“I’m not just going to leave, especially after I basically burnthis house down,”I tell him. His irritation is suffocating as he sends it down the bond.“How did you find me anyway?”
“The bond we share is like a calling card. However, it was quiet for the duration you were gone. I’ve been trying to reach you since the light came back, but you were closed off, and I was going crazy.”The admission has guilt churning in my stomach, and I hate myself for putting him through that.“I don’t know what you went through before I found you, but it was like there was a line connecting us, and I followed it, right to the point you were on the ground.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”Leaning up against his side, I let my eyes roam over the night sky. Not a single star is shining, just an empty void.
When my head falls, I take in the remaining structure of Atticus’s home and think about all the memories that were just burned away. All his remaining memories with Serena.
“I have to fix this.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”Ignoring his blatant disregard for the situation, I stand up and tell him that I’ll be just inside.
My steps are hesitant. After Voraxis and I did our little stunt, Atticus stormed off—I would assume to clean up what he can.
The smell of smoke lingers throughout the house. My gaze bounces from the scorched floor to the burnt furniture then analyzes the soot plastered over the walls.
It isn’t as bad as I originally thought. The structure still stands; however, the wall separating the living room from the outside has a nice hole where the window used to be.
“Atticus, I’m so sorry.” The apology is sincere, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Of course it’s not enough—I torched his fucking house.
He lets out a long, languid sigh. “It was an accident.” My eyestrace over his features as they come back into view after his hand finishes swiping down his face. The silence surrounding us is loud, too much to bear as a ringing starts in my ears.
Moments pass before I muster up enough courage to say anything more. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“You can’t.”
ELEVEN
Kallie
The night was long, and Atticus had to scrounge up blankets from a forgotten cabinet to fight off the chill. Despite the chaos from last night, I slept surprisingly well. Maybe it’s having the connection back with Voraxis. Maybe it was all the energy I used. The only thing I’m certain of is my body desperately needed it.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I tug the blanket tighter around me, rolling over on the couch to stare out the gaping hole where an insulated wall used to stand. The sight stuns me silent, the world narrowing to nothing but the delicate flakes coating the floor.
You’re awake,Voraxis states. Standing, I wrap the blanket around my shivering frame and put on a pair of boots that rests next to the front door. I debate if I should check on Atticus but decide against it. Better leave him be—especially after last night.
Snow days were always my favorite,I admit down the bond. It snows a lot in Maine, soactualsnow days from school werefew and far between. But my dad always let us play hooky for a day or two. They were always full of snowball fights, building snowmen, and covering the yard in snow angels. Once Kate and I were borderline hypothermic, with our cheeks flushed red and—despite wearing so many layers we could barely move—our fingers and toes ice cold, we’d finally come inside, thaw under warm blankets, and curl up with mugs of cocoa, a movie playing in the background while I snuggled up with a book.
A pang hits deep in my chest with the memory. Now I know it was all fake, like I was in some sort of simulation of a life that wasn’t meant to be mine. How could she pretend so effortlessly? Were the signs there and I was too oblivious to see them? I don’t know. But now, I’m worried that all my good memories, the ones I held on to so tightly during my darkest times, are tainted with the harsh truth.
My feet land on the snow softly, and my hair is immediately peppered with the falling flakes. Plowing my way through the snow, I make myself a pathway to Voraxis. His head blends in with his surroundings, perfectly undetected besides his piercing violet eyes. The snow blankets the darkest part of him, but when he stands, the camouflage falls off, and the contrast is astonishing.
Are you ready to leave?he asks.
Where would we go? I don’t have a home anymore.I never really had one.I can’t exactly take you back to Maine, can I?Even if I could, would I want to? That life feels so foreign to me now. I’m not sure where I belong—if I ever belonged anywhere to begin with.
We can’t stay here, Firebird.He’s right. Aside from the gut-gnawing guilt I feel, the guards, and whoever else, could very well be on their way here.
I have an idea,Voraxis starts.But I don’t think you’re going to like it.
Any idea is a good one right now.But before he can tell me, his eyes narrow into slits, focusing on something behind me while smoke billows from his nostrils. Spinning around, I’m met with a very rigid Atticus holding a steaming cup of—what I’m hoping is—coffee.
“Can you be nice, just once?” I ask, directed to the overbearing burnt marshmallow. “Ignore him. He’s in a mood. Well, he’s kind of always in a mood, but you get used to it,” I elaborate, taking a few steps toward Atticus. He hands me the cup, eyes trained on Voraxis, who I know hasn’t moved even an inch. Bringing the cup up to my lips, I let the warmth seep into my bones while the delicious notes of deep roasted beans dance along my tongue.
Gods, I forgot what it tastes like—truly what anything decent tastes like.
“I’m going into town to get some supplies to repair the house. Do you want to come?” Atticus offers. He can really fix a whole house? Granted, I don’t know much about him—well, nothing at all, really—but that seems a bit difficult. Looking back at Voraxis, I see his demeanor hasn’t changed.Will you be okay while I’m out?
