of him, holding out my hand.
His warm palm slid atop mine, and he gripped it tightly. The tense line of his muscles looked odd on him, so I waddled a bit closer and laid my head on his thigh. His fingers brushed through my hair as I slipped into his head.
My first step involved finding the area where he stored his long-term memories. It wasn't hard to locate the small boot-sized box, but I'd expected something more significant. When I opened it, I pulled the first image out and kept pulling, concentrating on the edges as Fae, trees, his father, and more flew past. The length of his mind's history belied the box. It seemed as though he had a bottomless storage disguised as a tiny depository.
Thankfully, by the time I finished, I'd noticed no oddity. I picked my head up, finding his eyes before I told him the results.
The lines between his brows disappeared when I grinned and said, “I don't see any problems. Everything looks normal.”
“Good,” he exhaled and leaned back, slouching in his seat.
“I'll be next,” Grace's thin voice chirped.
After patting Kian's thigh, I used it to push myself up, then walked to Grace. She thrust her arm out as if she just wanted it over, and I plopped down in the spot between her and Axton. My fingers curled over her forearm, and I followed the same procedure I always did.
Her memory box didn't look like a box at all. It resembled a cavern, dark, damp, and foreboding. It gave me pause before I reached out hesitantly. Once I touched it, the flow began, spilling out like an unraveling spool. I kept my eyes locked onto the edges despite the urge to take a peek. My own thoughts continuously asked what the harm would be with taking one tiny glimpse, but I knew I couldn't. I'd promised I wouldn't fool with anything.
Until I spotted an odd texture. I reached out, pulling the memory up just before the first hint of change began.
A voice bombarded me, screaming about how useless and pathetic I was. The faded quality of the picture led me to believe that whatever took place happened long ago, too long ago to be relevant to us. Yet, I couldn't seem to make myself stop it. I needed to finish it.
I watched as Grace's father stomped across a room, only pausing to berate her. His face appeared nearly all gold as the veins in his neck protruded and throbbed. Fisted in one hand, a stack of papers looked torn, and his other held a drink of some kind. The white walls, pale artwork, and white flooring reminded me of the Angels' units. When her father swung his mug-filled hand at her, she jerked her head to the side. I could feel the chilled liquid drip down my cheek as dread pooled in my stomach, filling it with boulders and acid. The scent of expensive alcohol burned my nose, further increasing the banging in my chest.
Then, the moment glitched, skipping in place twice as she faced him. One turn of her head and her father came into view, looming over her. Then it repeated precisely the same way, except this time, it continued. In this new, less defined memory, the smell of the alcohol, and the faint stench of old food disappeared.
In all the lives I'd waded through as I took possession of the souls I reaped, the smells were always the strongest sense. Some memories would be only a wispy, faded impression of a face, but their scent would be overwhelming. Perhaps for that reason, it was also the scent that was the hardest to manufacture when implanting a memory.
This false memory showed her father thrusting his arm towards her room, followed by her slinking away. She threw open a door, pushed it shut behind her, and flung herself onto a bed, crying. Outside of her bed, the room had little detail as if it hadn't been fully formed, and again, no scent rose from her bedding. I couldn't even feel the tears on my cheeks or the stuffiness in my nose like I would expect.
Grace jumped up, and a skip of time occurred because the next scene placed her atop the unit's roof. Her hair blew in her eyes, but I couldn't feel it tickling my skin like I should have been able to. She had no internal emotions as she leapt from the top, forcing her wings out and flapping them once. They