Page 12 of This Cruel Fate

“Who got the job?” It was like talking over sandpaper.

“Good morning, Director Howard.”

The world fell out from beneath Xolia. If she wasn’t sitting, she would be falling. Slowly, so slowly, she swiveled in the chair. Rowan stood in the doorway, dressed in a casual suit that was perfectly tailored to her body. It was nicer than anything Xolia had ever seen her wear before. Like a bullet, the memory of the two of them laughing at the gala struck her.

“You.” It was quiet, but Rowan still reacted, shrinking back. Xolia turned back to Director Howard. “I don’t understand. She didn’t even apply.” Why is it so hard to breathe? The office walls closed in around her, caging her in.

Either deliberately ignoring Xolia’s obvious distress or trying to cut through the tension, Rowan joked, “I did. It’s my turn to boss you around now, Xolia.”

The compression snapped. Numbness spread over Xolia’s extremities. She glared at Director Howard, then Rowan. Her best friend. Her friend who knew more than anyone how important this position had been for Xolia. She stood up. Release, release, release, her powers begged of her. She could do it, too. It had been almost a full week of no longer taking suppressants, it would be so easy.

“I’m leaving,” she said instead. Director Howard didn’t say anything to stop her, and Rowan finally had the decency to look apologetic. It was too late for that, though. Xolia brushed past her. She didn’t pause, didn’t even breathe until she collected her things and was out of the building. The warm day mocked her and her misery. A scream hung in her throat, waiting for her to lose control. The decimated city block invited her to hide away in its neglect and yell and throw rubble until the feelings were gone.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Xolia raked her fingers through her hair. What am I supposed to do? Silas wouldn’t have let that happen; he wouldn’t have done it to her in the first place. Silas. . . Xolia slammed her fist into the side of the dilapidated building. She held her hand up to watch as the scratched skin pieced itself back together, burning the whole time.

Perhaps, she should talk to Peter. There was no way he would stand for such an obvious snub. Unless he was still upset with her for the gala. The gala. One person came to mind, he might not fix the situation, but he had offered distraction.

Xolia was sweating under her extra layers of clothes by the time she had stomped her way to the gates of the Presidential Palace. The severity of the building loomed over her, its jagged outcroppings and twisted spires spoke of a time long past.

The job? Out of her control. Almost everything was out of control as she hurtled forward. She couldn’t help but feel it was her fault. If she just had one thing, one choice, she could go back to how things were supposed to be. Marshall and she would be happy again; he loved her enough for the both of them. Rowan wasn’t a leader and would find out soon enough that she hated the job. Those responsibilities and extra hours weren’t for her. Rowan would respectfully leave the position, and Xolia would graciously accept. Order would be restored.

Heavily armed security greeted her. Their deep-green uniforms carried the star-and-halo sigil that had become so familiar to her. “I’m here to speak to Atlas Campion,” she said.

“Do you have a meeting with him?” asked the female guard. Her short hair was tucked behind her ears.

“No,” Xolia answered. “But I’m an old friend. He’ll want to talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it really doesn’t work that way,” said the male guard.

“It’s okay,” the woman said. “Ms. Stone was just here the other night. I’ll have someone call Vice Chancellor Campion while we vet you.”

“Thank you,” Xolia said.

“Wait here,” she instructed and nudged her companion back to the small security booth. Xolia crossed her arms, trying to come up with the right words to say to Atlas. It was already humiliating enough that she would be backtracking her earlier words and all but begging to accompany him to the fight.

Shit, this is such a bad idea. Xolia stepped back from the gate, ready to flee, but Rowan’s sarcastic quip reared its head and settled on her chest. Xolia hated that Rowan had been chosen over her, and she hated even more that Rowan had lied to her face and ignored all the hard work Xolia had put into preparing for the role. Rowan had never shown any inclination for moving up in the bureau. If Xolia hadn’t known Rowan as well as she did, she would’ve called it spite.

What would Silas do in my place? He would face Atlas and go to the fight. Just one night of blissful escape. There, she wouldn’t have to be the Xolia who was paranoid to the point of paralysis, but, instead, could be the Xolia who had fought a war. That Xolia didn’t bend for anyone or anything. One night. That’s all she needed. To get to that, she needed Atlas. She tapped her fingers against her elbow.

Her savior left the booth and unlocked the small gate in front of it. Next to the main gates, it was completely hidden from the street side of the palace. Xolia slipped through, and it was locked behind her. A tremor of guilt wracked her at the thought of being here and avoiding Peter entirely. Once she had been vetted and cleared, the female guard led her past the main entrance to the building.

“Where are we going?” Xolia asked, redirecting her step to follow.

“Vice Chancellor Campion requested to meet you at his residence. It’s behind the palace.”

Xolia had never gone behind the palace before. She hadn’t even known there were more buildings on the grounds. The palace was so large and vast that there was surely enough space for both the chancellor and vice chancellor to live inside its ancient halls.

The walk was beautiful in the early stages autumn. Leaves were turning from rich green to bright gold and yellow. They rustled like flames against the wind.

Behind a hedge of densely packed bushes and sweeping willow trees, a grand house sat. Atlas stood outside on a small gravel path, arms crossed and body tense. He raised a hand, not in greeting but in dismissal.

Her escort stopped short. “I have to go back; it was my honor to assist you, Ms. Stone.”

“Thank you,” Xolia responded, and the other woman began the trek back through the grounds.

Xolia and Atlas stared at one another, positions mirrored with their arms crossed and expressions blank. The silence stretched between them, unbearable in its oppressiveness.

“Why are you here?” Atlas finally asked.

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