The Beta retreated. The second he was gone far enough down the causeway not to hear her, Claire doubled over, and quietly lost her stomach all over the frost by the chute.
Corday did not hear her vomiting, nor did he see even a hint of the Followers that had surrounded him so flawlessly when he stepped out of her sight. He popped his collar to warm his neck, and shuffled off with his hands buried deep in his pockets—smiling.
Shepherd left Corday in the hands of Jules's team, his attention on his ill Omega and the change that came over Claire the instant the boy was gone. The false smile fell, and she moved far from the group and their fires to sit in solitude, as if invisibly drawn nearer to the place where Shepherd hid in the dark.
He could almost reach out and touch her.
Once comfortable, the female pulled a worn book out of her pocket and lay back to read. Shepherd cocked a brow. His little mate was reading a book he knew by heart, The Art of War. It was oddly endearing, the man imagining future conversations about the text.
What was her favorite passage?
Claire read while most of the women still slept; she read the same book she had read every day since she had found it, and let her eyes linger on memorized quotes. Sometimes she fancied that it was like reading a segment of Shepherd's soul. She could see his mentality in the book, his tactics, and sought vainly to understand—fixated to the point where she did not notice that Nona stirred.
The old woman prepared instant coffee, readying a serving for Claire.
"What wisdom do you have for me today?" Nona asked, pressing a steaming cup of swill into the young woman's hands.
Claire tossed the book on the ground as she always did when done with it, treating it badly. "According to Sun Tzu, great results can be achieved with small forces… But I choose to interpret that as: pissing off a bunch of women is a really bad idea."
The old Omega chuckled softly, eyes dancing as she watched Claire sip the coffee and grimace.
Nona stroked back Claire's dark hair and teased, "You always did love your cappuccinos, but I'm afraid that's the best I can do."
Looking down at the shitty watered down beverage, Claire tried to banter. "I have many reasons to hate Shepherd, but reason number one is that I have not had a decent cup of joe since I was run out of my home… the jerk."
Her friend offered a soft chuckle.
Claire took another sip of the steaming brown water. With Nona at her side she sat in miserable stillness, her bloodshot eyes growing resolute. She did not know what was causing it, but her ennui was beginning to fade. What was replacing it was acutely painful.
She had altered… crushing indifference warring with an unbearable sense of loss.
She should have felt victorious—she didn't. She should have felt pride; she'd forgotten even knowing such a sensation.
Nona was speaking some nonsense about the coming sunrise, Claire robotically drinking the tasteless beverage. When the brew was finished, the cup was set aside.
It was time.
Claire stood up and just walked away, leaving her friend without a goodbye.
She would see the sky for herself, observe the sunrise alone. But it would not move her. The sky had lost its magic.
The old woman watched her go, watched as dark hair disappeared… and knew Claire had made her choice.
Outside it was cold, colder every day. Claire wrapped her arms around her body and stumbled away from the Omega's haven. There had been no direction in her death march, but somehow she found herself standing at the edge of the Thólos water reserve. The top had crusted with ice, covered in white as blank and colorless as she had become inside. But if she squinted, she could see through it to a world of water, where everything was washed clean.
Tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear, she shivered and waited for the cloud heavy sky outside the Dome to glow. Just as it turned an off-shade of pink, Claire felt that if she allowed any pleasure from such a moment, pain would seep through instead. The only way to continue was to feel nothing forever. So she took a step forward, then another one, and alone out in the earliest gloomy light of the morning, Claire walked the ice.
There was no question of hesitation; her work was done. She had completed her mission, given everything she could. She had earned her release from prison. Air crisp on her face, the unmistakable smell of cold, it began to soothe where salty tears burned her cheeks.
Those first steps and the ice already began to whisper complaint. The next ten paces were met with misleading silence. Claire chose to fill the quiet with the customary Omega prayer whispered into the wind: