Chapter 17 – Edges of the Web
1271 Words
The word “taskforce” follows me out of the conference room like a buzzing fly.
By the time we break, my head feels stuffed with cotton and static. People drift away in clusters—Tharos and Corren murmuring about patrol rotations, Bran already muttering to himself about files, Vael cursing softly under her breath about “Council politics” and “my baby brother volunteering us for stress.”
Erynn squeezes my arm once and peels off toward the clinic.
Darian waits until the room is mostly empty before he moves.
“Walk,” he says quietly, not as an order. An offer.
I nod because words are stuck somewhere behind my tongue.
We end up outside, again, on the back steps where the boards still remember yesterday’s blood and mud. The sky is a flat wash of grey; the forest behind the yard looks like it’s holding its breath.
I sit. Darian stands for a moment, looking at the trees like he wants to punch them, then lowers himself beside me with a wince his pride doesn’t quite hide.
“You can still say no,” he says.
I huff a humorless sound. “Pretty sure we just said yes on three different channels.”
“To the taskforce,” he concedes. “Not to the part where you walk into every fire they point at.”
I turn my head. “You’ll stop me?”
“If I have to.” He doesn’t flinch. “Even if you hate me for it.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. “You’d be an infuriating leash.”
He snorts. “You’re an infuriating free agent. We balance.”
Silence slides between us, rough but familiar.
“…You’re really okay with them putting my name in their reports?” I ask. “Making me… official?”
“No.” His answer is immediate. “I’m not okay with any part of this where Helix knows you exist. But pretending they don’t already hasn’t worked out great.”
The truth of that sits bitter on my tongue.
“Elen’s not wrong,” he adds grudgingly. “If you’re part of this, better to have extra eyes on you. Extra claws ready, if they jump.”
“Plus,” Vael says from behind us, “if they make you Council‑official, Bran gets to file more paperwork. That’s his kink.”
I jump. Darian doesn’t. He just tilts his head back until it bumps the doorframe.
“Do you ever knock?” he asks.
“On what, air?” Vael drops onto the step above us, bracing her forearms on her knees. Her gaze flicks between us, sharp and assessing. “You two look like someone told you the moon exploded.”
“Just rethinking life choices,” I say.
“Too late.” She nudges my shoulder with her boot. “You’re famous now. Council pet project. Helix’s least favorite anomaly. My new excuse to yell at people who don’t respect clinic hours.”
“That last one you already had,” Darian mutters.
“Now it’s upgraded.” Her attention settles on me. “How’s your head?”
“Loud,” I admit.
She grunts. “Good. Means you’re alive. Erynn wants you after this, by the way. She’s frothing at the mouth about ‘structured tests’ and ‘controlled settings.’”
I groan. “Of course she does.”
“She’s not wrong,” Darian says. “If Helix is building strategies around what you can do, we need to understand it better than they do.”
“And faster,” I say.
“And safer,” he adds, pointed.
I swallow. “What exactly are you imagining? ‘Here, Vexa, sit in a room and feel everyone’s feelings until you pass out’?”
“No,” Erynn’s voice says from the doorway.
I don’t even jump this time.
She steps out, wiping her hands on a towel. “More like: here, Vexa, sit in a room with one person whose emotions we can track, and we slowly turn the dial up and down while you learn where your own off switch is.”
“That sounds… less awful,” I say.
“It will still suck,” she says cheerfully. “But with snacks.”
Vael pats my shoulder. “Welcome to the exciting world of not breaking yourself faster than the enemy can.”
“Motivational posters write themselves around here,” I mutter.
Darian’s mouth curves, then flattens again. “We also need to talk to the others,” he says. “The ones you’ve already… touched. Orrik. Milo. Teren. See how what you did feels from their side.”
My stomach flip‑flops. “What if it felt like… intrusion?”
“Then we stop,” he says simply. “Or we learn what not to do. Consent doesn’t stop being a thing because your magic helps us.”
The word magic makes me flinch, but the rest of the sentence steadies me.
I blow out a slow breath. “Okay. Tests. Debriefs. Taskforce. No pressure.”
Vael tilts her head. “You could’ve said no,” she reminds me, not gently. “You didn’t. Don’t minimize that because you’re scared of wanting it.”
Wanting it.
I stare at my hands, at the faint half‑moons still etched into my skin from Milo’s wrists.
“I’m tired of feeling like a problem other people have to solve,” I say quietly. “If they’re going to circle me anyway, I’d rather be at the center for a reason.”
Darian’s hand shifts on the step, knuckles just brushing mine. The bond warms, a steady glow along my bones.
“Then that’s what we build around,” he says.
“Starting now,” Erynn adds briskly. “Ten minutes, clinic. Vael, you’re my first test subject.”
Vael groans. “Why do I suffer for your science?”
“Because you volunteered me for this last night when you told Darian I could ‘probably hack her brain thing,’” Erynn says sweetly. “Consequences.”
Vael grimaces. “I talk too much.”
“Correct.” Erynn points at me. “Finish regretti‑spaghetti about your life in the next nine minutes. Then we work.”
They disappear back inside in a swirl of muttering and towel‑flapping.
The door clicks shut.
Darian and I are alone again with the quiet and the distant heartbeat of the forest.
“Last chance to back out before the medic mafia claims you,” he says.
I let my head fall back against the wall, eyes closing briefly.
Fear is still there.
So is something else.
“I’m in,” I say. “All the way. No half measures.”
He’s silent for a beat. When I open my eyes, his gaze is on me, steady and fierce.
“Then I’m in front of you,” he says. “Every step this takes toward Helix.”
I should tell him that’s too much. That he can’t promise that. That we don’t know what’s coming.
Instead, I let the warmth of it soak into the places that still think I’m on my own.
“Deal,” I say.
He pushes to his feet with a soft curse at his shoulder and offers me a hand up.
I take it.
His grip is warm, solid. The bond hums like a wire drawn just tight enough.
“Come on, Vexa,” he says, almost smiling. “Let’s go see exactly how weird you are.”
- Writer
