“Of course, dear,” Emma calls after him. “Please wish her well. And have lots and lots of f-u-n!”
In my mind, she totally spelled another F word. I think she’s asking Gage to read between the fun lines as well.
The front door closes behind him with enough force to rattle the windows, leaving the rest of us sitting around the table in the kind of awkward silence that makes you wonder if spontaneous combustion is a real possibility. Or at least that’s what I’m hoping for.
“Well,” Dr. Oliver says after a moment of stillness, “that was subtle.”
“I should probably go,” I say, already starting to stand.
“Actually,” Logan interrupts, “we both should. Thanks for dinner.”
Emma’s smile never wavers, even as she watches her carefully orchestrated evening fall apart—or rather into place. “Of course. You two have a lovely rest of the night.”
What? No well wishes and commands to have lots and lots of f-u-n? Maybe it’s me who should share an F word with her.
Logan and I escape to the backyard, where the night air feels like a benediction after the suffocating hell of the kitchen. The Olivers’ backyard is exactly as I remember it—a small patch of grass surrounded by towering pine trees that create a natural barrier between their house and the wilderness beyond. The pool is covered and blanketed with leaves. Of course, it’s still the way it looks in the future, but that’s beside the point.
I’m about to say something when I spot a familiar silhouette perched on the back fence.
Nevermore sits like a king surveying his domain, his massive black form glows against the star-scattered sky. He’s easily the size of an eagle—or a toddler, with eyes that gleam with an intelligence that’s definitely not standard for your average winged creature. His feathers catch the moonlight like oil on water, and when he turns his head to look at us, I swear I can see ancient wisdom in those dark, knowing eyes.
“Nev!” I sing as tears prick at my eyes for reasons I can’t quite explain.
My sweet raven cocks his head, and suddenly everything I’ve been holding inside comes pouring out. I’m spilling my guts like he’s my feathered therapist. I clutch him tight and dump everything—the time-travel prison sentence, watching everyone’s lives implode because Logan and I are apparently temporal wrecking balls. The fact my parents are thinking about cruising instead of baby-making, which means bye-bye Misty—not that my mother needs Tad for that equation to work out, but still. Gage is choosing Chloe’s poison lips over common sense. Drake thinks leather makeshim dangerous instead of ridiculous. And someone is going to die on that ski trip while I sit here, powerless to stop any of it. We’re not anchoring ourselves to this timeline—we’re setting it on fire and watching it burn.
Logan wraps his arms around me while I trauma-dump on a supernatural bird in a dark backyard, and somehow that feels like the most normal thing that’s happened all day. Plus, this way we can both hear Nev’s responses.
That’s heavy, even for supernatural drama,Nev acknowledges.But you’re assuming you have more power than you do. Big events—births, deaths, love—they find a way to happen. The universe is annoyingly persistent like that.He pecks gently at my hair.At least you two have common sense to worry about consequences. Unlike my previous owner, who thought gifting sentient beings was an appropriate courtship strategy.
I wrinkle my nose. It’s true, Chloe gifted Nev to Gage way back when in an effort to woo him before I landed on Paragon. Or he could be referencing Gage, who basically did the very same thing when he gifted Nev to me.
Logan’s phone buzzes at the exact moment mine does, the stereo notifications interrupting my complete emotional collapse.
We both pull out our phones and stare at identical text messages.
It’s from my mother.
Let’s have a conversation. Devil’s Peak. One hour.
“Well,” Logan says, blowing a stream of fog through his nostrils, “that’s ominous.”
“Or it’s our saving grace. Logan, we are going home.” I hope.
I look up at Nevermore, who’s still watching us with those impossibly intelligent eyes, and I can’t shake the feeling that he knows exactly what’s waiting for us on that cliffside.
The most dangerous conversations always happen in the most beautiful places, and Devil’s Peak has a body count to prove it.
26
Gage
The fog wraps around me like a wet shroud as I walk the empty streets of Paragon, my phone heavy in my pocket with Chloe’s latest text.
She wants to meet up, wants to talk, and I know exactly what that means. I also know I should want it. I should want the distraction, the chance to prove to myself that I can move on from Skyla Messenger.
But I don’t.
My feet carry me toward the cemetery without conscious thought, drawn to the one place on this island where I can think without someone watching, analyzing, or trying to fix me. The Paragon Cemetery has always been my refuge—ironic, considering my family runs the place—but there’s something about the quiet rows of headstones that makes the rest of the noise in the world fade away.
