WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

forty-two | alistair

Alistair watched the bright Chrysosian scenery pass by from through the carriage window. He was exhausted after a day of travel, but he still had a week before he would reach his destination. For one treasonous moment, he cursed Chrysos for being so bloody big.

The last few months had been a whirlwind of manipulation tactics and emotional distress. Alistair had emerged from Weles a new person, at first distraught and wildly unstable, until what had been all twisted up and achy in him hardened with determination. He would do what he had to do to fulfill his promise, despite his usual moral qualms. Nothing would ever get done without bone-crushing ruthlessness. He knew that now.

He folded his hands over his lap, working his bottom lip between his teeth. It was refreshing, getting to travel by himself – without the general breathing down his neck, the way he had for weeks after returning from Weles. Like he didn't quite trust him.

Alistair didn't like what he'd been forced to do in order to gain that trust, but he was able to justify it inside his mind, now that he was doing it for his own personal cause. Retrieve Cole's mind and return it to where it belonged.

Then they could see each other again. Then Alistair could hold him again, wrap him up in his arms, and plant a kiss firmly on his forehead. Oh gods, his body mourned the loss of such easy touches, the sort he used to take for granted. And it made him ache all over, like he was a pattern of bruises in the shape of a person.

I care about what you'll do to make it better, because I know you're not a bad person, Alistair.

Alistair clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the window. He hadn't been a very good person lately, but he would, he promised he would – just not yet.