Part 4

Ryland pushed aside the tent doors. "You didn't say goodbye."

Her heart soared at the sound of his voice, only to fall harder and break into a thousand pieces. She turned, and her knees nearly gave out once she realized he was here.

"What are you doing?" she said. Was he going to forgive her? A spark ignited in her chest, but even that burned out as soon as the anger came raining in. Did Ryland know she took Abaddon's place as ruler of Darkness and now governed what was left of the demons? Should she tell him she planned on taking the demons to the farthest, darkest parts of the universe where they could do no harm?

Where she could do no harm, she thought.

Delilah clenched her fists, wanting to say so many things. A glare was enough for now.

"You didn't say goodbye," he repeated, not answering her question.

"Ryland," she said.

His back stiffened at the sound of her voice. "I came to say goodbye."

No apology. No sorrow. Perhaps pain—but maybe it was just exhaustion.

"Then you're wasting your time." She picked the bag off the ground and hiked it on her shoulder. She was always alone. Him leaving her was no surprise. Captain called her name from outside the tent, the engine of the truck gurgling and chugging before dying out. It was time to go. The demons had already scavenged what was left of the village of the Lost Children before moving on. Delilah earlier demanded her and the rest of the demons would depart as soon as possible.

"Don't be like that," said Ryland.

Anger ripped through her, but she remained calm, instead stepping toward him slowly until they were both in front of each other—hands by their own sides, faces breathes apart. "So what are you going to do?

"Find another home. Perhaps there are still some Lost Children in the mountains." He cleared this throat. "You can certainly handle yourself. You don't need me."

Her voice was thin as ice, Ryland's advancing steps sending cracks through her throat. "What if I need you now?" she croaked.

He shook his head. "You don't. Your values clearly don't involve me nor would I want to be involved in any of them." He stared out the tent window, into the darkness of the night; it reached out to him more than Delilah's open hands. "I thought you'd understand."

"Ryland."

He glanced back at Delilah as his words drove into her like a knife coated with his blood.

"You can find me when you need to," he finished. "You'll know where I'll be."

They both knew he was just saying that. Ryland was a Lost Boy—she could never find him unless he wanted to the found.