Chapter 165: Personal Cost

Amelia POV

The desert air shimmered with heat as Maria and I crested the sand dune, scanning for the crashed aircraft.

"Found it," Maria pointed toward a cluster of shrubs half a mile away. "Past those trees."

We approached cautiously, weapons ready. The transport plane lay twisted and broken, its fuselage cracked open like an eggshell. Debris was scattered, but the main body of the aircraft remained relatively intact.

"Empty," I called out after we'd cleared the cabin.

We found the footprints near the wreckage—two distinct sets leading away from the plane toward the tree line. The tracks were clear in the soft sand for about fifty yards before disappearing into the harder ground of the scrubland.

"Accountant and Professor," I said, studying the boot prints. "Has to be them."

Maria nodded, shouldering her rifle. "They're on foot. Can't have gotten far."

We were about to continue tracking when I hesitated. Jason would be expecting regular check-ins, and the last thing I wanted was for him to worry if we went radio silent.

"Let me update Jason first," I said, pulling out my encrypted phone. The call connected after two rings, and I could hear muffled sounds of activity in the background before Jason's voice came through clearly.

"Jason, it's me. We found what looks like the plane Accountant was piloting—crashed in the desert. The aircraft's empty, but we've got tracks leading away from the wreckage. We're preparing to follow them." I paused, studying the footprints in the sand. "How are things on your end?"

"Cain activated the virus in all the investors at the meeting when he tried to escape. Turned them into enhanced attackers, but Muse and Sebastian got there in time. We managed to neutralize the threat. No casualties on our side."

"He's in custody now." A long pause. "Amelia, Cain admitted to being complicit in the BF incident, but he swears Professor was the mastermind. We're mobilizing teams to round up the remaining Awakened Order operatives, but..." Jason's voice trailed off.

"But?"

"Amelia, if this is true—if Professor started this—then Round Table is responsible for thousands of deaths..."

I closed my eyes in pain. All this time, I'd been hunting for the truth about Black Friday, convinced that when I found it, justice would be served. I'd never considered that the justice might need to be served against my own people.

"Understood," I managed. "I... I'm going to find Professor. I need to hear this from his own mouth." I paused, feeling the weight of what this might mean. "Keep me informed of any developments."

"Amelia—"

"I have to go."

I ended the call and stood in the desert silence, staring at the wreckage.

If Professor had really been the architect behind all this, then as the current leader of Round Table, the responsibility for making amends fell to me.

But worse than the weight of institutional responsibility was the personal cost. How could I face Jason knowing that my organization had been responsible for the deaths of so many innocent people? How could I expect him to maintain any kind of relationship with me?

"Amelia." Maria's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "You're going to drive yourself crazy with that kind of thinking."

"What kind of thinking?"

"The kind where you take responsibility for every bad thing anyone associated with you has ever done. Look, if Professor really did initiate BF, that's on him, not on you. You were what—fourteen when it happened? Still in training?"

"Fifteen," I corrected automatically.

"Fifteen. So unless you traveled back in time and whispered evil suggestions in Professor's ear, this isn't your fault."

Logically, I knew she was right. But logic had never been particularly effective against the voice in my head that insisted I should have seen this coming, should have investigated Professor more thoroughly when I took over leadership of Round Table.

"Besides," Maria continued, "we don't even know if Cain was telling the truth. The man was facing life in prison—he might have said anything to deflect blame."

"Maybe. But Accountant said the same thing."

"She might have her own reasons for wanting to destabilize Round Table. Who knows?"

I wanted to believe Maria's skepticism, but the pieces fit too well.

"What if he can't look at me the same way?"

Maria snorted. "Then he's not the man you think he is."

"It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" She turned to face me with that direct stare that always made me feel like she could see straight through any pretense. "Jason fell for you, knowing you were a killer. You think finding out your predecessors made some bad choices is going to be the deal-breaker?"

"Those are professional considerations. This is personal. The families who lost people in BF—"

"Are not your responsibility to personally compensate. You run Round Table now, not Professor. If changes need to be made, you make them. If amends need to be paid, you figure out how to pay them. But you don't carry the guilt for decisions made before you had any power to stop them."

I wanted to accept her reasoning, but there was a knot of anxiety in my chest that wouldn't loosen. Even if Jason could intellectually separate my actions from Professor's, would the emotional reality of what Round Table had done create a barrier between us?

And what about my own position? How could I continue leading Round Table knowing what Professor had done?

"You're spiraling again," Maria observed.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. Look, the tracks are getting harder to follow anyway." She shouldered her rifle. "You head back to the plane wreckage and get some rest. I'll continue tracking alone. I can move faster, and frankly, I won't be distracted by existential crises."

I wanted to argue, but she was right. My mind was racing in circles, and that wasn't going to help anyone.

"I'll come back to you as soon as I find anything," Maria continued. "Process what you need to process. But don't let this destroy what you've built with Jason before you even know if it needs to be destroyed."

I nodded, though the idea of sitting still with my thoughts felt unbearable.

A few hours ago, all I'd cared about was finally having Cain dead to rights, ready to make him confess everything. Now I was facing the possibility that everything I'd built my life around was founded on a lie.

I tried to push the thoughts away, but the harder I fought them, the more insistent they became. Images flashed through my mind—Jason's face when he learned the truth, the way his expression would change, and the distance that would grow between us...

My chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to panic. When had this happened? When had I become so attached? So dependent on having Jason in my life that the thought of losing him could make my hands shake?

Tears started falling before I realized I was crying. Damn it. I was supposed to be stronger than this. I was Dancer, leader of Round Table, not some lovesick girl falling apart at the first sign of trouble.

The sound of an approaching vehicle brought me back to reality. In the distance, headlights were cutting through the desert darkness, heading straight for my position.

I quickly wiped away the tears with the back of my hand and drew my sidearm, moving to cover behind the plane's wreckage.

The vehicle stopped about fifty yards away. The engine shut off, and I heard the distinctive sound of a car door opening and closing.

Footsteps approached, crunching on the loose gravel and sand. A familiar silhouette emerged from the darkness.

"Amelia?" Jason's voice carried across the space between us.

I felt my weapon lower automatically, though I stayed in cover. "Jason? How did you—"

"GPS tracking on your phone. I told you I'd never lose you again."

He moved closer, and the concern on his face was evident. His eyes swept over me, finally settling on my face and taking in the tear marks I hadn't had time to wipe away properly.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice tight. "How... why are you crying?"