Page 25 of This Cruel Fate

She considered not responding, but the fear of not knowing outweighed the fear of talking to him. He won’t do those things. Barely reassured, she messaged him back.

The call came immediately.

One deep breath. A second. She answered the call. “Hello?”

Peter’s voice carried no malice. No resentment. “Xolia, I was worried something happened to you, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “My phone was just broken, but it’s fixed now.”

“Oh good. I’m glad to hear that.” A pause. “I need to talk to you urgently, is now a good time?”

“Of course.” Her response was immediate. All she had was time. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Not on the phone. I’ll have a car sent to you right away.”

Before Xolia could offer her address, he hung up, leaving Xolia dumbfounded. What the hell just happened?

A quick peek at the clock confirmed it was nearing late afternoon. Marshall had been staying late at work the past few days, Xolia hoped he would do so today. She stretched her cramped limbs and got up to put on something worthy of a direct meeting with the chancellor.

Half an hour later, a black SUV pulled up outside of her apartment building—Xolia spotted the SUV from her vantage point on the fire escape. Cold wind whipped her hair around while the vehicle rolled to a stop, and a well-dressed man stepped out of the driver’s side door.

Xolia’s phone chimed. A notification that the car was ready for her. She slipped back into the apartment and grabbed a coat before running out the front door.

She slowed down to a self-assured walk by the time she left the lobby. The driver was still standing by the front door and offered her a small nod before opening the back driver’s side door.

“Thank you,” she said and got into the dark interior. The driver closed the door behind her and quickly took his own spot.

“Are you ready, Ms. Stone?” he asked, voice a tenor monotone.

She nodded, heart beating too quickly for more than that. What does Peter want to talk to me about? Xolia needed to amend her earlier feelings; this was worse than an eternal not knowing. This was a slow reckoning—the end too near and too far for her to do more than be stuck in a limbo of guesses.

An eternity had passed by the time the car was ushered past the iron gates of the Presidential Palace. The gargoyles loomed with harsh and judging expressions. Sweat beaded along Xolia’s forehead.

The driver pulled around the back of the castle, down a gravel pathway to the chancellor’s private wing. The wing was not open to the public and Xolia had never seen it before. The immense gardens and trees blocked any visibility of Atlas’s house despite Xolia craning to catch a glimpse.

She wondered if Atlas would be in the meeting. Her heart stuttered. Sel, please let him not be there. If she was forced to wait any longer, she might explode in a ball of shame and anxiety.

The driver pulled up to a back entrance. It was small and unassuming, very much the opposite of the grand front entrance.

A woman in a blue pantsuit stood by the door. The driver parked and hurried to open the door for Xolia. She stepped out with a small nod of thanks in his direction. The woman shook Xolia’s hand. “Hello, Ms. Stone. My name is Lana, I’ll escort you to Chancellor Bellevue.”

“Thank you.”

Lana opened the door, revealing a simple hallway with a lush carpet. There weren’t any motifs of war or variants, or humans for that matter, just photographs of various places in the country, ranging from wild spaces to cities, most of which Xolia had never seen in her life. It was strange to think about the variants who lived in those parts of the country. They were living better lives because of what she had done.

Eventually, they turned right through a doorway to a small sitting room, the furniture reminiscent of an earlier time. It was so unlike what she associated Peter with. It was all light floral patterns and motifs, even the wallpaper was adorned with small purple roses, creating busy lines that were broken by cherry-red bookshelves and coffee tables.

Peter sat in an egregiously patterned chair, his eyes downcast and the scar even more prominent than normal.

This was her moment of reckoning. Peter turned and smiled when his eyes met hers. “Xolia, I’m so glad you’re here.”

He stood up and walked slowly, like his joints were stiff and another kind of fear tickled at Xolia’s scalp. Humans aged so much faster than variants, and Peter had already been old when they met.

“Thank you for escorting Ms. Stone, Lana. You’re dismissed.” He waved a hand in the woman’s direction, something Xolia had watched him do countless times. Silas had done the same thing, but no one ever cowered or ran from Peter like they would have from Silas. Lana left the room on quiet feet, leaving the two of them alone.

Xolia’s body was rigid, and Peter seemed to take note. “Please, sit.”

He gestured to a small couch adjacent to his chair, where he sat back down. A deep sigh escaped him. Xolia hesitantly perched on the edge of the couch.

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