It was the story Lola had always intended to write—the one she’d once told Jac she would. But now she wasn’t sure she was the best person to tell it. Just because the secrets had untangled didn’t mean her emotions had. Enne had tried to kill her brother before Lola ever made her deal with Arabella, but Enne had been desperate. It wasn’t until Lola stopped watching from the sidelines, until Lola trulyjoinedthe story, that she understood what that desperation felt like.
There was no way to make a villain out of Enne without making a villain of herself.
But still, the urge to write burned in her. The City of Sin made legends out of stories, exaggerating details, redefining the players into characters grander and larger than life. And that was how they would all remain, unless someone told the truth. About the Revolution. About the Second Street War. About all of it.
Lola pulled out a chair in front of her typewriter, but a new voice interrupted her.
“What is all this?” Tock asked from the edge of the room.
Lola stiffened. She and Tock hadn’t spoken much since sunrise, when they’d returned here and slept until evening. It was hard to look at Tock, remembering the times they’d interacted when Lola had been different. When they’d been strangers. Lola hated to think of how she’d hurt her.
Marcy must’ve noticed the awkwardness, because she watched them both with wide eyes, made wider by the magnification of her glasses.
“Marcy, could you give us a moment?” Lola asked.
Marcy took her time leaving the room. Once they were left to their privacy, Lola instantly regretted it. She didn’t think she could face Tock. She wasn’t ready. So she turned away, pretending to focus back on the typewriter.
“Did you know?” Tock asked her. “When you bargained away your memory, did you know what you were doing?”
Tock was direct—Lola had always liked that about her. But now she wished she wouldn’t be.
“I didn’t,” Lola murmured.
Tock’s face softened. She put a hand on Lola’s shoulder. “Then you—”
“But I should have,” Lola said sharply, shrugging her away. “If I’d paused to consider her words, if I’d thoughtat all, then I would’ve known. And that makes it my fault.”
“You don’t have to be clever all the time,” Tock told her.
Lola snorted bitterly. “Clever would’ve been not making a deal at all.”
Tock didn’t respond to that. She grabbed one of the files off the table—Lourdes’s file. She flipped through the pages. “So this is what you bargained for?”
“No, I got the files from Jonas,” Lola explained, still too ashamed to look at her. “But the notes I added—those I bargained for. I needed to know how the pieces fit.”
“Why?” Tock asked.
“Because no one else cared. Because I was the only one paying attention.”
The words sounded ridiculous as soon as Lola said them. Paranoid. Were these secrets worth all the heartache? She’d been cruel to so many people—Enne, Levi, her own girlfriend. She’d begun to identify with a monster. And she hated herself for it.
But Lola wouldn’t have made the same choices if she’d remembered Tock. If she’d remembered the good in all this.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Tock spoke. Now Lola finally dragged her gaze from the typewriter, and she was surprised to see Tock grinning coyly. She remembered that expression all too well. Tock had a smile like a suggestion.
“Ask you wh-what?” she stammered.
“If I forgive you.”
Lola frowned. “You shouldn’t.”
Tock reached forward and pulled Lola toward her by the belt loops of her trousers. “All the best stories have happy endings, you know. You should really keep that in mind when you’re writing it. Otherwise, who will want to read it?”
Lola tried very hard not to smile, but she did, anyway. “This isn’t that kind of story.”
“I’m talking aboutourstory,” Tock said. When Lola’s smile slid away, she added, “I swear, you’d rather I yell at you than flirt with you. You look ready to debate all the reasons why I love you.”
“I w-wasn’t going todebateyou,” Lola stammered, flushing.
