Walking out here amid the public made me feel invisible, as if I were just a specter floating through. Yet at any point, if Thorin’s men pinpointed my location, I could be in trouble. Cillian had said he’d handle Thorin, but the awareness was imprinted in my bones now after witnessing firsthand the sort of danger that existed from being in his crosshairs.
I patted my pockets, as if a weapon would magically burst free. But I was no witch, no monster. I had no abilities to protect myself if Thorin decided to deploy his men. Just Amelia’s number.
I quickened my steps toward the subway and stepped down the stairway to join the others waiting on the station’s platform. The lights flickered, a contrast to the overly cheery sunshine up above. It felt more fitting to my mood now.
The subway train screeched to a halt in front of us, all metal and chaos, and I sucked in a sharp breath and stepped aboard. The pervasive sense of wrongness clung to me like plastic wrap, and I couldn’t seem to detach from it, as if I was leaving everything good in my life behind. The subway creaked and swayed as it set off deeper into the city, and my heart matched the same unsteadiness.
Loyalty was a foundational piece of my being. If someone couldn’t stand up for you when it mattered, they weren’t worth keeping around. And my father had stood up for me my entire life. Stepping in at school when I’d been bullied, supporting me all through my childhood, and even moving us to the city so I could pursue becoming a librarian like I’d always dreamed.
Even after I’d gone to the Spires, he’d checked in with me regularly—called me, emailed me.
He’d been trying to find a way to free me.
I needed to find him.
The station closest to my father’s apartment flashed into view on the overhead screen, and I made my way to the exit. The subway screeched to a halt, the doors opened, and I stepped off.
I jostled with a few elbows upon exiting, mingling with strangers an unfamiliar feeling at this point after my freedom and space in the Spires. Many would have hated the seclusion, but I’d loved it, as I’d had more companionship than I’d ever experienced out here in the city.
The air smelled like exhaust as I stepped onto the platform and headed up the steps, back into the searing sunlight. I squinted, trying to let my eyes adjust as I walked onto the crowded sidewalk, dozens of buildings looming in every direction. Around here, they were a little more rundown, but this was an active part of the city, even if it didn’t have as much glitz and glamour as other sections.
I scratched at my light jacket, wishing I’d brought a messenger bag or something. The visceral feeling, like I was exposed, hadn’t left since I’d walked out of the Spires. I glanced behind me, but none of the passersby seemed to pay me any mind. No one lurking around any of the buildings or peering out at me from windows either.
My father’s apartment building lay at the end of the block, a tall, teetering one crammed with tenants on every floor. I’d spent plenty of time over here for dinner and a chat, something we’d tried to arrange regularly. The familiar sight of the chipped concrete steps and the twisted black railing quieted something inside me, knowing that at least everything hadn’t entirely flipped on its head in the months away from my old life.
Except I didn’t know what I’d find when I entered, and thethump,thump,thumpof my heart grew so loud it drowned out the honks and the thrum of engines from the streets.
I strode up the steps and used my key to enter the building, which felt foreign at this point. A quiet filtered through theplace, probably because most of the tenants would be out at work. Sweat broke out on my palms as I ascended to the second floor, a trek I’d made often. They still hadn’t repaired the dent in the wall or the flickering overhead light.
When I stepped in front of my father’s apartment, I rested my hand on the doorknob. Would it be locked or open? Would he be waiting inside, or would I have to start my search for him all over again?
This time, he wouldn’t be held at the Spires, but we were overdue for the discussion of why he’d been there in the first place.
I was ready for the truth, whatever it ended up being.
I turned the knob and was able to push the door open. Unlocked. It creaked, announcing my entrance, and I peered inside. The living area didn’t appear abandoned—no film of dust coating everything. My father had never been neat, and his normal stacks of books were piled high on the coffee table.
A thump came from the kitchen, and I stepped into view. “Dad, are you there?”
He sat at the kitchen table, hunched over, and papers were scattered over the table’s surface in a messy array. His skin had taken on a pallor as though he was ill, his curls were in disarray, and the hand holding his mug trembled. Yet he was still my dad. He was still alive.
The relief bubbled up my throat, not quite released into the world yet.
“What’s going on?” I asked, glancing around the room, as if it would offer me some idea of why he’d sent the message. Of what had happened. He wouldn’t look up at me, just continued to stare at the liquid in his mug. His ragged breaths indicated he was alive, but his lack of response unnerved me.
My senses were screaming.
What was going on?
Self-preservation kicked in, and I reached into my pocket for my phone. I quickly swiped the screen and hit the call button to dial the last call it had made—to Amelia. The slightly tinny sound of the phone call picking up registered, but before I could respond, Dad looked up at me. The expression on his face aged him fifty years. His eyes were red-rimmed, the lines on his face haggard.
“Beau, I’m so sorry.”
My stomach dropped. The look in his eyes, the sense of unease, all of it clicked into place.
His bedroom door opened at the far end of the apartment, and the last person I wanted to see stepped in.
Thorin Glass.
