At peace.
…and terrifyingly ready for this.
“Three.”
I close my eyes.
See you soon, Lark. I mean, maybe. I know neither of us believed in that shit.
“Two.”
I raise my arms to the sides, for no other reason than it feels dramatic and that's what Odette does at the end ofSwan Lakeright before she jumps.
Then I hear the crunch of boots behind me.
“Nah, fuck this. Hang on?—”
I whirl at the sound of his voice right behind me, not twenty feet away like he was two seconds ago. As I do, one bare foot catches the ankle of my other leg.
Suddenly, I tip back, gravity wrapping its claws around me and yanking me over the edge.
A tattooed arm shoots out. A veiny, inked hand grabs a fistful of my hoodie, holding me fast as the breath rushes out of my lungs and my heart slams up into my throat.
I gasp sharply as my hands wrap like iron around his wrist and forearm, my entire body hanging at a forty-five-degree angle over dead space that drops eighty-fucking-three stories to the ground.
I am no longer strangely calm.
I’m just fuckingterrified.
“Pull me up?—!”
But even as the words erupt from my mouth, my eyes lift to his.
And everything goes cold.
A numb, ringing sensation whines in my ears, louder and louder.
Neither of our faces is bathed in shadows anymore. And suddenly, the man keeping me from falling to my death isn’t a stranger anymore.
His name is Bane Antonov.
He loved my dead best friend Lark.
The friend thatIgot killed.
And right now, he looks like he might just let me plunge to my death after all.
3
BANE
I fuckinghatehow much this girl looks like her.
Lark, that is.
I've always hated it. Because Dove Marchetti isn't, wasn't, and never will beanythinglike Lark Peltier.MyLark.
For a moment, it's as if time has stopped moving.
