Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(118)

We couldn’t make them see what we felt, and I really didn’t think we could change them now. But somehow, someway, they see Bay and me as more than young love. Maybe they pity us—for all that we went through—or maybe they sympathize and finally understand our pain.

I don’t know.

I don’t need to know their motivations. It doesn’t matter to me.

Just knowing their voices aren’t rivaling ours, that they’re shouting in certainty and solidarity—it’s enough. Our families finally believe we’re worth the fight.

Perrot has his hand to his forehead. “No. Marc, it’s almost eight p.m. here. Viva already missed their show—I know. I also heard that Seraphine’s cast is missing.” He checks his watch. “It’s almost one p.m. in Tokyo, so there’s time…wait.” He rolls forward on his chair, eyes widening at the computer screen. “Dammit. The artists for oceanic touring shows are leaving—dammit.”

Perrot catches me smiling, and I can’t suppress this one. Not even if I tried. Because I’ve never been on this side of power.

By banding together, individuals can be mightier than the hands that encase us. That control us. I’ve been witnessing artists across the globe tear at red tape and snip the strings that force us every which way.

It seems unbelievable. I smile more. Unbelievable. Just like the circus. Where the impossible becomes possible.

Perrot cups the speaker with his hand, anxiety wrinkling his forehead. “You’ll know the outcome with everyone else,” he says to me. “You’re free to leave.”

I immediately spring up. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I head to the glass door.

“Wait.”

I stop.

“My puzzle.”

It’s in my pocket. I lick my dry lips and then casually return the unsolved, wooden puzzle to his desk. “Sorry.” (I am sorry.) He swivels in his chair, phone pressed to his ear again, and before I reach the doorknob, he exclaims, “Wait.”

“I didn’t take anything else.”

Perrot raises a finger at me to wait and speaks to Marc in fluent French. I understand only a few words. Billets (tickets) is one of them. Then he gestures me to sit again.

My lungs are heavy, and I return to the chair and lean back on its wooden legs. Pretending I’m not stressed when so much weighs on me. I still hear Timo and Kat’s screams…and I haven’t seen or talked to them since.

Nik has texted me they’re okay and sent me pictures of his suite. A lot of my cousins are drinking and playing cards. Eating takeout. Chilling.

Bay is there.

Nikolai said that Dimitri has been annoying her during their card game—his attempt at distracting her from everything.

I hope I made the right choice in letting Nikolai corral our family and confront Corporate. I hope I didn’t fuck it all up for no reason.

Perrot pockets his cell and high-tails his ass to the door. “I’ll be a few minutes. I need you to stay here. Do you understand?” His words almost slur together; he speaks that fast.

“Yeah, sure.” I’m being honest. I won’t leave.

Perrot is out the door in a snap-second.

Alone for the first time, I unearth my phone from my pocket and FaceTime Katya. I mutter beneath my breath, “Please don’t ice me out. Please don’t ice me out.”

It rings and rings.

I stare fixatedly at the screen, not blinking. “Come on.” I hunch forward, forearms on my thighs and phone cupped in my hand. “Come on, Kat.”

The call rings out. She doesn’t answer.

I inhale a sharp breath and run my hand through my hair. Okay, I’ll try Timo. I click into my favorites and find his name near hers. I press FaceTime and the ringing begins. And my apprehension elevates.

My hand is on my mouth, waiting. Waiting.

Timo answers.

A ceiling pops up, and I hear Kat say, “Turn the camera around.” She’s with him? I’m unable to move, like if I do they’ll disappear.

The camera spins. On screen, Timo and Katya sit side-by-side on her top bunk, an orange Noctis poster behind them. I don’t pretend that they’re emotionless beings who can accept what I did with a full-blown smile. I planned to leave without telling them, and they knew that.

They know everything now, and if I could do anything differently, it’d be saving them from the pain I caused.

Katya has dark circles beneath her eyes, and Timo wants to glare, a look he used to give Nik. Not me.

“Uh…” I start, lost for words for a second. I put my hand to my mouth, then my eyes. I break down, crying silently. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry.”

Katya sniffs. “How could you do that?”

I shake my head, and I drop my hand, my throat closed. I struggle to look at the screen.

Sounding wounded, Timo says, “We didn’t even earn a goodbye from you? Nikolai was that high on your list, but you couldn’t tell us or even leave a note. Would you’ve liked a note, Kat?”

“Yeah,” she sniffs again. “I would’ve loved a note.”

I stare off at the wall, dazed. Could I’ve written a note and changed this outcome? Probably not. We’d still be here, right now. Feeling each other’s pain.

“And you lied over and over again,” Katya cries. “I asked you about Baylee point-blank, and you told me…” She growls in frustration at her tears. “I really hate…what you did.”