And then there was fire. And then there was blood, running down his chest.
“I think we can agree,” a familiar voice said, “that this situation merits more thanwatching.”
For the second time in his life, Jameson woke up in manacles, his wrists chained up over his head.No. Not again.Last time, there had been a bag over his face. This time, there was none.
Because this time, they’re not letting me go.
The world was blurry until it wasn’t. He managed to make out the form of someone, chained up across from him.
No,twopeople.
Jameson’s head lolled, and he tried in vain to lift it, tried until that tryingwasn’tin vain anymore. He managed to make out the people across from him. One was Eve’s minion. What was his name?Slate. What the hell’s he doing here?And the other…
“Damn it, Grayson.” Jameson had sent his brother away, but Grayson had clearly gottenXanderout and then headed right back into the fray.You just had to be a hero, Jameson thought, staring at his brother’s very still body.
His chained, still body.
Wherever they were, it was cold—freezing, and all three of them were shirtless… and unarmed. Grayson’s platinum hair hung in his face. Jamesonwilledhis brother to stir, to lift his head—or at least his eyes.
You have to be okay. You have to be, Gray.
There was a noise then, a whimper—but it was coming from beside Jameson, not across from him. It took everything he had to crane his head sideways. He saw a fourth figure in chains, this one female.
Avery?His first and only thought was for her, even as his senses registered that itwasn’ther.
“Eve.” Jameson had come here for Avery, and he’d gottenEve. There was no justice in this world, and still, Jameson drank in the sight of her, because if Eve was okay, Avery might be, too.
Tangled strawberry-blond hair hung in her heart-shaped face. She wore only a white shift—like a nightgown or possibly an old-fashioned slip. The fabric was dirty, and so were her bare feet.
“What did they do to you?” Jameson asked in a whisper that scraped his throat.
“They call itremediation.” Eve managed to lift her head. “I spent days working my way through chamber after chamber, puzzle after puzzle. I thought I was never going to get out. I thought I was going to die. And then I came to a room with a table and a long line of champagne flutes on it with liquid inside. There was a riddle that told me to pick my poison, and I picked wrong.”
Poison.Jameson strained violently against the chains that held him.
“You have to get me out of here,” Eve said, her voice breaking. “Please, Jameson. I know that I don’t deserve to ask you for anything. Ever. But I can’t do this. I thought I could, but Ican’t.”
Jameson fought until blood ran down his arms from the shackles cutting into his skin, and still…
“I’m sorry, Eve.” Jameson had really never thought he’d saythosewords.
“Don’t be,” she said quietly, and then, across from Jameson, a voice spoke.
“No.” Slate lifted his head, the muscles in his chest, shoulders, and arms visibly rippling.
“Is this the part where you say that, in fact, I should be very sorry?” Jameson meant that to come out wry. His voice came out desolate instead.
“This is the part,” Slate bit out, “where I tell youthat isn’t Eve.”
The world around Jameson slowed to an unnatural halt, and then there was a sound—an audible click of metal. Shackles opening. It broke Jameson’s stupor, and his mind raced as he realized:Four years.
A feeling both like and unlike horror rose up inside him. The last Crucible, the one that had determined the current Watcher, had taken place betweenfourand six years earlier.
And the old man, on that last good-bye message of his, had told Alice that he’d been forced to make someinferences. In other words, he’d made his best guess—about the Watcher.Not Hannah. Toby was right all along. The Watcher—it isn’t Hannah.
The real Watcher lifted a hand to Jameson’s face, stroking his cheek. “Hello, Jamie.”
PART THREE