Page 183 of Pulse Zero
Malcolm lifts his head at the sound of my voice, and before he can say a word, electricity flashes down my arm before I even fully decide to do it. The current slams into him, and his back arches against the machine. The smell of ozone fills the room as blue-white light tears across his skin. It has to hurt like a bitch, enough to make him scream again.
Reese’s head snaps toward me, and concern flashes across his face. “Cason.”
The electricity dies from my fingertips in flickering sparks.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, brow furrowed.
I look back at Malcolm. At the blood, the shaking. Ialmosthate how satisfying it is. Which makes Reese’s concern valid. But…
“We lost too much fucking time because of him.” My gaze drifts back to him, my jaw set with determination. “So, yes, I fucking do.”
Something settles in his expression. He doesn’t approve, but he understands.
His shadows finally loosen enough for Malcolm to collapse forward, coughing hard against the restraints still barely holding him upright. He looks older. More…human.
“Let’s go,” Reese says coldly before his shadows yank Malcolm away from the machine.
My uncle stumbles, his legs barely working. But Reese doesn’t care. The shadows drag Malcolm behind us as we leave the chamber, his shoes scraping harshly against the floor while blood smears faintly across the polished tile beneath him.
For once in his life, Malcolm Bellrose looks exactly like what he is.
Not a visionary. Not a savior. Just another man drowned bythe consequences of his own choices.
Reese and I walk side by side back upstairs while the shadows haul my uncle, who’s gone quiet, not putting up a fight. I get the feeling that the fight has been bleeding out of him slowly for the past twelve years. But after everything he’s done, I’m kind of glad I’m here to witness his downfall.
I don’t even bother to look back at him the entire way to the ground floor. And when we get there…
The atrium looks like a fucking apocalypse.
There’s glass everywhere. Parts of the kinetic installation hang broken from the ceiling, twisted metal filaments swaying overhead while shattered translucent panels crunch underfoot. Water from the artificial stream spills across sections of the gleaming white floor now streaked with blood and ash.
Several people are still fighting when we emerge into the lobby. Mia has someone pinned against a collapsed section of wall while Sebastian looks like he’s actively enjoying himself way too much.
Then Reese grabs Malcolm by the arm, yanking him away from the shadows and shoving him forward so hard he nearly falls.
“You know what the fuck to do,” Reese snarls at him.
Malcolm catches himself against one of the ruined support columns, breathing hard and ragged. He slumps against the structure and stares out at the ruin spreading through the Institute like wildfire, the one thathestarted. And, yet, I swear I see a flicker of sadness in his eyes.
Then he straightens as much as his battered ribs allow and shouts, “Enough!”
Despite the state of him, the one word cuts through the atrium loud enough to make the fighting hesitate like a glitch. Then everyone turns.
Malcolm stands in the wreckage, clutching his side, bloodtrailing from one corner of his mouth, one eye already bruising dark beneath the harsh lobby lights. His breathing shakes once, twice, before he forces the next words out.
“Bellrose Institute belongs to Cason Bellrose now.”
My brain short-circuits.
What?
“Whatever he asks of you,” he continues hoarsely, looking directly at his people, “you will follow him.”
Silence crashes through the atrium. Mia looks stunned, but not nearly as stunned as I feel. Rory still looks cautious, eyeing the Institute Ascended as though waiting for them to continue their attack.
Meanwhile, I don’t think I’m breathing. I always thought the Institute could be mine one day if I wanted it, but I didn’t expect it to come up for a long fucking time. Decades. I suppose this is the most logical course of action, but I guess I also didn’t expect Malcolm to give it all up that easily.
Sebastian slowly lowers his gun when it seems like Malcolm’s people are done fighting. “Well, alright then,” he mutters. “I’m personally very into the rich boy inheritance arc.”
