Traveling Mercies Novels & Stories

"Justice isn't a cage! Justice is the fact that we're still standing despite everything you did to us! My mother didn't die so I could be a prisoner! She died so I could be the Ending!" I flooded the Spire’s protocol with the sensation of Mercy. Not the mercy of a god, but the messy, difficult mercy of a human being who knows they aren't perfect. I showed the Echo the feeling of the 136th chapter—the joy of the twins’ laughter, the warmth of the sun on a scarred shoulder, the taste of bread shared in the mud. I showed it that a world that remembers its pain but chooses joy is more powerful than a world that is "Clean."

A dog slips free of its leash and darts toward the street, only to pause at the curb, distracted by a scent, missing the wheels by inches. Small mercies. Not miracles. Just softness. As if the world has decided it is allowed to be kind when she is near. That is not how fate works. That is not how the system works. Mercy is not a default state. Mercy is an anomaly. And Nora carries it without force, without prophecy, without demanding a rewrite. She simply stays, and the world behaves differently around her. The weave still does not react. Fate is not here. That is the other wrongness.

Pale sunlight broke through the clearing sky, stretching across the horizon, and a rainbow arched overhead. Once, my life lost all its color when I was forced to trade away what was mine to others. But now, at last, a new chapter was beginning.

“Let me speak to her.” I didn’t hesitate. I put the phone on speaker. “Misty?” Amelia called. “Mommy.” Misty’s tiny voice rang out. “When are you coming to take me home?” “Baby, are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Amelia asked quickly. “Don’t worry,” the man’s voice cut in. “She’s fine. For now. But I can’t guarantee how long this… hospitality will last. You have such a beautiful daughter—lovely hair, and a perfect little body. Do you have any idea how much she’d be worth?”

She demanded but went with them compliantly towards the donation area. “I’m sorry, we do not but,” Jules kept his voice low. “The peace with the Mer is very fragile, and they were alarmed by your appearance.” “As they should be,” Mercy scowled. “If they have anything to do with why I cannot find my mother.” “Where is she normally?” Jules asked.

And for a breath—a single, treacherous breath—I remember faces like theirs bending low before me, voices trembling in prayer that tasted like fear. “Why are you here?” The words grind out of me like stones breaking. He swallows hard. “The… the storms drove us. The sky burns. The earth dies. We sought the old places. The strong places.” His eyes flick to the blade in my hand and back. “To beg for your mercy.” Mercy. Gods. The word feels foreign in my mouth, like a joke told in a dead tongue. I should kill them. I should end them now—quick, clean, before this world eats them alive.

"It has to be a coincidence. They were named many years apart " "1788. July 4th 1788. Captain John Mears named it after Mt Olympus in Greece." I replied. This was too much of a coincidence. I needed to explore the mountains. But at the moment a much more pressing matter was taking priority. First I needed sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a difficult day. I would be starting with the task of calling all the Alphas in the country. I knew some would come out of loyalty, some would come out of curiosity, and some would come out of fear. The ones that scared me the most were the ones that would come to try and lay claim to our pack. We didn't fight with anyone. They would want to take us down bec

Mercy hopped up and let the room service in, a tray laden with coffee and pastries. She handed a cup to Jake, who sat up eagerly. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. Start talking.”Mercy took a sip of her coffee, savoring it. “Alright, so here’s the deal. We’ve got a big day ahead, but I’m not giving away all the surprises.” Jake raised an eyebrow. “Surprises? Mercy, you know I hate surprises.”Mercy grinned. “Yeah, but you love my surprises. Just trust me on this. We’re going to the art gallery first thing. Then we’ve got a few more stops.”

Jozef has Tariq’s arm slung over his shoulder, and is suffering it with the air of a man who has accepted that humans are messy and will never be cured. Kir looks fully relaxed for the first time since the burn protocol was enacted. We’re not safe. The things hunting us need more fingers than I have to count. Prague is going to be ugly, and Prague is only one step. After Prague there’s a whole corporation of mercenaries who are now in a worse mood than they’ve ever been in. After that we have to get back to eliminating the syndicate who’s been moving victims across borders for longer than any of us have been alive.