The medallion.
The medallion was gone. The one thing that was meant to ‘protect’ me from bad things.Thisbad thing.
“What are you?” I whispered, panic creeping into my throat. “Where’s my medallion?”
He didn’t answer or move. He only stared.
Steeling myself, I swallowed my fear and bolted upright, covers clutched to my thighs. “Who—”
He stood.
And I instantly wished he hadn’t.
He was tall.Towering. Gods,toofucking tall.
And I wasn’t short.
He closed the little distance separating us, and I couldn’t stop myself from shrinking back until I hit the bed frame, my neck craning to keep up with him.
He raised his hand, my breath catching as he slid a single gloved finger under my chin.
My body lit up like I’d been electrocuted.
The contact was barely a touch, but it felt like static crawling beneath my skin, coiling in my belly. He lifted my head upward gently until my face was tilted to his, and then he leaned in.
He was like a man studying the face of something doomed.
I was stranded, trapped in the tide of him, my limbs refusing to move.
“Don’t search for the medallion,” he said, his voice dark in my ears. “Keep it away from you. And stay away from The Crater. Ignore whatever’s pulling you to it.”
His grip tightened. Thumb resting just beneath my lip, almost brushing it. Almost.
“Next time you go near it, I might have to kill you myself.”
The threat didn’t feel like a bluff.
My skin broke out in chills as he studied me for one more heartbeat, memorising me with his dark, endless eyes before dropping his hand.
The second he did, I could breathe again, as though I’d been released from a binding spell. My limbs unlocked and my chest filled with air.
He turned his back to me, his broad, imposing back disappearing through my door, footsteps echoing loudly in my soul.
When I heard the front door shut downstairs, I let the covers fall from my grip and crumpled to the floor beside the bed, breathing like I’d been drowning the entire time.
I never told him something is pulling me towards The Crater.
CHAPTER NINE
SANORA
I wondered what would have become of me if Weeny Man hadn’t been in Nimorran.
Because when I finally managed to collect myself off the floor—five hours ago, maybe longer—he was the first person that came to mind. I’d sat there in that mess of heat and silence, heart a pulsing wound in my chest, and all I could think was that I needed to find answers, a.k.a him.
I’d torn through my backpack, flipped through every zip and fold, searched the house in a frenzy, checked the floor, the couch, the hallway, but my medallion was nowhere. It was gone.
I found my bag downstairs with my sweaters draped across the couch, the car parked in its usual place outside.
