And yet she reached for her empty contact lens case on the night table beside the bed, then her feet were moving her silently across the floor, carrying her to the wooden locker. She crouched down in front of it. Silently lifted the lid.
The silver hand mirror lay facedown on top of a stack of Kellan's shirts. Mira picked it up, her fingertips brushing over the carved design of the Archer family emblem.
She had to try.
She had to know, even if it terrified her to do this, something she'd never attempted before. The worse terror was not knowing, fearing that what Kellan saw might actually be his fate.
If there was any chance that looking into her own unprotected gaze might give her even a slim hope of a future together with Kellan, she would risk anything. She would pay any price to know for certain if he was destined to live . . . or doomed to die.
Mira pivoted, putting her back to the trunk as she kneeled on the floor and removed her contact lenses to their case. The mirror in hand, she closed her eyes and took a steeling breath deep into her lungs.
She could do this.
She had to do this.
She brought the mirror up in front of her face, her eyelids still shuttering her talent. Her heart banged in her chest, so erratic and nervous, so loud in her ears, she half expected Kellan to wake from the sound of it. Her palms were damp, mouth dry as ash.
She had to try.
She had to know.
She lifted her lids and froze at the sight of her face staring back at her in the oval of polished glass. She looked so different without the purple lenses muting the crystalline intensity of her gaze. She hardly recognized herself like this - her features, of course, but lit with an icy fire that seemed ageless, not quite of this world.
Extraordinary, Kellan had said.
Startling, she thought. Unsettling. So unfamiliar, she couldn't . . .
The thought fell away as the clear pools of her irises began to ripple as she looked at them in the mirror, their surface wobbling as if a small pebble had been dropped into a serene lake.
Transfixed, astonished, she couldn't look away.
And then, within the fathomless, colorless depths, an image began to take shape. Several images, shadowed figures, a group seated at the front of a large, high-ceilinged room, a tall, raised bench in front of them, separating the group from the smaller figure that stood before them, awaiting their response.
Even before the images began to take clearer shape, Mira recognized the silhouette of the person standing before the court. She felt the person's trepidation, the bone-deep dread and uncertainty.
She knew, because that person was her.
In the vision, she tried not to tremble as she faced Lucan and the other members of the Global Nations Council seated in judgment on the bench, knowing that they held the power to either save her or destroy her with their decision. Their faces were impassive, without mercy.>He'd delivered word of the laboratory explosion that killed both Vince and Ackmeyer, along with news of the resulting public uproar to his crew when he and Mira had arrived. Then Doc and Nina had helped Kellan bury their dead while Mira assisted Candice outside for the ceremony. Chaz's grave on the grounds of the old bunker carried the scent of freshly turned earth, mingling with the pungent brine of the damp ocean breeze that rolled in off the cove to where Kellan sat, keeping watch through the night.
From his post on the broad point where the retired fort and gun batteries stood, Kellan stared out at the distant city lights of Boston. The bunker that had been built as a military stronghold during the humans' Civil War, and had survived nearly two hundred years afterward, now felt vulnerable and exposed. The Order could strike at any moment in the dark. In the daylight hours, the base was an easy target for raids by trigger-happy JUSTIS officers.
Kellan didn't know what time it was at the moment - early morning, certainly. But still dark. And so he waited. He watched. Prepared himself for what he had to do to keep Mira and his crew safe.
"Hey." Her soft voice caught him unaware, her movement quiet as she climbed up the side of the mound to join him. "Everyone's sleeping. Were you ever coming back inside?"
"In a while." He extended his arm and she crawled in close beside him. Her body fit so comfortably, her blond head a pleasant weight against his chest, her hair sweet and silky from a recent shower. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, closing his eyes to savor how good it felt simply to hold her under the stars. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You were great tonight, helping with Candice's wound and the funeral ceremony for Chaz . . . such as it was."
"I only did what needed doing, and as for your friend's funeral, it was a beautiful good-bye you all gave him," she murmured. "Simple but pure. You honored him well, Kellan."
The phrase she used - one reserved for the solemnest occasions in Breed traditions - touched him in a way he couldn't express. Instead, he tipped her chin up on the edge of his hand and kissed her. Not the hungered kind of kiss that they'd been sharing each time they'd connected since her arrival back in his life a few days ago but a kiss shaped by tender caring and gratitude, by profound respect . . . and, yes, love.
He loved this woman.
His woman.
He'd loved her nearly all his life. That feeling had never faded, not in all the time he'd been away from her. And now that he was feeling the power of having Mira close again, having her a part of his world - his heart - he wasn't sure how he would ever find the strength to walk away from her.
But he would have to.