Enrique fixed her with his you-reek-of-lies face, but he didn’t press her. Laila had told him about thejaadugarin her town, who had once guardedThe Divine Lyrics… but that was all. Enrique and Zofia knew she had been trying to find the book, but they didn’t know why. And she could not bear to tell them.
Sighing, Enrique angled his back just so, and Laila, recognizing what he was doing, sighed and started to scratch between his shoulder blades.
“I miss back scratches,” said Enrique sadly.
“There was a dog in Poland who used to do something similar,” observed Zofia.
“I don’t have the energy to unpack that insult,” said Enrique, sounding at once amused and bruised.
“It’s not an insult.”
“You basically called me a dog—”
“—I said your actions paralleled that of a dog.”
“That’s not exactly complimentary.”
“Is it complimentary if I tell you he was an exemplary dog?”
“No—”
Laila ignored them, basking in the fragile whir of their bickering. This felt like an echo of how they used to be. She had tried, from a distance, to stay close after Tristan had died. But the moment she saw Séverin, she was reminded of how impossible that would be. If she’d stayed in L’Eden, she could not have survived the constant reminder of this unhealed and unclosed wound. Even now, he haunted her. Though he’d stopped eating cloves altogether, she still imagined the scent of them. When he left the room, unwanted ghosts of memories snuck up on her. Memories he didn’t know she had, like when they had been attacked by a Forged creature inside House Kore’s underground library. When she regained consciousness, the first sound she remembered was Séverin’s voice at her ear:Laila, this is your Majnun. And you will drive me well and truly mad if you do not wake up this instant.
“Voila!” called Hypnos from the doorway.
He was pushing a cart laden with treats. They were colorful cookies—which disgusted Zofia—and ham sandwiches—which turned Enrique’s stomach—and… a steaming samovar of hot cocoa. Which only Tristan drank.
Hypnos’s smile wasn’t his usual catlike grin. Now it looked shy and quick. Hopeful.
“I thought, perhaps, before all the planning… we might refresh ourselves?”
Enrique stared at the cart, finally managing a bemused “Oh.”
Laila wished she hadn’t seen the way Zofia leaned forwardeagerly, only to snap back in a recoil. And now Hypnos stood before them, his smile stretched a second too long… his shoulders falling a fraction.
“Well, if you’re not hungry,Iwill eat,” he said, a touch too brightly.
This used to be Laila’s responsibility. In that second, the room felt cloying and too tight, brimming with so many old memories that there was hardly enough air to draw into her lungs.
“Excuse me,” she said, standing.
Zofia frowned. “You’re leaving?”
“I’m sorry,” said Laila.
“Cookie?” asked Hypnos hopefully, holding one up to her as she passed.
Laila kissed him on the cheek and plucked it from his hand.
“I think the others just ate, unfortunately,” she whispered.
“Oh,” said Hypnos, his hands dropping from the cart. “Of course.”
Laila left the room quickly, tossing the cookie in a potted plant at the entrance. All she wanted was to leave and run out into the streets. She wanted to be free of her secret and scream it to Paris… but then she turned the corner.
And there he was.
Séverin. A silhouette of silk and night, a boy with a mouth made for kisses and cruelty. A boy who had once conjured wonder and came too close to touching her heart. Laila reached for her hate like armor, but he was too fast.
