We’re just stepping out into the chill evening air, the glow of the pub spilling onto the cobblestones, when a hand closes around my wrist. My pulse spikes—the bond recognizing him before I even look.
I turn, and sure enough, he’s there, standing half in shadow but unmistakable. His grip is firm but not harsh, more like an anchor thana trap. Around us, students slow, pretending not to stare but obviously staring. Wondering what their King could want with a useless sinless, I’m sure.
Brix stiffens beside me, ready to intervene, but I shake my head before he can.
Atticus’ eyes meet mine, and for once, there’s no smirk, no sharp edge—just exhaustion. Raw, unguarded exhaustion. “Enough,” he says quietly. “I’ll stop.”
The words hang there, heavy.
I blink. “Stop what?”
He exhales. “Antagonizing you. Pushing, prodding, making everything harder than it already is.” His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “The bond’s tearing us both apart.” He whispers in my ear. “I know that. And I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter.”
The sidewalk feels too still, the buzz of students fading into a muffled hum. My chest tightens, the ache of the bond flaring at his honesty. I don’t know if it’s relief or pain—probably both.
“So you’re admitting you’ll leave me alone?” I say, skeptical.
“I mean, I don’t want to leave you alone.” He says roughly. “But if that’s what you want then I understand.”
“And you’ll quit embarrassing me? Get your posse to stand down and stop torturing me? People are watching Atticus. It’ll be harder for you to deny.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to, but I can’t help it.
He almost smiles, but it’s weary. “Better this way. Let them see it. Let them see I’m done treating you like an enemy.”
My heart stutters. He’s waving a white flag—in public, no less. But the bond doesn’t care about declarations. It still throbs, raw andwounded, reminding me of every sharp word, every disdainful glance, every night I lay awake feeling the distance between us like a blade.
“I don’t…” My throat tightens, but I push through. “I don’t know if I believe you.”
Hurt shows on his face, though he covers it quickly. “You don’t have to. Just… watch. I’ll prove it.”
He releases my wrist, stepping back into the path of the lantern light. And for the first time since I’ve known him, Atticus Willshire doesn’t look untouchable. He looks human.
The bond aches with a strange, sharp twist—half relief, half longing. I clutch my arms around myself, as if I can hold the pieces together.
Brix nudges me, clearing his throat. “Bus is waiting.”
I nod, tearing my gaze from Atticus. But as I step onto the bus, I can still feel his eyes on me, the weight of his words pressed into my skin like a promise I don’t know how to trust.
29
Thou Shalt Not Hug Ghosts Too Tight.
Brixton–10 years ago
“Dylan is always late,” Greg groans, kicking a rock around the dirt floor of the makeshift training grounds. He shoots me a look like he wants me to agree with him.
I don’t. “Then go hit a dummy if you’re bored,” I snap. “And stop talking about him like that. You know student housing is further away than where his mom lived.”
Greg backs off. He should know better than to badmouth my best friend around me.
The doors creak open as he walks in. His hair’s sticking up like he ran the entire way here, and there’s a dark bruise blooming under his eye.
My stomach drops. I jog over. “Dyl? What happened? Did someone jump you on your way here?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. That’s not like him. “Just sparring practice,” he mumbles.
“That’s crap,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “You never spar without me. And that’s your third black eye this month. We’re best friends. We’re supposed to tell each other everything.”
He jumps and flinches away from me. Actually flinches.
