Gods Under The Dome

3.2

Keran however, wears her anger like a shield she violently wants to smash into my face. Her fist slams into the nearby counter top, splintering tiles. If she's hurt herself, she doesn't look it. A feral growl escaped her lips, while her boot makes contact with a trash bin. Styrofoam take-out containers spill across the floor. Soy sauce and old noodles from old Chinese ooze onto the carpet like slimy guts.

Della clamps a hand on Keran's shoulder to get her to calm. Della's Keran's Quint, there to reign in the leash when the beast's smelled blood.

When I amble forward, Quint and Tujo waste no time offering their arms to steady me. I take them both, and grin. "Thanks." My voice is strained, ragged, like I've smoked a thousand cigarettes in one sitting.

Quint keeps his attention focused on Della and Keran, while he mutters to me, "You think this'll work?"

My eyes find Nol's. A frown so deep it almost slips off his chin highlights his worry. Perhaps it's for me. Or us. Or maybe that's his guilt, clawing it's way to the surface. I'd trusted him and look where it'd gotten us. "To work or not to work," I croak.

Quint shakes his head.

I give a little tug on the fabric of his sleeve. "I'm okay. My body just hasn't caught on yet." Actually, the pain throbbing in head, racing down my neck, only to intensify at my bruised and broken hand tells me I'm the opposite of okay. But the others have enough to worry about. "Only time will te--"

Della does something I hadn't bet on. She chuckles, true, jubilant laughter, before turning to face me. She motions for her guards to lower their weapons. "Let's not escalate the situation further," she says.

Keran, Jensen and Finn, those of the Titav who've taken off their masks, share a look of confusion, Keran's expression emanates disappointment more than anything else, at having been ordered to holster their guns.

"You're clever," Della says to me.

"Of course I am. I'm a Liar." My legs a little more solidified under me, I let go of Tujo and Quint, stand on my own. "How's your pride?"

Della's gaze travels down my arm. "How's your hand?" She smirks.

The flesh around my knuckles is puffy and the first bruises have already started to blossom. Every time I move, pieces of bone, scrape over each other like tectonic plates. It hurts like hell, but I'll never tell her that.

"Tell only as much as you need to," Mister Dieter had said. "And believe it. Convince yourself, convince your enemy."

"It'll heal," I say.

She smiles."My pride's the same." She strokes her chin, deep in thought. A purr escapes her lips. "You know, you're pretty useful. I can think of a few jobs in the Collective you'd be good at--"

"Praise Dove." I interrupt her, which causes her lips to pull into hard, thin lines. I give our country's salute, placing a balled hand over my chest. It's while in this position we are to pray, to give thanks to He who has found us worthy of redemption. Right now, I'm using the gesture to show Della the gleaming back tip of the activation key for her DEC.

Della gives me an approving, almost proud smile before eyeing Tujo and Quint. "Let's hope your companions follow suit. Nol's deal won't keep them safe forever."

Her gaze falls on Rima. Without her brother to take shelter behind, Rima stands there, shaking like a leaf while weathering Della's scrutiny. She's a trooper, exuding as much inner strength as Tujo had bravado. I'd misjudged our group's youngest.

With her shoulders a little straighter, Rima lifts her head, stares into the two, blazing suns of Della's gaze. Electricity sparks. I half imagine the air to crackle. I smile. So does Della. "This one though," she takes a step toward Rima, and that's all it takes for Rima's fight to wither. Della takes another purposeful step forward. She reaches out, grabs Rima's chin, tilts it upward. Tujo takes a step toward the two but I grab the back of his shirt and restrain him. He growls at me, tries to shirk me off, but I pour dye last ounce of my strength int preventing him from doing something stupid, something likely to get him killed.