Chapter 7

Rook felt herself slipping from the dark emptiness of unconsciousness into the weird in-between of sleep and wake, but when she blinked her bleary eyes open she could see nothing but an endless grey-green fog and the fluttering of little orange butterflies waltzing with airborne sparkles. Her head buzzed like it harbored a nest of bees, and she tried to shake them out, but found her limbs too heavy to move. A frustrated grumble just barely managed to make it past her numb lips. Someone shushed her from inside the mist, gently but with a teary hitch at the end, before a warm hand lightly pressed itself to her hair, smoothing it down. A pleasant tingle followed the touch, and Rook sighed out in gratitude as it coaxed her back out into the darkness.

When she woke again, it was in the aftermath of a dream where she was wrapped in a cloud, happily floating over the mountains far away from anything important or anybody trying to ask her to do things for them. Rook groaned as her head throbbed and burrowed herself deeper into the cloud, but recoiled when it earned her a mouthful of fluff. As awareness crept back in, Rook took inventory of the various familiar aches that came with sobering up from the Bliss… yet the pain in her back that usually came from waking up in a field or at the base of a mountain was suspiciously lacking. And whatever she was laying on was far, far more comfortable than her usual bunker bed, couch or pilfered sleeping bag on the cold hard ground than Rook was used to. Maybe it was a cloud.

Frowning at her own stupid thought, Rook forced her eyes open, blinking wearily up at the logged wooden ceiling, the cozy ceiling lamps lighting a dull orange glow in the room. She tried to glance around, but found herself surrounded by what looked to be half a dozen pillows, so she braced herself against the ache in her muscles and sat up. A fluffy grey-white throw had been tucked carefully around her, which slid off her shoulders with the motion, and the tickle of it on her bare arms made her realize someone had taken off her jacket, leaving her in nothing more than a dirty tank top. Her frown deepened as her fingers fondled the softness, trying to wrack her brain for who in the Resistance could own something so nice. It wasn't Nick and Kim's—their house, while nice, was not this nice, least of all after being ransacked by Peggies. Then who the fuck—?

She got her answer when a quick glance out the window above her bed saw a very familiar-looking building, its watchtower and wrought iron fencing lit a warm red-gold by a hanging lantern in the dark of night. Rook had stared long enough at that building months ago, figuring out how to free Nick Rye's plane from right under John Seed's nose, to know who that hangar belonged to, and it happened to be the person her Blissed-out ass had just made out with.

Shit.

Rook struggled to shove the blanket off her and hurl herself out of bed—John Seed's bed—cursing a second time when her legs got tangled in the fluffy monstrosity and caused her to tumble with a thump onto the cream carpet. Spitting out her loose hair, she froze in place at the shockingly loud noise, heart drumming against her ribcage as she waited for someone to come running (please God not him) to check on her, but all she could hear was the muted chatter of Peggies and the dull drone of one of their shitty songs being broadcasted on loop, too faint to make out which one.

Exhaling the breath she'd been hoarding, Rook shoved the blanket off her and left it in a haphazard pile on the floor as she stood, carefully creeping on bare feet (who the fuck took her boots?) around the absurdly large room. A cursory glance around the room yielded none of her gear, not even her damn socks, but the room's layout positively screamed John. The bedside table held the wilting flowers that had likely been pulled from her hair, a bottle of expensive-looking cologne and one of those knock-off Peggie Bibles with actual sticky notes curling out of the pages. A carved desk sat under one of the windows, piled with documents and fancy pens and a little model plane, a framed picture of the Seed family resting against the wall. Little sketches of what looked like tattoo designs were shoved off to the side, of birds of paradise and the scales of justice and what looked like the Eden's Gate symbol in the eyes of a weeping angel—beautiful, in a way, and a little morbid considering the circumstances. Likely intended for himself or his brothers as she'd never seen him do more than scribble angry sins on other people.

Rook resisted the urge to snoop through his things any further and scanned her surroundings for exits, finding three doors. One she knew from her last jaunt led to the balcony, where there would undoubtedly be Peggies patrolling, and when she carefully turned the handle of the nearest one she found an en suite with actual marble counters inlaid with gold. Letting out another curse, Rook made her way over to the last door and repeated her painfully slow effort to turn the handle silently. A peek through the crack made her almost slam it shut again—of fucking course she had a guard—but she pressed her ear to the wood when the brief moment the door was open allowed for the sounds of her soulmate's voice calling out from downstairs to waft in.

John sounded positively heartbroken. She couldn't quite make out what his exact words were, but whatever they were, he was upset, almost in tears. She stubbornly swallowed down the lump of empathy that rose up and pushed herself closer, struggling to hear.

"…not worthy," she managed to catch, mostly because he half-cried it. There were more garbled mutters before she heard the words, "…almost hurt her, Joseph. How can…?"

"…greatest of us make mistakes as well, John," came Joseph's much calmer voice, carrying slightly better than John's choked mumbling. "You must put aside… grateful for this gift from God…"

"Oh fuck," Rook whispered to herself as panic set in, stumbling away from the door.

It finally hit her in that moment what she'd done. Never mind the foggy memories of kissing John Seed—she spoke to him, before the too-strong pull of the Bliss claimed her like always (and if she weren't too busy trying not to hyperventilate, she might have found the irony of his soul mark being 'no' absolutely hilarious). Judging from Joseph's reassurances, everything she feared was about to come true—they were going to keep her with them, lock her up somewhere so she'd be 'safe', while they wreaked havoc on the county. She could cross John hurting her off her list of fears, at least, but the thought of being an exotic thing to be cooed at as a 'gift from God' a mile below the earth while her friends were being slaughtered on the surface was somehow worse.

She had to get the fuck out of here.

Stumbling over her own feet, Rook hurried over to the balcony's double doors, pressing her face to the glass and hissing when she spotted not one, but four Peggie guards, one even manning the fucking mounted gun like they expected a small army to come after her. Well, that wasn't totally implausible, but it sure as hell did hamper any chance of escape. Trying to tamp down on her rising panic, Rook hurried over to the windows on the opposite side, which overlooked little more than the woods and a small firepit surrounded by lounge chairs and an actual mortar, of all the things to have in a backyard ensemble. She'd crouched before in that crop of desert yellow daisies, using it as cover to sneak her way over to the hangar where they'd stashed Carmina. A movement plan formed in her mind as Rook circled the windows in search of a latch. There was also the problem of being on the second story, too high up off the ground to jump down without help.

Scowling, Rook glanced back around the room for anything she could use to grapple, eyes landing on a tall oak dresser set next to a pair of louvered closet doors, which she beelined for. A line of silk shirts that had actual luxury names on the tags (fancy douchebag) was organized into various colors, though he seemed to favor blues, grays and blacks. She had to abruptly order herself to stop ruminating of John's fashion choices before yanking a fistful of them off their hangers. Was this delicate material strong enough to make a grapple out of? A quick attempt to rip one of John's sleeves failed, so with a satisfied nod Rook set to work tying them into knots, hoping they were sturdy enough not to slip on her descent.

The sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs outside made Rook freeze in place for a split second, having only tied four shirts together so far. Her mind instantly flitted to John coming to check on her, but there was also the possibility of Joseph coming to preach again or a wayward Peggie deciding she needed to die despite the 'will of the Father' or whatever the hell they called it—she encountered Peggies trying to kill her on a daily basis despite his so-called will, after all. Shoving the pile of shirts off her lap, Rook quickly scanned the room for weapons and hastily snatched up a heavy brass table lamp, prepping it like a bat over her shoulder as she crouched behind the open doors of the closet.

The door opened, the footsteps paused abruptly after noticing the empty bed, and Rook seized her chance and leapt out of the closet, brandishing the lamp.

Her assailant was quicker and nowhere near as Bliss-weakened, blocking the blow with his arm before shoving her by her shoulders against the wall. The brass lamp clattered to the floor and rolled away, the bulb shattering on whatever it knocked against, but Rook couldn't be assed to look because her soulmate was clutching onto her bare skin like it was the only thing keeping him alive, John's touch searing through her like a lightning bolt that fired every nerve in her body.

It was a thousand times better than the Bliss-dampened experience they shared, especially since Rook was sober enough to hear the heartbreaking cry of pleasured anguish he let out from the mere feel of her. She matched the noise and shoved her ungloved hands into his hair, already left messy and unkempt, dragging her fingertips over his scalp in a pleasing drag that caused him to let out another cry, and she vaguely wondered why she even bothered wearing gloves to begin with when she could have had this all along. She'd always wondered what his hair would feel like—it always looked so well-kept. She had imagined it would either feel slightly sticky from his styling product or unbearably soft from all his attentions, and she was pleased to find the latter theory to be true.

In the shock of the pleasure, John's warm, strong hands had frozen on her shoulders, but now they travelled, one hand gathering her hair to the side so he could dip his face into her neck, breathing her in, while the other hand slipped under her shirt to greedily caress her bare back. She shivered so hard from the jolt of pleasure it brought that John moaned again and shunted his hips forward, grinding the seam of his jeans against her hip. Rook couldn't help but jerk back, her core throbbing when she felt the warm slide of his tongue down the slope of her neck, and she'd never thought of someone licking at her throat as 'reverent' before, but that was what it was this time, as if he'd been dreaming of nothing else but to taste the ambrosia of her skin. As his mouth latched gently around a spot under her ear, the soft suckle paralleled by the deliciously rough scrape of his beard and the hard press of his erection into her hip, Rook got tired of being the only one not taking advantage of bare skin and tore her hands from his hair to yank his silky shirt out of his jeans. Shivering, she trailed her fingers through the soft hairs up towards his chest and thumbed at the raised lines of his many tattoos. He ground against her harder, his little moans vibrating pleasantly against her throat, but stilled in his groping when Rook dragged her hand back teasingly towards the hem of his jeans with every intention to solve his desperation.

With a noise that Rook could have only described as agony incarnate, John shoved himself off of her so abruptly he stumbled backwards, the back of his legs colliding with the bedframe. At first she balked at the loss, like everything good had just leaked out of her in his absence, but she stopped herself from reaching for him when he shook his head violently.

"No," he half-shouted, and the shock of his abrupt tone caused Rook's pleasure-addled head to snap sharply back to reality, remembering why this was a very, very bad idea. She recoiled in horror as what she'd just done properly sank in, but John must have taken it as him scaring her or something, because his eyes widened and he reached his hands out, stammering, "I'm sorry, I… I shouldn't have… I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's a bit late for that, asshole," Rook snapped, shocking them both with how hellishly furious she sounded, even with the tremble in her voice from still being keyed up.

She almost regretted it when he looked absolutely crushed, head ducked and dark brows drawn together in a more shameful expression than Joseph's scoldings could ever hope to accomplish. Her hands itched to reach out again, smooth away the sadness with the pleasure their bond could bring, but she stopped the urge by crossing her arms in a poor imitation of indifference.

"Thought you weren't allowed to trespass into your family's territory," she snarked. "Is Daddy Joseph mad at you?"

She was being a dick, but it felt satisfying to watch him frown while her limbs still ached from coming out of the Bliss cold turkey.

"I wanted to see you," he mumbled with absolutely zero embarrassment, and Rook had to actively fight the ensuing blush in case he looked up and saw it. "Faith arranged it. She… wished to help."

She snorted—some fucking help she'd provided. Faith had singlehandedly managed to close the distance Rook had been trying so hard to keep between herself and her soulmate, broke down the walls she put up to keep her desire for him at bay, and coaxed Rook out of her vow of silence in barely a few minutes… or hours. It was hard to tell in the Bliss.

"Where's my gun?" Rook barked, before this could go on any further.

John's eyes flicked up and hastily returned once more to the floor, like a chastened schoolboy. "In the front hall."

"You got your lackeys guarding it, or just the fucker behind the door?"

"I…"

He looked so lost that Rook had to turn away before she did something stupid, like blurt out an apology. Without another word, she stormed over to the door and yanked it open, taking advantage of the element of surprise and giving her would-be guard a skull-shattering sucker punch to the temple. He dropped like a stringless puppet in a heap at the top of the stairs, but Rook didn't have time to snatch up his gun to deal with the rest of them likely crawling around in her way before John seized ahold of her waist with an almost weightless touch, taking care not to touch her skin and paying absolutely no attention to his now unconscious man.

"Wait, please," he said urgently—again with the begging. "Don't go yet."

"What do you want?" Rook scowled, as he abruptly let go of her.

"Answers, Little Wra—Deputy." He stumbled over his words, sounding for a brief moment like his old angry, demanding self with the half-finished nickname. "I'm—we are… soulmates. This is what Joseph meant. This is why you would not speak to me, why you wouldn't let me touch you."

Rook shrugged with a nonchalance she did not feel, itching to either throw herself into his arms or get the fuck out of here, with an astonishingly equal desire for both. To her surprise, he laughed, in a bizarre, unsmiling way that set Rook on edge in the same way as that cold, empty smile.

"This is why I could not stop thinking of you," he exclaimed bluntly, gripping his own throat like he had suddenly been granted air he'd long been denied. "I thought… you were some kind of devil woman, sent to tempt me off the Path, a-a perfect creation to match me in every way and lead me back into sin. Why didn't I guess…? It makes so much sense."

"Um," Rook replied awkwardly, because what the fuck was she supposed to say to that?

"When did you know?" he demanded suddenly, his gaze solidifying on her. "How long have you known? When did I—when did I speak your mark? At the river, at-at your Cleansing?"

John's eyes were wide and imploring as questions he undoubtedly had brewing for hours rolled out, but Rook let out a humorless laugh at the memory, her face hardening into a glare that in no respects had to be forced.

"The first thing you did after you spoke my words, John," she hissed, "was try to drown me." Her words looked like they were the steps to John's own personal hell, as his expression crashed back down into steady agony, but Rook wasn't about to let that stop her. "And you would've fucking done it too, if Joseph hadn't stopped you."

"If I had known—" he pleaded.

"Drowning people who aren't your soulmate is also not fucking okay, John!" she half-shouted, still conscious under her rage of attracting Peggie attention. "Neither is skinning people, or dressing them up like fucking puppets and stringing them to billboards, or torturing my friends, or even a fraction of the horrific shit you and your fucked-up family have been doing!"

He crumpled a little more under every accusation she threw his way, shutting his eyes in the face of her wrath, but Rook would not be deterred.

"You're proud of how you tortured Joey," she snarled. "You broadcasted it over your outposts like they were the same as that pseudo-inspirational Peggie bullshit your family always plays. Did you get off on hurting her, John?"

"No," he protested vehemently, reaching his hands out to her but snatching them back when he remembered himself. "I wasn't… it was always to save—"

"Don't you fucking dare tell me it was all to save her! The only way she'd ever be safe is if she was as far away from you as possible!"

"Pain is necessary to repent… to atone…" he tried to insist, but it came out more like a hiss, like his throat was closing against his will.

"And who taught you that, John? Was it Joseph? Or was it the fuckers who tortured a child because he didn't do exactly what they wanted all the time?"

It was a low blow, and Rook knew it, but goddamn if it didn't feel a little satisfying watching him deflate as the realization hit him that he was repeating his parents' mistakes, that he was a perfect amalgamation of them, just with a different face.

"I know I am not a good man," he whispered, while she stood there and panted from her spiel. "Not even Joseph could save me—I always knew that. I never thought I deserved to find my soulmate, and so I never thought I would." To Rook's surprise, he stepped aside and waved at the open door in a sluggish gesture, eyes staring listlessly somewhere off to the side. "Go, before I poison you further."

She was about to protest—why, Rook would later question, because it was exactly what she wanted… sort of—but he silenced her with that look again, the one that boasted a bottomless well of infinite sadness in the blue of his eyes.

"But, please," he begged, and Rook swallowed, "please, when the Collapse is upon us, come and find me. I will keep you safe. I want… I need you to be safe. Please."

She ducked her head away to avoid looking at him and his eyes as a lump rapidly rose in her throat. Before she could make a promise she without a doubt would never keep, Rook turned her back on him and beelined for the stairs, snatching up the fallen Peggie's gun and scouting the perimeter like she wasn't falling to pieces inside. Her chin trembled as she found her gear in a carefully folded pile against the curtained windows near the open door, and with her essentials reclaimed (and her boots yanked back on) Rook sneaked out between the flowers and hopped over the wooden fence to slide down into the hills of the forest. Nobody called after her, either in alarm or in longing.

Tears painted an abstract mess of greens and browns in her eyes as she ran to freedom.

Everything after that night felt anticlimactic, in a strange way, like all the urgency in Rook's life had been depleted the moment she spoke John's mark, woke in his house, shouted at him and then fled his presence.

It was bizarre, Rook thought as she trudged down the giant hill leading away from the PIN-K0 radar station. It had been her latest stop in a long line of what should have been tense situations—sniping Peggies, darting through bushes to remain unseen, sabotaging their alarm boxes—and yet she felt nothing. The radar station had even been ambushed by several choppers' worth of Peggies eager to stop her from sabotaging the satellite dishes still broadcasting to the enemy, but the way Rook ran and ducked for cover, hurled C4 and dynamite and lined up rocket shots could be described more as instinct, or basic programming for an emotionless killing machine blindly following its coding.

And where before the thought of going up against the Peggies made her absurdly anxious for fear John would pluck her from her solitude into his unyielding grip, she felt nothing. She hadn't bothered to call anybody in days as she stormed her way through the mountains alone, singlehandedly taking on challenges she would have once called herself stupid for not calling in backup for, and yet emerging victorious every time. Even in the midst of carnage, wildfires blazing from molotovs and bullets thumping into her bulletproof vest, Rook was calm, the piece of herself that was supposed to feel something having been left behind with John Seed.

She expected the kind of hell she was raising in the Whitetail Mountains to catch Jacob's attention, as it always had. Jacob wasn't as patient with her as his other siblings—when she fucked up his stuff, he didn't wait until she had worn him down into frustration like John, or slip into her head to whisper what the 'right thing to do' was like a child being offered encouragement, as Faith did. When word of her carnage reached Jacob, he sent his men to shoot an arrow through her leg and dragged her back into his trials like a perfunctory soldier punishing an insubordinate cadet.

But not this time. Rook was left to destroy the rest of his beacons, take all his remaining outposts, steal back Whitetail hostages and pretty much anything else she could think of to fuck with the cult for the better part of a week. Nobody came after her—hell, the Peggies' attempts to defend their shit were reminiscent of John's men's best efforts (in other words, slightly pathetic) compared to their usual skill. She tried to seize the advantage, mowing down whoever and whatever Eden's Gate-related thing that could be used to so much as stub a Resistance toe, without fear of much more repercussion than a few defensive bullets shot at her in vain by on-the-ground Peggie soldiers.

Once she even attempted a solo assault on the Veteran's Center itself, a feat that should have alerted her to something being wrong with her head. She had hoped to sneak into the compound by scaling the northern cliffs with her grappling hook and lowering herself into a window, so she could finally rescue Staci as she'd failed to do with Joey. But as she approached the compound, her vision tinged red in a way she didn't understand until she got close enough to hear that inbred-looking ginger fuck was playing 'Only You' on loop over the loudspeakers.

She only had to wake up once on her back in the middle of the woods, the blood of someone (or something) painting her hands and face, the taste of it on her lips, before she decided to never risk that again.

It was almost disturbing how out of character it was for the burnt-up bastard not to send everything he had after her… but she was sure she knew the reason. If Joseph knew she and the youngest Seed were soulmates—and the barely overheard conversation at the ranch had indeed confirmed so—big brother Jacob was sure to know too. She wasn't sure how to feel about the thought that John had probably pleaded with his family not to hurt her, despite her determination to ruin their work and put an end to the pain they were causing, but the odd numbness at leaving him behind kept that mostly in check.

Yet despite this likely being the reason for Rook being allowed to wage her one-woman war on their kingdom of death, she never heard a word from any of them. Jacob was a quiet thing, even when he was coaxed into hitting her up over the radio or broadcasting over the outpost PAs, his voice always a low, rumbling murmur like he was talking inside your head. But he never so much as hit her up to call her 'weak' in the time she'd spent tearing up his region. She'd even half-expected Faith to twitch into her vision every time a barrel in the mountains exploded too close to her face, teary-eyed and pleading for her to soothe his hurt, his pain, like in the Bliss. At the very least, she thought Joseph would scold her like he had that night at Sharky's place, for spurning his brother despite their supposedly God-given bond—shit, if anything would piss that shirtless fucker off, it'd be going against what God literally had written into their skin. She spent days flicking between frequencies, in case John decided he wasn't so frightened of 'poisoning her' as he'd thought and wanted to speak to her again, tell her of his past some more, even offer apologies for what he'd done to Joey and the Valley, not that she was hoping.

But there was nothing. There was always nothing.

And yet, there was a (small) part of Rook that was worried. Not about herself—God only knew if she even had the capacity to care about her own safety anymore—but about John. His sadness haunted her dreams where his evil smiles and cold stares did before, the combination of the awful stories of his past and the way he seemed to crumble away with every accusation of evil she hurled at him warping into nightmares. Sometimes it was Rook herself beating him as a sobbing child instead of his parents, or shooting him down from the sky in Nick Rye's plane with his dying words being her name as he fell to earth, or ignoring his desperate screams as she walked without hesitation into a fiery apocalypse to be burnt, blistered and swept away in a shower of embers and ash, his cries of anguish following her into the wind.

John claimed she haunted his dreams, but Rook felt it was a mutual exchange between two ghostly shells of human beings.

It was just one of the ways her irrational concern over this sadistic, broken man pierced through the veil of indifference that had settled over Rook throughout the last few days. The look of utter despair on his face, when he professed his lack of worth in the face of her justice, made Rook realize that she could easily break this man, with a thousand times less effort than his parents. Maybe she already had. Would he turn back to drugs, or 'sin' as he preferred to call it, with nothing left to lose? Would he slowly destroy himself each hour Rook refused to run back to him?

Did he miss her? Is that what that empty little feeling in the pit of her stomach was whenever she thought about him?

"Sharky to the Dep," came from her new jacket pocket, startling Rook out of her melancholic reverie. "Uh, it's Sharky… Shit, I said that already, my bad… Um, if you can hear us, me 'n' Hurky been hangin' around the 8-Bit waitin' for ya to call us in for more ride-or-die, anti-Peggie shenanigans, if ya catch my drift."

"Yeah man, what gives?" Hurk asked in his blunt way. "Don't you like us no more?"

A twinge of guilt managed to make its way through the fog of nothingness, and Rook gripped her radio. "I love you guys. You know that."

"Aw shucks, you flatterer you," she heard Hurk respond, prompting her to smile a little, and Sharky chirped, sounding much more pleased, "Well then, what do ya say we come up there and help you raise some Fearsome Threesome hell?"

"I told you, that ain't the name we were goin' with, I was gonna—"

Rook ignored them as they devolved into their usual good-natured squabbling, pondering the situation. They were undoubtedly going to ask questions once they got here, and she considered whether or not she wanted that badly to keep it from them. Rook sighed without letting them hear, wracking her mind for something to entertain them without needing anything too complicated… or quiet.

"How about you meet me at the ranger station? I found one of the bases where Jacob's keeping his helicopters and I've been meaning to drop a bomb on 'em."

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" whooped Hurk.

"I'm-a bring my flamethrower for this!" Sharky hollered.

The two sounded so goddamn pleased about seeing her again (or blowing things up—she wasn't sure whether she won out over that) that it brought about a wider, more genuine smile, the muscles in Rook's face twitching with the effort after a week of nothing but stone-cold expressions. She slipped her radio back into her pocket and turned on her heels to begin heading east, spending the long walk there bracing herself for the questioning to come.

When she found them already at the Whitetail Park Ranger Station, Hurk in the middle of trying to teach Sharky how to jump into the jeep window like the Dukes of Hazzard, they lit up with goofy grins that Rook couldn't help but chuckle at and swept her into their trademarked bear hugs like she wasn't carrying fifty pounds of death-related equipment in holsters on nearly every part of her body.

And then, sure enough, the questions came.

"Grace 'n' Jess said you disappeared after y'all finished tearin' up the water treatment plant before you popped up here," Sharky inquired, as they trudged north towards the helicopter compound. "Did Jacob snatch ya at the border or somethin'?"

"You don't look starved to me," Hurk commented as he gave her a look-over like a concerned parent. "Has been a while though. How you feelin', Dep?"

"I'm fine. Faith got me in the Bliss," Rook explained tiredly, half-wishing they'd just get attacked so she wouldn't have to think about John for the thousandth time. Despite her wish, they continued to frown with confusion, so she sighed and admitted, "John was there. He knows."

"John was—wait, the fuck?" Sharky spluttered, and while he was dealing with the revelation Hurk blurted out, "He knows? As in he knows you're two halves of a whole soul, handpicked by the good but lesser non-primate Lord, tied for eternity, that kinda shit?"

"How the fuck did that happen?" Sharky exclaimed, once he'd gathered his thoughts.

Rook shrugged and continued skulking towards her destination like she hadn't been thinking about that day for her every waking (and otherwise) moment. "He came to the Bliss. I was a fuckin' moron and he found out."

"Well, what'd ya say?" Hurk asked.

"Nothing? Kind of. I yelled a bit and then I left."

"So basically, 'get fucked, I'm out'?"

"I guess."

The two whistled, and Hurk said a bit hollowly, "Damn, Rook, that's cold. I mean, I know he like, deserves it and whatnot," he added hastily, when Rook shot him a cool side glance. "But… man, that's your soulmate. I didn't even know you could tell one of those to take a hike."

"What the fuck did you guys expect me to do?" she snapped, crossing her arms. "Fall into his arms like one of those horny Harlequin damsels?"

"I didn't know you read comic books, Dep!" exclaimed Hurk with childish delight, but before Rook could do more than shoot him an exasperated look Sharky added, "Is that why he's been so quiet lately?"

Rook paused in her tracks. "What do you mean?"

"Well, for a bit I was hangin' around at the Ryes' place, 'cause of Kim bein' near her due date 'n' all—" Rook's gut clenched with guilt at not being there to protect her, and she almost wished she were still too numb to feel it, "—only Johnny Walker hasn't been seen in about a week or so, a little after you disappeared. Oh wait," Sharky exclaimed, once the pieces apparently slotted into place. "Was that when y'all were gettin' hitched for eternity in the Bliss?"

Rook sent him a look so sharp he could have cut himself on it, but granted him a half-shrug half-nod. "What about his Peggies?"

"Oh, they're a fuckin' mess," Sharky exclaimed. "Half of 'em are gone. It's almost like old times down there, 'cept for half the houses bein' burnt down and everybody mostly holed up at Fall's End."

"Wait, what?" Rook frowned. "Where did they go?"

"To that bunker, I think? They're barely around the outposts anymore, anyway. Shit, we were able to blow up the Catamount mines without ya Dep, place was so badly defended. Kidnappings have slowed down to a halt too. From what I hear, Johnny boy's still doin' some of his little baptisms, but he just sends whoever he's got back out."

"I heard from Tyler Stone that he talked a lot about repentance and shit," Hurk remarked. "Said somethin' about God being the one to judge them now, if they don't choose atonement on their own or whatever. He was just glad he didn't have to go down into that bunker."

She could almost picture John ankle-deep in the river where it all began, brows arched up in sadness as he preached off-book with sorrow and a muted brand of his usual dramatic declamations. Apparently her words about his proclivities for causing pain for the sake of 'repentance' or 'atonement' being a carbon copy of his parents had resonated with him. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased or nauseous, so she settled for apathetic.

"Maybe now's the time we should head down there and free Hudson and all the other people he's got locked up in there, then," Rook muttered coolly, heading down the road again.

Her friends exchanged a bemused look and hurried after her.

"Uh Dep, not that I'm tryna put ideas in your head," Sharky posited tentatively, "but maybe instead of lettin' him stew in his own 'repentance' or whatever his brand of bullshit is, you could—?"

"What, run right back to him because he finally realized he's been kind of a monster?" Rook snapped, but took a breath when Sharky blinked at her ire. "Listen, I get you're tryin' to help here," Rook added, when her friends opened their mouths again, "but I just wanna blow up Jacob's stupid choppers and pretend I don't have a sad, sadistic soulmate that I just tied myself to forever because I was high as fuck. Please?"

After a moment of thought and a glance exchanged, Hurk and Sharky nodded, before marching on either side of her in tandem and locking arms with her in bizarre synchrony (well, she always had suspected they shared a brain).

"You want explosions, Bro-mingo, I can deliver," Hurk bragged, while Sharky tapped his holsters of explosive rounds and flamethrower fuel for emphasis. "Did I ever tell you about this one monkey I had back in the day? His name was Gilbert—up in Monkey Heaven now, may the Monkey God rest his soul—but I taught him how to pull out grenade pins and blow shit up. Real sight to behold, I tell ya…"

Rook smiled weakly and let them rile her up with their absurd stories and their alarming enjoyment of chaos as they torched the helicopter compound with minimal effort, trying not to imagine blue eyes or hope for a broken man slowly learning mercy from the silence that stretched between them.

A/N: We're almost done here! Next chapter is going to be a bit of an interlude before we get into the last of the good stuff.