Owen still trembled, leaning against Diyem in the imaginary forest surrounded by nothing.
"That was stupid," Owen mumbled. "I shouldn't have yelled at him... He was... just trying to tell me everything. Even if..."
"Mmh. You had every right to be angry."
"Are you going to tell me more?" Owen gazed toward him. Diyem seemed uncomfortable with the closeness, yet didn't pull away.
"No."
"What? Why not? I—"
"You need Necrozma to verify that I'm telling the truth."
"Oh... Right."
Owen wiped his eyes, trying to steady his breaths, but it wasn't working. His own team, ascended as Legends, had taken away everything he had. His will, his emotions, and then his memories, all gone just like that. He was afraid to think beyond that. Necrozma had said it led to his life as a mutant.
But that left so many questions afterward. What happened to all the Legends? Why were they here, but also in Kilo? What split them in two?
Diyem knew the answers and he was frustratingly close. He could ask for the information now. Could he trust Diyem to give the full truth? He would eventually remember them anyway, right? Or would the lie, however briefly he fell for it, push him down a path irreversibly catastrophic?
"You're skeptical. Undecided. Uncertain."
Owen winced. He was too distraught to hide anything, especially from Diyem.
"I don't care." He crossed his arms, staring at a random, fake tree opposite to Owen's gaze. "These memories are not yours anyway. Your time as a mutant was inconsequential, as far as I'm aware, and they aren't for me to tell."
"What?"
"I do not know what happened to you after, and I doubt Necrozma did, either. You were simply taken out of the picture. The war went on without you. I fought without you... But there is no point in giving you my word."
"No, I—"
"Because I am already tired... and I will at least tell you what's important." Diyem faced Owen, finally, with a serious look in his dark blue eyes. "Remi fell into the Voidlands during the war... but it was only part of her. And the rest never went across the aura sea."
It didn't register to him at first, but eventually he took a shuddering breath. "Then... she became Cosmog."
"No, actually."
"What? But—"
"There is no reason you cannot split yourself, even as a mortal spirit." Diyem studied Owen. "You did the same, didn't you?"
"O-oh. You knew about that." He glanced away.
"All you need to know is how to manipulate the spirit. That technique was acquired the moment you gained Necrozma's blessing, and you, of course, learned how to harness it. It came back to you without realizing; while your mind forgot it, your spirit did not."
"Right." Owen sighed, refocusing on what was important, "Where's Remi now?"
He shook his head. "I would have told you, if I knew. But she hid herself even from me. She would have revealed herself to you long ago if she could, which means..."
"She's trapped somewhere."
"No. Certainly she would have been discovered by now."
"What? Then..."
Diyem shook his head. "Perhaps she is hiding on purpose. Or perhaps someone is holding her captive. Or any number of things like that."
"But she's alive."
"She must be."
"She's not... just... gone, right?" Owen asked, cold dread filling every part of him at the prospect.
Again, he shook his head. "Every soul is cursed with immortality. It, like the memories tied to them, are eternal. I have tried to defy this. Believe me."
Somehow, Owen could. Perhaps this, with everything he knew of Diyem, was a truth that proved itself.
"So, if you can't destroy a soul, you can hide one, or seal it, or..."
"Or make them forget, for a time," Diyem completed, "much like your fate."
More silence. Owen wasn't sure what kinds of questions he could ask. Should ask.
"Where is the part of her in the Voidlands?" Owen asked. "You must know where—"
"I do not," Diyem said. "I only know that she escaped it, somehow."
"Then she's... she survived leaving the Voidlands? I thought people who did that... burned away and returned here."
"She was able to sustain herself." He frowned, as if pensive. "I don't know how."
Or he was choosing not to tell him, but... No. He'd have no reason to withhold that at this point.
Owen noticed that Diyem was starting to fade out. They were out of time.
"...That's all, huh?"
"I need to recover my strength."
"...I have to deal with Alexander now, don't I?"
"You do."
"I'll hang in there."
"What is your plan?"
"Watching and waiting," Owen said. "My friends... won't be sitting still. I'm going to wait for them."
"After what you learned about their past?" Diyem asked skeptically. "Demitri, Mispy, and Gahi betrayed you utterly."
"They did," Owen replied. "...But I had betrayed them, too."
"For what you considered to be the right thing to do."
Owen stared, frowning. "And they thought the same, right?"
"Tch... Only one of you can be right, at most."
"At most," Owen echoed, mostly to himself.
He was taking this very well, and Owen knew it. Because he simply did not have the time nor energy to try to reestablish who his enemies were, who his friends were, or what halves of his friends were one or the other. To him, he had too little information. And he would just block it out until he had time alone to think. And meditate. Until then, they were still his friends. That hadn't changed.
Besides, it didn't really matter until they were in danger of reuniting, right?
"...What matters is they'll try. We can talk about the rest of it... later."
Diyem rolled his eyes, and that was the last he'd seen of him before his presence disappeared from the forest.
After what felt like reliving his whole life as Wishkeeper—that whole millennium and then some—it was finally time to wake up and face the present.
<><><>
The strange atmosphere of Cipher City had been messing with his battleheart instincts. Every mean look given to him by the guards, every impartial glare, made him reflexively conjure up ideas on how to strike them down, how to fight each one, how to kill them in three different ways. It was savage. It was something from his mutant self, spiking his desire to fight to unhealthy levels. A defiant pride that he wouldn't be weak. Even as a Mystic, that didn't leave him. Would he always be broken in that way?
"March," growled one of the guards behind him. This one was a savage Arcanine with matted fur and the splash of a wound from some recent scuffle.
"I am, I am," Owen murmured. He had no means to resist them, even if he could give them trouble if he wished.
They didn't want him dead, after all.
Regrettably, Owen hadn't gotten to see much of Cipher City on his way in. He'd been asleep for all of it. By the time he was awake, he'd been tossed to the ground like trash for the guards to escort inside. He had only seen the black-purple castle made of some Voidland-borne stone at the heart of the city. Behind him had been crystal-engraved buildings tens of stories high on roads paved with black obsidian.
While a little dark, Owen had to admit it was pretty in its own, mysterious way. A shame there was no mystery to it, in truth. It was only the capital of the Voidlands' half-ruler, Alexander.
"MOVE!"
Strong arms hurled Owen across the ground where he rolled and coughed. The Pangoro that had tossed him snarled and marched forward, ready to kick him next.
"Hey!" Arcanine shoved himself in the way. "We were ordered not to kill him."
"I wasn't gonna kill him," Pangoro dismissed readily. "But he was standing there, daydreaming."
"Just give him time. He's not going anywhere," Arcanine said back, and then gave Owen a sympathetic glance. "It's his last days of freedom. Can't you give him that?"
That gaze from Arcanine reminded Owen of Auntie Arcanine, back when he had been blissfully ignorant of so much. Back when he was still trying to become a Heart.
Pangoro growled and grabbed Owen by the arm—Owen realized it was back to red scales, no longer leafy—and then shoved him forward again, but it was noticeably gentler.
"Just keep walking. What, you want a tour?"
"Is that an option?" Owen asked.
"I was being sarcastic, wise guy."
"Oh." Owen glanced to his left, toward a black lake with a few swimmers playing in it. Nearest was a Swampert doing exhaustive flips and dives out and into the dark surface. Absently, he wondered if the water tasted foul like their rivers. To his right was a courtyard of plants of varying shades of red and purple, just like basically everything else that was 'natural' in this realm.
"Can you stop daydreaming for five seconds?" Pangoro grabbed Owen by the back of his neck and picked him up.
"Hey—hey!" Owen flailed and Pangoro deliberately dropped him. He landed on his feet.
"March."
"How come I'm not tied up, anyway?" Owen pressed as he moved.
"We were told not to," explained Arcanine. "That's all we really know."
It was a long walk, but they'd eventually gotten to the castle's proper entrance. The doors were perpetually open and nearly thirty feet across and twice as high, as if a whole fleet of Pokémon could pass through effortlessly if they wished. Owen wondered how often that was actually the case.
But rather than walk down that great entrance hall, he was guided to the left immediately upon entry, where stairs led downward, into underground levels of the great building. There, waiting just by the entrance, was an Inteleon that sent a shot of painful familiarity through Owen's forehead.
Alexander's most devout follower. So, this was where he'd ended up.
"My, my." Inteleon stopped leaning against the wall to approach. "And to think, you used to be so large. Now you've been reduced to an awkward, middle-form Charmeleon. You know, I've never seen you like this before. As a Charmander, certainly, but a Charmeleon? How novel."
Owen squinted. Something about that sounded wrong, but the thought was shaken from him with a jab from Pangoro.
"Forward," he commanded.
"You are dismissed," Inteleon said with a shooing motion.
"Sir." They both straightened, and then departed.
"Inteleon Qitlan," he said.
Owen stared, frozen in place as a strange hotness bubbled in his chest.
"Oh? No introduction?" Qitlan asked.
"Why is Mhynt working for you?"
"Hm." Qitlan gave a light bow. "You aren't in a position to ask questions. Now, come with me. Perhaps with good behavior, I can answer that. But as of now"—He gestured toward the downward stairs, like it was some luxurious red carpet—"your new living arrangements await."
Owen weighed his options in that moment. What could he do, now, to wait things out, gather all the info he could, and then find an escape? If he went down there... would there be a way out?
"And if I refuse?" Owen asked, arms crossed.
"Oh, please, do refuse," Qitlan said with a wry smile.
The way his fingers tensed suggested he was eager to use force, but had been told not to unless deemed necessary. Could he take Qitlan on? No.
"What counts as good behavior?" Owen asked as he descended the stairs. He could sense that the third step was uneven. He could use that.
"Simple, really," Qitlan answered. "Obeying any commands given, not showing defiance—"
Owen missed the third step and fell forward, slamming hard into the stone a few more stairs down. Something cracked and he went tumbling further down half the flight before coming to a rough stop. There, he lay limp.
"Oh, for the love of..." Qitlan growled. "You really need to be more careful. Stairs can't be that complicated..."
Owen did not reply. He was completely still. The flame on his tail was starting to dim rapidly, and as it did, Qitlan's pace quickened. Owen could feel that panic in Qitlan's movements, even if he was keeping his tone even.
"How can you possibly hurt yourself that badly?" he hissed. "Get up!"
It was a demand, but behind it was a desperate plea. Qitlan was afraid.
Owen opened his eyes and coughed. "Ugh... Fix those stairs," Owen groaned. "How long was I out?"
"No time at all. Enough with the dramatics. Stand."
Owen obeyed, ignoring the limp he had developed. That wasn't a façade; those stairs could hurt a weak Pokémon. How hard was this stone?
But as Owen descended into the dungeon, he realized he had acquired another weapon to use later: his own wellbeing. Even within the very heart of Alexander's lair, he had at least one card left in his hand.
<><><>
Angelo was going to take a long, long break from pastels, assuming he survived. They'd set up a makeshift camp in a small clearing of Fae, Fae Forest. Its colors sickened him. The wraiths did not bother them; Spice had, indeed, warded them off. That was Spice, wasn't it? Phol had been suspicious of her, and Angelo still didn't know what to think about it.
She was still monstrous, hardly a Salazzle in appearance by now.
"How's everyone holding up?" Spice asked, glancing in particular at Leo.
The Delphox nodded and patted his arms. "Better," he said. "Much better."
"You really did order all those wraiths to leave and they listened," Brandon murmured as he scanned the area. "You some kind of wraith commander? Lead wraith?"
Spice tilted her head back as if rolling her eyes, but it was hard to tell now that she lacked pupils.
"Sure, call me that. Privately. Not publicly."
"I dunno if anything is going to fix the PR of you literally commanding spawn of the underworld," Brandon said, waving his arms around ominously.
Again, Spice seemed to roll her eyes.
"But now that we're feeling a little better..." Brandon rested his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward. "Spill. What are you?"
"Rude way of phrasing it, but fine," Spice said. "I'm... a wraith. Just like any other."
"Well, that's not true," Brandon retorted casually. "No wraith we know spends years living as a normal citizen until the world flips itself over... and then helps normal people like us afterward."
"Normal like you, right," Angelo muttered.
"I... don't really know how long I've been in that place. The place where wraiths are from. But I know that I used to live like a normal person, or something close to it, before becoming one. I still don't know who I used to be, but—I also didn't want to be there. Something was screaming for me to get out, and so... I did. I don't know how, I just could, when no other wraith can exit a Dungeon. I did. And when I was escaping the place wraiths came from, there was also a family in the same Dungeon. They'd been forced to flee from bandits and passed out from exhaustion, or something. I stepped in to save them and warded away the other wraiths, and..."
"So, your mother," Brandon said.
Spice nodded. "And her daughter. Her only daughter."
"Y'know, two Salazzle twin sisters is one of the rarest things I can think of," Brandon said. "I should have thought about that."
"How did you... convince them?" Angelo squeaked. "Surely, they would have figured..."
"I was just following my instincts," Spice said. "I... I made them think I was always there. That it was normal. It... was kind of easy."
Angelo's blood ran cold. "You... manipulated their memories? C-c-controlled their minds?"
"Well if you phrase it like that—"
"How else would I—" Angelo wheezed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You... you're not evil, you're just... different. You—aren't going to manipulate us, right? You... haven't, right?"
"No. I can't. you're... too strong for that. My parents were never fighters, so they're just... average citizens."
"Even average citizens can be formidable," Phol hummed. "Especially southerners."
"Seems I was stronger than average." Spice shrugged dismissively. "I just had more powers than the average wraith. To the point where I was able to escape a Dungeon and not fizzle away instantly. And I... guess I took my chance."
"That's awful... I—I mean, that's... impressive?" Angelo tried to look small. "I'm sorry..."
"Why?" Phol asked. "You obviously haven't hurt them. Anise and Whystle are a happy couple and, even if it involved some strange... mind altering, you gave them a second happy daughter, yourself. You played the part of a talented sibling. Before all this"—Phol gestured around the Dungeon—"your family was in a great position. Nothing like what I'd expect from a wraith if they had this kind of power. So, why?"
"I... desperately wanted to be part of a family," Spice replied, looking away shamefully. "That's it. Didn't care how."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to kill Sugar and replace her?" Brandon asked.
"I'd never do that!" Spice jumped, eyes wide. "Why would you—"
"See, that's interesting to me," Brandon said, pointing at Spice. "Think about it. Why would a wraith like you not go for that easier option? Replace someone who already has something established, just like that. But you didn't. Unthinkable." He tapped a metallic finger on his arm. "You're something other than a wraith. Obviously, the way you can escape Dungeons, there is something different about you."
"Well, if you have any answers, I'd love to hear it," Spice said, standing up. "But until then, I... just want to live normally. Once I can find a way to reactivate my disguise, or get my false appearance back, I'd like it if you kept all of this a secret from everyone." She brought an arm to her opposite elbow. "If... that's alright."
"Tall order," Brandon said. "I'd rather just break it to higher authorities and spread the news downward. You're a Heart, right? And Kilo Village is a real understanding sort. I think with enough vouching, having it out in the open would be better than keeping it a secret so rumors will spread, in the long run. The truth'll win, I promise."
"They'll drive me out." Spice looked away. "They..."
"Not with us supporting you," Brandon said. "Not to mention your family, right?"
"The family I invaded," Spice mumbled.
"Now—now, don't get like that." Finally, Leo spoke up, having been resting near the corner all that time. Angelo tried to urge him to stay down and rest, but he waved him off. "Spice... I'm sorry for all the looks I gave you. I'll admit, I don't understand all of this, but it sounds like you didn't, either. And for someone with all the powers you had, what you used them for instead is... Well, I don't know. But it wasn't evil."
"What a high bar I've set," Spice said, smirking. Her smile then softened, and she lowered her guard. "But... thank you."
"Um." Angelo raised a hand meekly. "So, you don't remember why you were a wraith, or... anything like that?"
"I knew I had a past life," Spice said. "I just don't know what. I can't... remember any of that. I want to. But it's not... opening for me. Drove me nuts. I try not to think about it anymore, focus more on this life..."
"I suppose I understand," Angelo said.
Leo nodded as well, reaching for Spice's shoulder. She didn't flinch away, though Leo still seemed to have trouble holding the wraith so close.
"I'll do everything I can," he assured. "I've seen past the appearance. You're still Spice."
She nodded again, mouth quivering.
Leo pulled her in for another embrace and she leaned into him, eyes closed. Her hand was rubbing Leo's shoulder, and Leo was doing the same to her.
It was only for a flash... but Angelo could see, even though she still appeared like a horrible monster, that Spice was a Pokémon again.
<><><>
It was one of the most awkward breakfasts Zena had ever experienced. Eon was still in a Charmeleon form, looking exactly like Owen as a painful reminder of what had happened the day before. At least he wasn't bawling, but... she wouldn't blame him if he was.
Then there was Hakk, who had somehow been convinced to sit at the living room table as well, but he was staring directly at his plate of food. There was a strange berry in the middle of his plate no larger than his claw. Zena recalled that he usually gave it to Xypher... Now where would it go?
Suddenly, Hakk's eyes filled with tears and he turned away, completely silent. Gods, she had no idea how to help him, but she wanted to. What could she say? He was too prideful to accept any help, and... it would probably hurt more to remind him.
Then there was Amia, who had taken Xypher's old seat. Or, "Evelyn," as she preferred now, for some reason. But Zena checked, double checked, triple checked, that it was Amia, and her aura felt the same. Exactly the same. The Fire essence helped, too. So, what, was her name false, too?
She also wasn't bothering to disguise her hair as blue anymore. It was a green-haired Ralts, as normal.
At least she enjoyed Alex nearby. The doting Hydreigon was making sure every need was attended to, and after what his father had done, it was so strange to see that tender gesture from someone who'd come from...
Demitri, Mispy, and Gahi were mourning the loss of their team leader. Zena was with them. Would they be torturing Owen, now? Interrogating him, forcing him into some kind of service? They wouldn't kill him, and that somehow made things worse. Death would have been advantageous at this point; they could find him someplace else.
And then... of course... there was Dark Matter, or "Diyem" as he'd requested. A name Owen had given him in a dream.
Could she trust that?
The Charmander with a black flame was poking at his meal, furrowing his scaly brow.
"Um," Demitri said, "is something wrong with it?"
"What?" Diyem stared at Demitri. "Mm." He looked back at the food. "No. Nothing seems to be wrong with it."
"You had a few bites..."
"Yes. I did." Diyem took a berry and inspected it suspiciously. "Yet I'm not dead."
"Um. M-my cooking isn't bad..."
"And you did not lace it with poison?"
"No!" Demitri said.
"We could have," Mispy commented, munching on the empty vegetable can that Demitri had used for breakfast.
"Yet you didn't. Strange."
"Do you think that lowly of us?" Zena growled.
"Do you think that highly of me?" Diyem replied. "I'm surprised. That's all."
A beat of silence passed as everybody started eating again.
"D-does it taste good?" Demitri asked.
"Yes. Which is also strange." Diyem took a big bite, nearly choking until Gahi hesitantly patted him on the back. "...Good. It is 'good.' This feeling is a good taste."
"Oh, come on," Gahi said. "No way you don't know what good food tasted like."
"I didn't have a mouth until yesterday, Flygon," Diyem grunted. "Everything before had been borrowed. A sense of taste was never relevant."
"S-so this is... yesterday was the first time you've ever tasted something?" Demitri brought a hand to his chest. "A-and I cooked for you..."
"Yes. You are my first introduction to the culinary world, formally. I'll let you know if it's awful when I have more frames of reference." He glanced at Hakk, like he wanted to say something, but then looked at everyone else. "You want to see Anam."
"We do," Zena replied. "You know where he is, and you said he's fine?"
"Physically."
"...Is he still Anam?" Zena asked, hesitant.
"Yes."
Zena waited for an elaboration that never came. Sighing, she finished her well-made meal of dubious ingredients and pulled away. "Who will be coming with you, then?"
"Don't you have work?" Diyem asked.
"...The building collapsed in the battle, so I'm... suspended without pay until it's ready."
"I see."
"Oh, did everyone... survive?" Demitri asked.
"Some did," Diyem replied. "Others didn't, but they should be fine enough now."
"E-excuse me?" Zena asked. "What do you mean?"
"Well, the Vaporeon was killed and Voided. But it was by my army's hand. I restored her."
Zena squinted, incredulous, and leaned forward. "And you only tell me this now?"
Diyem stared, dead-eyed, at Zena. "Why?"
"...Because I cared about them! I may not have worked long with them, but when I heard the news... It was devastating!"
Diyem rubbed his chin, brow furrowed again. "...I see."
Gahi growled next. "You've been inside Anam for, what, a hundred years?"
"Five hundred."
"How do you not know how people care about others!?"
"I'm aware of this." Diyem rolled his eyes. "It slipped my mind."
"W-well, that was very kind of you," Demitri said. "M-maybe recovering from this will be easier because of it?"
"If that's what you need to recover," Diyem replied.
"Oh, you did to them what you did to me?" Amia asked, leaning forward. "Does that mean they've lost a lot of memories, too, dear?"
"You... were different," Diyem said. "You were Voided for longer. New memories let the old ones fade from prominence. For them, they were Voided for hours at most. Less time to fade into a dream."
"Right..." Amia nodded, sighing. "That's a real shame. All the stories I hear about myself seem so familiar, but I can't feel them the same way. I can recall them, yes, but..." She let out an even longer hum. "Well. Maybe it will return eventually to how it was."
"And Xypher..."
It took Zena a moment to register where that had come from. At first, she thought it had been a phantom's voice, but no, it was Hakk's whisper.
"...Xypher was killed by Alexander's hand," Diyem replied. "I have no power over his fate. The only way to free Xypher is to strip Alexander of his power."
"Can he be restored?" Hakk asked, daring to look up.
"...There will be many difficulties in—"
"Tell the truth," Hakk begged.
"He will never be as you remember."
Zena wished she could forget the pained look in Hakk's eyes just then. But she knew she never would.
"...But we can save him," Zena urged. "And... you can make new memories. He'll still remember Hakk, won't he?"
"I suppose he will."
Gahi's tail whipped behind him. "Then why'd you phrase it that way?!"
"If you set your expectations low, the disappointment will not exist," Diyem replied, taking a bite from a piece of bread with dusty ingredients. "When we are ready, I will guide you to Anam."
The rest of their breakfast went by quietly, though near the end, they got a piece of mail—Zena was surprised the system still existed—that requested a meeting in the main hall.
"...Null Village has a main hall?" Zena asked.
"It still has a main hall?" Diyem asked, looking insulted for some reason.
"...We gotta bring 'im, don't we?" Gahi asked, prodding Diyem on the top of his head. His black flame popped.
"To keep an eye on him?" Demitri asked. "What if he, like, gets some intelligence from us, or something?"
Mispy looked among the group, then shook her head. "He'd already know."
"I believe what Mispy meant to say," Diyem said, "is that there is little intelligence among all of you."
"Eh, guess so. Don't got any new info." Gahi shrugged, starting toward the door.
Diyem stared at Gahi with a dull expression, then glanced at Mispy, who just shrugged in resignation.
<><><>
Owen's new abode was a concrete cell with a leaky pipe near the top corner, a hole in the corner of the room, and a moldy cushion that was intended to be a bed. Presumably.
The walls were affixed with chains of varying sizes and were not recently cleaned of whatever had once been there before. But when Owen inspected it a little more closely, he realized that the smears were artificial and meant for intimidation than history.
He could get the thoughts of his friends out of his head. Team Alloy, and then the embodiments of mind. What would happen if they combined? What would be left of either? Threads of guilt wrapped around his chest. And would they forgive him once those memories returned? Could he forgive them having known what they took away?
Would... he ever see them again for who they were? They'd... be gone, if they disappeared into their Legendary forms again. More gone than Diyem could ever hope to make a soul.
The only one he could trust to stay the same was Zena... and he was beginning to wonder if she would want to be with him after all he'd learned. She hated Dark Matter, hated Eon, for what they'd done—rightfully so—and for a time, he'd been willfully aligned with both. Happily, enthusiastically!
Would she learn the truth? And if not, did he have the strength to tell her? He had to. He may not have become Reshiram, but he'd almost been. He'd uphold the truth, especially after everything that had been kept from him.
Fire-Dragon would have been nice, too.
Heavy doors opened on the buffer between the main dungeon hall and the cell Owen currently occupied. He stopped his pacing and stared. The door closed, though he'd only heard the harsh clanging. Whoever was walking had light footsteps; he couldn't hear a thing.
He wondered who it could be. Qitlan, maybe to interrogate him, get more information? He'd be ready for it; he already knew how to take advantage of his subservient nature to Alexander.
But what about Alexander himself, ready to try to claim his spirit as another peon to control? He'd just have to never give in. Easier said than done, but there were too many people counting on him. Or maybe it was just delivering food... not that he needed it. He was probably beyond that again; he could feel some of his old Mystic powers returning.
But then the cell opened, and he saw the one person he wasn't prepared for. The one he'd compartmentalized out of his mind until that moment, like it was the one he still didn't know how to deal with. The person who, as far as Owen knew, was still whole... and the one who knew everything about his betrayal.
Mhynt stepped through the door, closing it slowly behind her.
And suddenly, all of Owen's planning dissolved into the aether.