I made my way to another set of apartments further down the street. It was past time for another bit of business as well, one I’d been avoiding more than I cared to admit.
The building was flat, all the apartments on one level, where as mine and Darius’s was tall, built up to accommodate the growing population of the Third Ring. I entered the building easily enough, passing through the dingy lobby with peeling wallpaper and taking the first hall on the right. I passed four apartments before I knocked on the fifth door.
“Adrian,” Graham said, surprised, when he opened the door.
“Do you know anyone in need of a roommate?”
“Me!”
I looked behind Graham. Harrison sat behind a set of recycled metal he’d fashioned into a drum set, drumsticks poised over them. He shot me a lopsided grin.
“I’m pretty sure Graham and Sophie would appreciate if I moved off of their couch sometime in the near future,” he said. “And I’d like to stop hearing them—”
“Harris,” Graham snapped, eyes wide.
I pulled Darius’s key from my front pocket and tossed it to Harrison. His hand snapped up in time to catch it, and he stared down at it for a moment before looking back up, a brow raised.
“For real?”
“If it were anyone else, I might reconsider. Have your shit in by the end of the week.” I turned to Graham. “Don’t let Sophie say I never did her any favors.”
With a tired smile, I strolled away from the apartment, Harrison’s excited whooping echoing behind me. It was almost enough to make me smile properly, but then I remembered whose room he’d be taking, and my fists clenched at my sides.
But like with the box, it was time. I couldn’t keep relying on Dante’s generosity to pay the rent. And if something were to happen to me like what happened to Cyrus, at least this way I could be sure the place Darius used to call home would be in the hands of someone I trusted.
I returned to the First Ring emotionally and physically exhausted, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed with one of Bria’s assigned tomes and fall asleep reading about the heroes of a forgotten age. But Dante waited for me at the top of the eastern gate, arms crossed and jaw ticking.
“What?” I asked with a sigh.
“You missed training.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Will you?” he growled.
He reached out, catching me by the sleeve, and forced me to stop, to face him. I glared down at the point of contact, but he didn’t heed the warning in my eyes.
“You need to take this seriously, Adrian! I don’t want to drag you out of one of those tunnels like Dahlia did Cyrus.”
He may as well have slapped me across the face.
I reeled back and wrenched myself out of his grip.
“Howdareyou,” I snarled.
“Hit me then. You’ve been angry with me for months. So do it. Hit me and get it over with.”
He held his hands out as if to give me a free punch. I considered it. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream at him until my throat was raw and I couldn’t see through tears and blinding fury. But I hesitated, Warren’s words from after the first Trial replaying in my mind.
Don’t lose him, Adrian. Saints, do everything you can to never lose him.
It wasn’t Dante’s fault. None of this was his fault. He hadn’t asked to be paired with me. He’d had no role in Darius’ Culling. He’d done his best to help Cyrus.
My shoulders slumped, the fight going out of me in an instant.
“I’m sorry, Adrian,” Dante whispered, his features softening as he released my arm. “About your friend. About his sister. About that Second Ringer. It’s wrong, what happened to him, what it’s doing to her. All of it. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. So be mad if you have to. Curse the gods all you want. I’ve never been all that pious myself, so I won’t stop you. But don’t be pissed at me, okay? You can’t be pissed at me.”
I closed my eyes and nodded. I was angry. But I was so tired of being angry.
