Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle 3)

Instead, he sat at the small kitchen table in his apartment with his head in his hands, and his world was only dark.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. He didn’t sleep much, and what he’d gotten was broken. Throughout the night and early morning, he reached for his phone again and again, demanding it tell him the time.

10:59 p.m.

12:27 a.m.

4:02 a.m.

6:35 a.m.

Much to Dane’s chagrin, he refused to come down to the main house for breakfast. Coffee and company were not going to help his mood. He hadn’t even let Dane into the apartment. Just met him at the door. It was better if Dane didn’t see the mess he’d made last night. It all still needed to be cleaned up, but he couldn’t muster the energy. Not yet.

But he needed to. The last check of the time had been 8:46 a.m. Cort would be arriving for another of their sessions. Some small part of him wished for time to finally speed up so that Cort would be there. So the man with the teasing remarks and easy laugh could help him make sense of all the anger, pain, and frustration in his chest. He wanted to feel Cort’s strong hand squeezing his shoulder and promising that he’d get through this, because for some completely illogical reason, he believed Cort.

The rest of him knew none of it was true. Cort wasn’t going to make this better. He didn’t have an answer. Grey was still desperately clinging to the hope that he was going to get his eyesight back, but there was zero proof that such a hope was even true. The spell they’d tried had done nothing. He was almost completely cut off from his powers. As a Weaver, he was useless.

What scared him the most was the possibility of his powers not returning, keeping the Circle from defeating the pestilents. He didn’t know how they would close the rift the pestilents were using to steal the Earth’s energy, but the aunts had been clear that it would take all of them. As long as Grey lived, just holding the powers of the Soul Weaver captive, they’d never defeat the pestilents.

Grey might have been prone to some dark thoughts from time to time, but he’d never once seriously considered ending his life.

Sitting alone in the darkness, the thoughts of his brothers’ muffled whispers, he couldn’t avoid the thought that maybe it would have been better if he’d died in the last battle. It would suck to wait thirty years for the arrival of the next Soul Weaver, but at least the clock would have already started for that person.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs and Grey jerked upright, straining to hear them. He knew that cadence even if it was a bit lighter than it had been that first day of sessions. His heartbeat skipped and sped up despite his internal argument that there was no reason for it to increase.

Three sharp knocks. “Hey, Grey!” Cort called through the door, using the same light and easy tone he always used. The same happy tone he was coming to expect from the man.

Grey turned slightly toward the door and barked, “Go away!”

“You know I can’t do that,” Cort answered evenly.

The doorknob rattled as he attempted to enter against Grey’s wishes. He’d been sure to lock it after he got rid of Dane that morning. He couldn’t face a session with Cort. The man was so full of optimism and hope, and Grey…he was just a fucking failure. There was no progress to be had. Even if he learned to live with his blindness, it didn’t matter. He was failing his brothers.

“I don’t want a session today. Please, just go away.”

“Can’t do that,” Cort said stubbornly. The door rattled a little in the frame, and Cort’s voice sounded a tiny bit closer. Was he leaning on it? “What’s going on? We had a really good session yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, things went to hell after you left.”

“That’s gonna happen. You’re a smart guy, Grey. You knew this wasn’t gonna be all sunshine and roses. There are gonna be setbacks, but we’re going to get through this together. I promise.”

Grey let out a bitter, strangled laugh. Cort hadn’t been there last night when everything went to hell. Not that he’d wanted Cort there during the attack. Just after. When he’d been alone in his apartment, alone in the fucking dark, bleeding and hurting and too angry to even draw in a breath. Cort hadn’t been there then.

But he would have if Grey had called him.

Grey didn’t know where that stupid thought came from, but he shoved it away as quickly as it appeared. He’d never needed anyone like that before. Never depended on anyone.

There was no choice now. Making him even more useless.

“I’ll leave, but you have to let me in first.”