Worlds Apart

Chapter 46

E P I L O G U E

Sep. 08 2040 23:55 EST

New York City, New York, USA

People witness the strangest things during their lifetimes—unexplainable, baffling, yet impossibly intriguing things. The memories of these strange events may be lost in the floods of time, or they may be forever imprinted onto their minds. Strange things happen everywhere, at almost any given time; but the hotel room currently occupied by Daisha Vancleave was anything but strange.

The room was engulfed in warm golden light, none of the cold night air seeping into the safe little bubble that existed within the four walls. Daisha lounged in the plush pink leather armchair, leafing through a book. The book had been a gift from her brother, after they had properly reunited all those years ago, after she had dug up the courage to confess everything.

The book had been her revenge. Every detail of everything she had learned was recorded in it. The Cravens' crimes, the broken Gate, the formation of the Bullets—everything. All their meddling over the years, carefully inscribed within these pages with her brother's help, so vastly distributed it would be impossible to erase.

The book had been a promise fulfilled. A best seller for its novelty, nothing more than fiction to most, but it had had its effect. She hadn't heard from the Agency in years—Daisha didn't like what that implied.

The impact would spread as events clicked into place, she knew that. People had begun to piece it together, webs of conspiracies online about the hidden country interfering with their lives from the shadows. There was even retaliation: the occasional viral pictures of book burnings, calls for bans, anonymous accounts challenging her alias to come forward with proof. They were signs that her plan was working. Daisha was nothing if not patient, so she would wait in the interval, never losing herself, never giving up. They would never be able to escape the fate she had set in motion.

A portable speaker on the coffee table played soft classical from a specially-curated playlist. The curator was notably absent from the room, out for an important meeting, the one that had dragged the pair of them to the USA.

She had travelled the world a lot since they had returned. At first, she would spend days camping near the Gates, waiting for a change in their impassive blockades, but it never came. Eventually, painfully, Daisha moved on.

She had never heard from Riona or Neàl or any other Evanisian since. Elin had returned to Dalbyen and Daisha regretted never going with her, but there was no going back there now. It was cut off entirely, the mountain pass they had used had caved. She missed her sometimes. They had hardly known each other for two months but those two months had been the most harrowing of her life, and she missed the woman who had gotten her through it.

Tomorrow, she would call Mrs. McCallen. It had killed her when she had dragged herself to the lone, ageing woman's doorstep to deliver the news, but she had never blamed Daisha. Not once. Instead, she had invited her in for tea. It took a few tries, but finally, a month later, they could sit at the chipped, well-loved coffee table and reminisce together without falling apart. Tomorrow she would call because she always did on the anniversary of his death. The calls started as visits, but her work forced her to travel; they started as a day to comfort one another, but now they would talk about anything under the sun. Niamh had become family now, a permanent fixture for every holiday season and the first person she would call after a particularly adventurous case for she shared her son's love for the new and exciting.

Her career had taken off once she had recovered. While those months had been awful, they had taught her how to find her strength when she needed it, and it had done wonders for her abilities and her confidence. She had met her currently absent roommate because of her work, too. Apparently, fate had designed that she would always find her partners that way.

Daisha closed the book, the time-dulled gloss of the title glinting in the expensive, chic lighting of the room, caressing the worn edges of the hardback when a crash shook her from her reverie.

She was on her feet in an instant, the heavy book clutched in a tense hand, the other gripping the doorknob to the bedroom. There was shuffling on the other side, soft thuds, muttered words, but a single voice. Daisha twisted the doorknob and lunged in, book poised for a well-aimed throw at the hooded figure standing near the window. The figure turned and Daisha faltered, shock freezing her lungs as she stared at the face she saw in her dreams every night, dark eyes lined with amber boring into her.

The strangest two months of her life, moments from two worlds apart, had imprinted themselves in her mind and memories; never to be lost, never to be forgotten.

Ready to return.