The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [187]
Rage burned to ash in Travis's chest, leaving him cold and empty. His hand fell to the table, useless. He knew what it was like to be made into a monster. No rune he could speak, no vengeful magic he might work, could have destroyed her; she was already shattered.
“Why?” he said. “Why did you work for them?”
She laughed as she wiped tears from her eyes. “To help people. At least, that's what I told myself. But deep down, I knew that wasn't the truth. What I really wanted was to prove that I was right, to show everyone who had ever doubted me they were wrong, that my research really could work.”
Travis made a decision. He could hate this woman for what she did to Beltan; it would be all too easy. But wasn't that what Mohg and the Pale King stood for? Those who served them gave up their hearts. If Travis gave up his own, if he let hate consume him, he would be no better than they were.
He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. “I don't believe that, Dr. Larsen. If all you had really wanted to do was to prove you were right, then you wouldn't be here now talking to me.”
She stared, astonishment on her face. Then, slowly, she nodded. “All these years, I kept telling myself they would use my research for good. But I know now it is—that it always was—a lie. That's why I stole this.” She touched the disk.
Travis leaned closer. “What is it?”
“Everything I need to expose the truth behind Duratek, to show the world what they're really doing.” She looked up, her fear gone, her face hard as porcelain. “Everything we need to bring them down.”
A shiver danced up Travis's spine, and he cast a glance out of the corner of his eye. The light inside the mission seemed dimmer than before, the walls and floor dingier. Several people in the commissary stared in their direction, and there was no sign of Brother Cy or his followers. Something told Travis it was no longer safe here.
“I think we should leave.”
“Why?” Larsen said, eyes startled. “Where will we go?”
Travis stood and shrugged his coat on. “I don't know. Anywhere. Come on.”
Larsen rose and put on her coat. They headed down the corridor to the lobby. No one stood behind the counter; the ivy that coiled up the post was brown and shriveled.
“What's going on?” Larsen said.
There was no time to explain. Brother Cy was gone, and so was whatever protection his presence had brought to this place. What if Mohg's slaves had known Cy was here? What if they had been watching, waiting for him to leave?
Travis opened the door, and the cold hit them like fists as they stumbled into the darkness. It seemed like hours had passed inside the mission, but it was still night. They walked quickly down the deserted street, past darkened storefronts. Footsteps echoed behind them.
Larsen glanced over her shoulder. “There are people back there. I think they're following us.”
“Keep moving.”
“Oh God, they're coming toward us. What do they want?”
“Our money,” Travis rasped. “Or maybe our hearts. This way.”
He yanked her arm, and they stumbled around a corner. Up ahead, lights shone against the night; the sounds of traffic and distant music drifted on the air. There were people this way, real people—they would be safe. He tightened his grip on her hand, lowered his head, and ran.
The roar of an engine ripped apart the night, and a black car sped from a side street. Tires squealed as the car came to a halt, and both Travis and Larsen had to skid to a stop to avoid crashing into the side of the vehicle. Shouts rang out behind them, but before either of them could move, one of the car's windows slid down.
“Get in,” Deirdre Falling Hawk said. There was a chunk as the car doors unlocked. Her eyes moved past Travis. “Now!”
He jerked the rear door