Unseen Scene— End of Book Two, Treaty Version (Ava PoV) (Patreon)

Ava hoists a large crate from the back of the truck onto one shoulder before following the maa-alused, who leads her to the mountain of boxes nearer the caves.

The move has been mostly well organized, with only a couple of hiccups—from The Agency’s side, not the maa-alused’s. A fact which doesn’t sit well with Ava. If she’d had a chance to co-ordinate the move, it would have run like clockwork without even the sniff of a hitch.

As she follows the maa-alused, the faint whisper of a voice makes her heart quicken. Instinct drives her, and she comes to a halt, swivelling around to find the source of the voice which captures her like siren song.

The Detective stands at a cave entrance across the other side of the clearing.

Unfortunately, they are not alone.

-

If Falk attracted to the MC

Even from this distance, Ava can sense the wanting which tempts the maa-alused leader closer to the Detective.

Her chest aches as she forces the prickle of uncertainty to temper within her.

Maybe it’s the Detective’s power that draws the leader in so close?

She grits her teeth with a growl and turns away from the scene.

--

If Falk not attracted to the MC

Ava lingers as worry make her chest contract.

Even with the treaty signed, she wonders if the maa-alused leader is drawn to the Detective’s power.

How could he not be?

Beneath their skin runs a force which could shape the world for someone who could wield it.

It’s a thought that helps keep Ava at bay, even when her heart begs her not to.

She grits her teeth with a growl and turns away from the scene.

-

“Is it too heavy for you?” the maa-alused asks with a frown, reaching out to the load balanced on Ava’s shoulder. “I can help, if you wish.”

She shakes her head. “It is not the crate which weighs against me.”

The maa-alused blinks a few times before shrugging. “Sure.”

They start off again towards the pile of boxes, where Ava deposits her cargo, ensuring she keeps her back turned away from the caves.

“You continue to ignore what is so obvious to you?” a voice asks.

Ava glances to the side to see Sanja closing in on her, and she only just avoids letting out a groan.

“You came with them, I see,” she states, ripping off the top of the crate with one motion, bent nails clinging to the wooden lid.

She shrugs, the motion seeming heavy beneath her thick woollen shawl. “They are my family. Where else would I go?”

At that, Ava gives a definite nod of understanding.

The two fall into silence as Ava carefully unloads the contents of the box.

“Why do you not look at them?” Sanja finally asks. “Do you believe that just glancing their way will break this wall of resolve you have built for yourself?”

Ava pauses. “Yes.”

Sanja lets out a breath and nods. “With what is to come, maybe that is for the best.”

“You cannot scare me with your vague fortunes, Teller,” Ava states, once again trying to focus fully on the task at hand, rather than the curiosity which tempts her to ask Sanja all the questions that haunt her.

“I do not wish to scare you. I only wish to warn you.” Her hand lands on Ava’s. “You have the strength to save so many, but is it enough to save yourself?”

She rolls her lips together before giving in and looking at her.

“Would you ever let anyone save you?” Sanja asks.

“If it meant them coming to harm—no, I would not.”

Her eyes drop, her expression saddening, and she pats Ava’s hand before her fingers slide away. “Then you have my deepest sympathies.”

“Because I won’t let anyone come to harm for me?” she scoffs.

She meets her eye. “Because you just may.”

Any reply Ava could make withers on her tongue as her throat parches. Fear catches at the edges of her nerves, making them raw beneath her skin.

“Allow yourself a moment of joy,” Sanja continues. “You will need the memory of it for what’s to come.” From her skirt pocket, she produces a piece of paper and lays it on top of the box.

Ava watches her leave before she can finally draw in a breath, forcing her paralyzed lungs to work again. She tries to shake off the foreboding which claws and paws at her, but it’s a struggle, so she turns to the paper to distract herself.

Only to find it’s not paper at all, but the photo from the carnival.

She and the Detective, beneath dazzling lights. Her fingers run across the image of the Detective, and a smile laces over her lips before she can catch it.

Neatly, she folds up the photo and slips it into her pocket, telling herself she will rid herself of it later.

…Two months later, it remains in place, the creases worn from use.