie still wants to take the Sanctum down. He never compromised on that. But, like he said, he’s seen empires rise and fall. He doesn’t have that same urgency, that samedeadline,that Chester has.
Because Chester is human. He’smortal.If he’s lucky, he might have another eighty years. That’s all the time he has to bring the Sanctum to its knees, all the time he has to make sure they know their perfect prototype is the one who destroyed them.
But, in Obie’s mind, eighty years isn’t his deadline for dismantling the Sanctum.
Eighty years is the only time he’ll ever get with Chester.
The realization makes Chester’s chest feel tight all over again.Thatwas where they fell apart this morning.Thatwas what they couldn’t figure out how to say. When Chester said that he wanted to spend the rest of his life taking down the Sanctum, he meant that he wanted to do thatwithObie, to work towards thatwithObie, to make it his life’s goalwithObie?—
But Obie probably thought that Chester meant Obie would always be secondary to Chester’s vengeance. That Obie could never have all of Chester, because part of him would always be prioritizing that mission.
That their sixth love language meant more to Chester than Obie himself did.
Hell. If someone told Chester that, he would’ve walked out on them, too. He feels sick at the thought. Yes, getting revenge on the Sanctum will be one of the sweetest days of his life, but?—
But it won’t mean anything if he doesn’t have Obie right there beside him.
Chester reaches for his cell phone, already mentally writing an apology text, before he remembers with a flash of irritation that he and Obie still haven’t exchanged numbers. With the binding spell and their joint goals keeping them in such close proximity, there was never any reason for it.
He desperately hopes that Obie doesn’t spend the whole day fuming over Chester’s words. If he does, though, then Chester isn’t above getting down on his knees and begging for forgiveness.
He’s not giving up on them this easily. Not after everything they’ve been through, not after everything they’ve overcome.
Not without trying again.
“Locke.” Chester is so lost in thought that he starts with surprise at the voice, whipping his head around. Safadi is striding up to Chester’s table, a stack of manila folders in his hand. “You’re needed early in the prison today.”
“Early?” Chester repeats, shoving a last bite of toast into his mouth and pushing himself to his feet. “Is something wrong?”
“We’re short-staffed, as usual,” Safadi says. “A few high-priority demons arrived two hours ago, which means our spellcasters are busy revamping the prison’s anti-magic spells, which means there’s a backlog of demons for testing, which means—well, you get the picture.”
Chester’s stomach churns. “They don’t need more interrogators, right?”
He knows the words were a mistake the instant Safadi’s eyes narrow. “I thought you were trying to get backoninterrogation duty, Locke.”
“I am,” Chester lies hastily, “but—but I was hoping to, um, watcha few of the senior interrogators at work today. Pick up some tricks to avoid any future mistakes, you know?”
After a long, tense moment, Safadi shakes his head. “You’re not going to have time for that today. The prison is almost at full capacity—only one spare interrogation room left—so we need all available auxiliary staff to manage our operations.”
Auxiliary staff.Relief floods through Chester. After the night he just shared with Obie, he doesn’t think he could stomach torturing a demon right now—probably not ever again. “Understood. What’s my assignment?”
“Halls 7 and 8,” Safadi says, handing Chester the stack of folders, and Chester fights back a wince. He and Obie were in Hall 8 last night. “And don’t screw it up. We have a new arrival that’sverywell known, and the Council wants her interrogation to go off without a hitch.”
The words pique Chester’s interest. Idly, he flips through the folders. “Really? Who is?—?”
He reaches the last file.
His heart drops.
Safadi doesn’t seem to notice. “Magdalena Khan,” he says casually, and he turns on his heel. “Let’s get moving, Locke. We have work to do.”
Chester stares down at the picture of Maggie Khan, of the demon who started World War I and has a fondness for Nack Bar George’s boneless wings and always indulges the twins’ bickering and is Obie’sfriend—and Chester’s, too—before swallowing down his nausea and jogging after Safadi, his mind already racing at a thousand miles per hour.
Looks like Obie is going to get the future he wanted for them sooner than he anticipated.
