Page 36 of Reverie
He lifts his eyebrow. “Meaning?” he asks.
“I mean, you just suffered a near-fatal gunshot wound. How are you ambulating around the garden right now?”
He chuckles. “Ah, that,” he replies. “Besides the fact that Veronica acted quickly to save me, I was in a trial.”
At my look of confusion, he sighs. Leaning forward but grunting at the movement, he says, “All the shit Misha and Luna and Amelia told you earlier is true. I am one of The Legion’s experiments too. Like Luna.”
“So you got the serum?” I ask.
“No,” he says with a dark laugh. “I came after that’d fallen out of favor. I was in the first round of gene therapy.”
With Panacea?
“When?” I ask.
“Don’t worry, you’re not responsible for making me a freak,” he says. “I went into the military at eighteen.” He rubs a hand over his stubble. “I was so fucking hype to wear the uniform, you know? I was the first in my family to leave Bayridge Heights. In the military, I was more than the half-Dominican, half-Black kid with no father around. My work meant something. I was in for three years and coming up for reenlistment when I was approached by my CO for an ‘opportunity.’ So I signed up. Went on an assignment and came out like this.”
Rio shrugs.
“So you have super healing like Luna?”
He shakes his head. “Not quite. I can be killed quite easily, actually. That is, if I allow myself to be killed. I’ll heal if given the time and space, but it takes me a quarter of the time to heal compared to a regular person, rather than minutes for Luna. At least, Luna a few years ago. If someone were to slice Luna’s neck, she’d bleed and probably pass out, but she’d be back in minutes. If someone slit my throat, if I weren’t on supportive care for at least a few hours, I’d die like anyone else.”
“That doesn’t seem like a very useful benefit,” I reply.
Rio shrugs again.
“Our fast healing was a side effect.”
“What was their main goal, then?”
“Mind control.” His face shuts down as soon as the words are out of his mouth.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. A butterfly lands on the wrought-iron bench next to him, and he stares at the monarch.
“How did you end up here?” I ask him.
He blows out a breath and I watch as the tension leaves his body. “That’s a really long story,” he says.
“Enlighten me,” I throw back.
He grins again. “The short answer is: Misha.”
He doesn’t add more, and I feel myself beginning to shut down at the mention of my…the pakhan’s name.
“Why should I trust you, Rio? Why should I trust anyone here?”
He nods as I speak, and his face turns so serious it takes me back a bit. “Do you really want to face the alternative?”
The alternative being that we’re out here alone and with a target on our backs.
And in that moment, I realize that no, I don’t. I won’t, for my family.
“I’m sorry, Hunter.” Rio’s words surprise me.
“For what, exactly?”
“For not preventing the raid. For not protecting Winter.” His face looks pained—but not necessarily from his rapidly healing wound. “Believe it or not, I care.”