We stand there in the cold, our breath tangling.
Hannah leans her head against my shoulder.“You deserved better than all of that,” she says.“Your parents, the fire, the years after.But you’re here.You’re with us.You’ve got me, Blade, Prophet, a clubhouse full of idiots who will die for you on principle, and one vamp who already looks at you like you hung the moon and the noose around his neck.”
A broken laugh escapes me.“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be.It’s meant to be true.”She pulls back enough to meet my eyes.“Whatever happens with the mark, with that thing under the ice, you’re not facing it alone.Found family, remember?”
The words settle in my chest, a small, stubborn light in all the dark.
“Thank you,” I say, and mean it more than I know how to explain.
She bumps my shoulder again.“Anytime.Now, I’m gonna find Blade and nag him into eating something before he decides brooding counts as a food group.You should probably talk to Vex before he finds fifty new ways to torture himself over what happened.”
My stomach flips.“He’s fine.”
She snorts.“He’s Vex.Fine isn’t in his vocabulary.”Her grin turns wry.“Besides, the longer you avoid him, the louder his pacing gets.”
She heads toward the main building, leaving me alone with the wind, the trees, and the faint glow of the mark under my skin.
The sun is startingto sink when I work up the nerve to go back inside.
Scout is in the kitchen with glitter in his hair.Stash is carrying ledgers and growling about numbers.Prophet paces with distant eyes, lips moving in silent prayer.
I keep going until I’m outside Vex’s door.Fingers brushing the worn wood.No sound comes from inside, no pacing, no fist against the wall.
For some reason, that worries me more.
I force myself to keep moving.My hand shakes as I push the door open.
Vex is already inside.
He stands near the window, back to me, shoulders tense.The last of the daylight paints a faint line along his profile, turning his hair nearly black and his skin almost translucent.
“How do you stay so quiet?”I ask, closing the door behind me.
He doesn’t turn.“Trick of the trade.”
My pulse speeds up.The mark stirs.
“Sulking and brooding, VP?”I say.“Very presidential of you.”
“Don’t.”His voice is rough.“Don’t use jokes to dodge this.Not tonight.”
The fragile shield of sarcasm cracks.I cross my arms to keep from reaching for something, him, the wall, anything solid.
“Dodge what?”I ask.
He finally faces me.
The hunger from last night still burns in his eyes, but something else is there now too.Guilt.Fury.A desperate restraint that looks painful.
“You stood in that room,” he says, stepping closer, “surrounded by monsters who could tear you apart, and told them they don’t own you.You said you’d choose if you’re bait.You did that while your mark was flaring and that thing under the ice was listening.”
I swallow hard.“Would you rather I stayed quiet and let them decide for me?”
His jaw tightens.“I’d rather you didn’t offer yourself up as sacrifice.”
“That’s not what I did.”
