Flashpoint

“That was not you,” Jim said firmly. “That was the Queen of Blades. What they made you into. You’re back to being Sarah again. And we’re together now. So just hush, honey.”

He had put off touching the strange tentacles that adorned her head in place of hair. Everything else was so human, so much the woman he remembered, but that. . . . Now he did so, keeping her fingers entwined with his as he reached with his other hand to gently stroke back the spiny protuberances. He steeled himself for the contact. To his surprise, they felt warm beneath his touch, like skin. Like Sarah’s skin. And any hesitation he’d had about still loving her—hesitation he had pushed down so deep into his soul that he himself hadn’t been aware of it untilright now—vanished like a bad dream.

But the touch didn’t comfort her. She turned her head, trying to pull away. Respecting her needs, Jim withdrew his hand.

“It doesn’t matter. Sarah Kerrigan, Queen of Blades . . . you don’t understand,” she murmured. “Maybe you can never understand. I’ve always been a destroyer of things. Anything I touch, anything I care about . . . that’s why they picked me, Jim. Because I’m a destroyer of things. . . .”

She closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness. Jim sat back, trying to sort out what she had said. How much of it was real, and how much was the pain talking?

And despite what he had told Sarah—despite what he kept telling himself—he couldn’t help but wonder how much of the massacre of billions had been only the Queen of Blades . . . and how much had been Sarah Kerrigan.