They don’t hear me, not truly. In this state, they care naught for divisions or lives or balance. Neither do I, truthfully.
But Jasmine would. Jasmine would care if they reduced this place to ash. If innocents burned beneath their misplaced grief.
“Jasmine—” Just saying her name is enough. Kane freezes, and Ezekial’s fists unclench. “—would be deeplyupset if harm befell the district.” I keep my voice slow and clear, like I’m speaking to wild things.
“Would she not, Sai?” I incline my head towards him, wordlessly prompting.
“Uh—yes?”
Both brothers turn to him.
“Yes,”Sai says again, certain now, because he realises this is working, they’re listening—because it’s about her. “She’d be very upset. No,furious.Beyondpissed. And we do not wantto upset our bonded, do we?No.” He starts shaking his head emphatically, hoping they’ll mimic it.
They do not.
Sai’s eyes dart to mine, wide with urgency as he speaks into my mind.“Fuckinggo,man.”
I flit into the foyer. She’s too far to be at Kacey’s, or the Council Building.
Where has she been that’s further?
The cave.
I flit.
“FUCK!” someone yells behind me.
Not here.
“Is that—Enforcer Julien? Sir?”
She’s not here, but I’m closer. I feel her more; our bond pulls tighter like a wound thread catching fire.
I scan the skyline from above, ignoring the growing crowd and their whispers.
Where else has she been?
Martha’s.
I flit inside the shop. Empty, of course it is, it’s barely dawn.
But… where else? That was it, wasn’t it?
Amid the urgency clawing through me, guilt blooms. She’s barely been into the city. Barely seen this district. At least Kane took her somewhere—
The pictures.
The ones we all studied for far too long. Sai spent hours cropping Kane out, setting it as his background. He even asked Ezekial if he could help edit his face over Kane’s.
I don’t remember who spotted the river in the background first. We were all too focused on her: her face, her lips, thatdress.
I’d recommended something like it to the assistant who manages her wardrobe, but I’d never seen it, never imagined she’d wear it—especially for Kane.
I flit to the promenade, and instantly, the ache contracts.
She’s there.
Leaning on the railing, staring out over the river, hair whipping like wild flames in the wind. Her brow is drawn, her breaths are too quick, too shallow. Shadows curl at her feet—tight, tense, coiled like serpents ready to strike.
