“You want to make sure Bryce is all right.”
Harvey stumbled hearing Narinder say Bryce’s name. They’d never talked about him and Rebecca and the Guild, not explicitly.
“I—I’m not a spy, if that’s what you think,” Harvey stammered. “You can trust me. I owe you.”
“It’s not about debt.”
Harvey winced, knowing that was a dig at his talent. He knew Narinder didn’t tally every favor Harvey owed him, but Harvey couldn’t help thinking that way.
Narinder strode across the empty dance floor, but Harvey didn’t let him walk away. He grabbed him by the forearm and spun him around.
“Call Levi back,” Harvey said firmly. “Whatever it is, I want to help.” And he meant it.
Something Harvey didn’t recognize flashed through Narinder’s eyes. “So you’re done, then? With him?”
“I haven’t gone back, have I?”
“Say it, then. Say you’re done with Bryce Balfour.”
Harvey swallowed. Part of him was ready to say it. It hadn’t been long, but he liked life here, in the Catacombs. He liked honest work. He liked Narinder’s company.
But certain memories of Bryce had sunk themselves into him. It was why Harvey had stayed so long even after Bryce started seeing Rebecca, after everything went so wrong. There were some people who could carve their names into your soul. In a romantic story, the soul was a willow tree. In their story, it was a tombstone.
“I’m done with Bryce Balfour,” Harvey said hoarsely. He hoped it wasn’t a lie.
A muscle in Narinder’s jaw twitched, and he turned around. “Fine. But I’m not calling Levi back.”
“Why not?” Harvey demanded.
“Because I’m done hosting his little meetings. I’m not risking my life for him.”
Harvey remembered how Levi had used the Catacombs for a gathering place before. Harvey had attended one of those meetings himself.
“Is it about him?” Harvey murmured nervously.
“No,” Narinder snapped, then he added, quieter, “A little. But mostly not.”
Harvey could guess what had happened between them—Narinder, in particular, had a reputation, though Harvey had never seen him keep late-night company since he started working here. Still, Harvey wanted to ask. But although he and Narinder might’ve been friends, it wasn’t Harvey’s place to pry.
“It sounded like it was about the game,” Harvey said instead, “and you’re a player, too.”
“I never asked to be,” he growled.
Narinder stopped walking, standing beneath the golden light of a stained glass window. Even if Harvey remembered when this club had been a church, he couldn’t deny that Narinder belonged in this place. The light followed him, reflecting like embers across his dark skin. The walls, plastered with bones, echoed his voice more than anyone else’s.
Maybe Narinder didn’t mean to, but he looked important. He looked like someone worth knowing. He looked like a player.
“I promised myself when I bought this place that I wouldn’t get mixed up in that,” Narinder said fiercely. “The North Side got my uncle, my father. Tock always wanted it, and I couldn’t stop her. I thought Pup was different, but he’s not—none of them are. I don’t want glory or whatever else this city is selling. I just want to live my life. And I’m not willing to put that on the line. Not for anybody.”
Harvey realized what that look had been, now. When Harvey had said he was done with Bryce. He’d done what he never thought himself capable of doing, and even if he was still sick in many ways, he was better for his decision. But Narinder wasn’t willing to do the same.
“I’m sorry, but you don’t have a choice. Your problems won’t disappear if you ignore them,” Harvey told him. “So call Levi back. Tell him you’ll do it.”
The musician froze.
“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered.
Harvey’s conscience tremored. “I know.”
