Bony fingers were still entwined.
I ducked down—they had a metal box beside them, like they’d wanted to die with their keepsakes too. It only took a small bit of effort to break the rusty lock open so I could rifle through the contents.
There were rings inside—little plain-metal things—and a faded picture of two women holding hands.
And a letter with words scribbled across the top.
To Lyra, My Heart.
My eyes widened. There was no way this was the sameLyrain the letter Aubrey had in his bag.
There was no way those two women had made it here, had lived out their lives.
That they’d managed to find happiness in all the chaos, an escape from the rain.
There was no way… but they were here, holding each other… and the letter.
I unfolded it and started to read when a sound behind me made me pause—Aubrey, calling out my name.
I didn’t have to think when I stuffed the paper into the pocket of my pants. After the way he’d reacted to the skull, I was done giving Aubrey surprises.
I slipped it out of view as he came around the corner.
“What are you…” He trailed off when he realized what I’d found. “Oh.”
Something flickered across his face—emotions I couldn’t quite read. Pain. Agony… and a soft warmth that I didn’t understand. That warmth stayed there as he leaned down and picked up the picture I’d let fall to the ground. It stayed there when he stood again.
It trailed from his palm to mine when he brushed the back of his hand against my knuckles and entwined our fingers—a mirror of the dead women at our feet—and tugged gently.
“Let’s dig them a grave.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
AUBREY
I was prettysure I was one of the best people at denial I’d ever met, and even I couldn’t help but admit that things with Phoenix were different. It wasn’t like he’d suddenly gone soft on me, though. We stayed in the house for a few days, and his fingers were greedy when they pointed out scars, demanding their stories and fucking me after I told him.
His eyes still burned with vicious joy when we ran into another group of infected on the way back, and we cut them down, side by side.
He was still every raw, vicious thing that could tear me apart—fingers that dug into a collar and choked me while he fucked me from behind. He was violence and pain. Hewasthe rain.
And when we climbed into bed at night, he wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged me until I was lying on topof him, like the memory of waking up that way was something he secretly wanted close.
I wasn’t sure what to do with this version of Phoenix, except realize it was something I was afraid to keep.
He’d fucked me in the rain until I screamed—until those screams tore every wound I had wide open. I felt, for the first time, that maybe I could… maybe…
He’d ripped me apart along every broken line and left the wounds to heal clean in the rain. I still hurt—fuck,I still hurt,but when he was near me I felt like I could breathe.
Maybe breathe without feeling pain. I could inhale, and my lungs were bathed in his fire.
That was more dangerous than anything else.
It was too much.
“Where are you, Aubrey?” Blythe’s voice beside me drew me out of my thoughts, a soft warmth that I hadn’t expected to start enjoying.
