In a world disrupted by a social media app with unimaginable reach, a woman who can change emotions through touch must join forces with the man who once sought to kill her, racing to uncover the secret of their shared affliction.
The Feather's Push
Relented Part 2
by Noel Zamot
Genre: Speculative Thriller
Amber Drake can sense emotions through touch. Today she learned she can change them.
In the wake of a near-fatal accident, Air Force Lieutenant Amber Drake awakens to a chilling reality: she can sense the emotions that others hide. The ability draws government interest, plunging her into a secretive, shadow world. Then a sudden tragedy rips through Amber's life, threatening her mission: shadow a young college professor named Kelly Austin, and her partner Simon Lyons. Simon's ability to glimpse seconds into the future makes him useful, enigmatic - and dangerous.
As Amber's condition evolves, she finds it easier to manipulate others - and spiral into darkness. When her cover is blown, Amber uncovers a disturbing truth-those she trusted harbor the darkest secrets.
In a world of rogue operatives, mind-controlled fanatics, and a social media platform with mind-altering reach, Amber discovers the connections to those she loves are the most powerful weapon. Trust, however, proves elusive - especially when she must rely on Simon Lyons, the man intertwined with her past - and capable of her demise.
"The Feather's Push," the gripping sequel to the best-selling "The Archer's Thread," blends the ingenuity of Blake Crouch with the genre-defying narratives of VE Schwab. The story propels readers into a too-familiar reality, where the lines between mind and machine blur, trust is illusory, and every touch can reveal or destroy. Will Amber survive this nightmare, or will she lose everything in its endless depths?
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The nursing home lay quiet, like every other house on the street. Amber stood on the opposite sidewalk, trying to find any sign that gave an indication of the building’s true purpose. She was sure she was in the right place. The strangers walking past annoyed her, bit actors in a mundane play, traffic their grating soundtrack. Even though she could not understand their faces, she resented them for not caring about those inside.
She walked across the cracked asphalt feeling detached, as if headed to work. It was too easy to hide in plain sight, which made her feel guilty. Even Doctor Austin didn’t know. The noise blasting through her life drove her crazy. But she had to prove it, to herself and the world.
She opened the door, surprised to find no one checking for visitors. A small table held two guest books, one for each side of the building. The book only listed last names—nothing more about those whose lives would end here. One person on the ledger for Suite A had written “Love you Grandpa!” in a middle school scrawl.
She heard muffled sounds from the ground floor kitchen a few yards ahead. The smell of old wood mixed with the antiseptic edge of disinfectant, a somber hint of the true nature of the building. This was where people came to die.
She walked up the creaky stairs and almost stumbled onto the caregiver. She was wide and tough, and Amber thought of the strength she’d need to see people die every day.
“Good evening. May I help you?”
Amber took a halting breath. “I’m here to visit family.”
“Did you check in downstairs?”
“I…didn’t see anyone there. Figured I’d just come up.”
“Who are you visiting?”
She knew reaching out too quickly to touch others was unnerving, and they often pulled back, making the push difficult. Without thinking, she reached out, not looking at the caregiver, and touched her hand. She felt a tingling from her neck to her chest, and the hunger made her dizzy.
Pity me.
Amber dared to look up at the nurse and sighed in relief.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Do you need…”
“Is…he…” Amber only knew her target was an old man, and hoped the push was enough to hide her lack of preparation with empathy.
“He’s right here. He’s in and out, but he’s still with us.” The woman showed her to a door on the left, smiled sweetly, and walked off.
She was not used to the smell. Something chemical tried to mask the waste and decay, overpowering the flowers and potpourri that well-meaning family members brought for the same reason. The man in the bed was frail, his skin almost translucent, with pale blue eyes peeking from under tired eyelids. Machines flashed and hummed around him, quietly watching over the inevitable. He barely moved his head when she walked in.
“Hello,” she said. The man could not speak. She put her hand on his bare forearm, cold and slender, to listen: contentment and surprise. His thoughts soon became clear. The man did not know who she was, but was happy for company. Any company. He knew well his days were few.
Amber gazed at the old stranger’s eyes, wondering how much they had seen throughout his life, decades before she’d been born. Someone long ago had fallen in love with him, whether or not he’d ever known it. She wondered how the man would have looked years ago—strong and handsome?—and whether she, as a young woman his age, would’ve smiled and blushed at the light in his eyes. Instead, she wanted to cry. He was old, gaunt, and so alone that even a stranger lingering for scant moments was a welcome joy. In another role, snuffing the man’s life would’ve been child's play.
But not her, and not today.
She closed her eyes tight, pushing away shame and despair. She put the emotions in a corner of her mind and focused on the man’s thin, papery skin.
You are loved. Be happy.
She opened her eyes and was surprised to see the man’s toothless smile, trying to bring his other hand to cover hers. His bleary eyes watered, and she noticed a red light flashing insistently on the far side of the bed. He tried to speak but couldn’t through the tears. His heart rate was spiking.
Nervous and hungry, she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and focused on the push.
Be calm. You are loved.
She felt the tingle from the back of her neck to her hand, pushing with every ounce of her soul, and the tension in the old man subsided. She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her with the sweetest smile she’d ever seen. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and his thin chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. She knew what he wanted to say.
“You’re welcome,” she said and her voice broke. “Sleep well.”
She tucked his hand on his chest, and to her own surprise, bent over and kissed his forehead. He was cold and smelled old and wet, but she didn’t care. The man closed his eyes, smiled, and sighed.
Amber closed the door quietly behind her, walked down the stairs and into the night without a word to the nurse. She turned toward Huron Street, weaving past the bushes overgrowing tidy plots in their autumn glory. She wiped her tears with the hands that had just touched an old man, a stranger, father or grandfather or brother or son or husband to someone who she would never know. She sobbed, heartbroken at the old man’s loneliness, thankful that she could give him a priceless gift.
You are loved.
And I am not a monster.
The Archer's Thread
Relented Part 1
Gold Medal, 2021 Florida Book Awards for Popular Fiction
Silver, 2022 Florida Authors and Publishers Association President's Awards.
Finalist, ScreenCraft Cinematic Book Competition
Currently represented by Gravity Squared Entertainment for adaptation to the screen
Simon Lyons can see ten seconds into the future.
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