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Summary
Six of them went back to Dema, and only two came out alive — so as the takes in the crumpled red robe on the farthest side of the room, Torchbearer can only hope that it was worth it.
Even though that's not Clancy anymore.
Not-Clancy. The Bishop. Nova. Names, titles, fates mean nothing in the face of reality - he's just kidnapped a Bishop. This was, for all intents and purposes, a bad idea. Uncharted territory.
Yet here he is, neatly hidden away in this cabin, watching the body of a Bishop - the body of his friend - and trying to wrestle his conviction and his fate and his guilt, pulling at one last strand of hope that even though that's not Clancy anymore, maybe, just maybe, it can become him again.
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Summary
The elevator doors dinged open as soon as he pressed the button—the first blessing of the night. Ilya stepped inside, pushed the button for his floor and leaned back against the mirror-covered wall. He pulled out his phone and if he checked his messages it wasn’t because he wanted to see if “Jane” had finally broken his silence; no. It was because—
A second before the doors closed, a hand darted through between them, forcing them to hiccup to a stop and slide open again. Ilya rolled his eyes. He really didn’t feel like sharing this one moment of silence he’d earned so he put on the sourest face he could muster to signal his true and honest feelings on any sort of interaction that may be forced upon him.
And that’s the look that Shane fucking Hollander got to see as soon as the doors opened again.

