Shattered Line

Chapter 35: Redemption

Isla paused her exploration, crossing her arms at the room's threshold. "When will he kill me?"

"I don't know."

Not one, but two evasive men. Oh, how redundant. She sighed, scratching her forehead. When would someone give her answers?

Skye moved to leave, but Isla snatched his arm, halting his retreat. "Wait."

His blank face reared up, the light and snap returning to his gaze. "What?"

"Skye, send me back."

His brow wrinkled, the creases long and engrained. The emotion transformed his face from spiritless to conscious. Had her father restrained his soul earlier?

Her grip steeled. "Help me stop him."

He stared at her hold, his lips parting. His gaze traveled upwards, closer to hers, but still wayward.

She cleared her throat, wetting her lips. "Skye, please."

His eyes widened before he shifted his frame sideways. "I can't. The time is not right."

"He needs to be stopped! We can't keep waiting," she urged while searching for a sign.

But her words entered a void, their meaning lost as he remained fixed. His shoulders and back straightened, and any potential response fled unannounced.

"Fine. So be it," Isla said, her inflection even and voice calm. Yet inside, her guts twisted and broiled. She released his arm then walked into the room, slamming the door.

Isla slid down against the thick wooden door and listened to Skye's retreating footsteps. She untangled her snarled and fouled hair, yanking the slick strands apart. "Dammit Skye," she muttered, "I thought you might care."

She guessed and made a declaration. Sure, she exposed herself, but honestly, Skye knew her. At most, the risk was minor. Still, his reaction presented conflict and he hesitated.

He had saved Layla and Linda, defending their lives. Every instance they met, he confounded her. What was his purpose? What did he expect from her? Layla's explanation had grounded her, without lying, she knew Layla's words changed her viewpoint on Skye. Still, he was her murderer. But sometimes crazy and insane turned fate's wheel faster. Something she needed now.

She flicked a forward strand away and rocked her head against the door. Now, what?

Forget Skye, how would she materialize? Warning the witch took precedence, not ideal, but her deliverance of the information would be impossible without help. She smashed the carpeted floor, her fist aching. Again, weak and helpless, how stupid.

Isla crawled to her feet. Sit and wait? Hell no. If death awaited her, at least she would unleash a preemptive attack and face the beast.

She inched open the door and peeked out. The white marble blinked back, defaced by no fools. Listening and waiting delivered no response, but simple nothingness relaxed her. She withdrew from the room, closing the door without sound.

If only her aura capacity were larger, then she could materialize herself. Still, at least she sensed the barrier surrounding Elysium. Escape hinged on her returning to her starting point, the free domain outside the barrier. Chances reigned high on her father predicting and locating her flight, but why make this easy for him.

She hushed her concerns and concentrated. Each left and right turn, her body had memorized.

With lithe tip-toed steps, she advanced. Rounding an intersection, she face-planted a muscular flat chest and her cheeks kissed a silken gray vest, stunning her to stop. Her feet became rooted and she blinked at the unmovable wall.