AARYN
As the Security Council began determining options for finding Hholdyn and choosing next steps in the hunt for the elusive humans, Aaryn tried to listen. But he felt ill.
He kept seeing the two females look at him, check in with him, about whether they should listen to these orders. And in that one, silent moment, their point was proven.
Tarkyn was right.
Aaryn had royally fucked this up.
How had he missed it? How had he not seen the way the winds blew—that his people would follow him to the Crown, or away from it. Because they were actually following him?
They had made him their King. King of the disformed. A position he had never wanted, nor intended to embrace.
