I swallow because he tells me to. Because part of me wants to. My throat burns, my eyes sting. I drag my sleeve across my mouth, but it only smears the mess. He helps me up gently, one palm on my back, the other still tangled in my hair until I’m steady on my feet.
When I wobble, he steadies me again.
Then he leans in and presses a warm kiss to my cheek. “Fix your skirt,” he whispers against my ear. “Straighten up. Be proud to be our girl.”
And just like that, he slips away, melting back between the stacks, his shadow gone.
I’m still pulling at my cardigan, smoothing my hair, when Milo rounds the corner. He stops dead, eyes sweeping over me.
“What the hell, Mara? You look—” He bites off the word but it hangs there anyway:fucked.“Did someone?—”
I snap before he can finish. “Don’t be disgusting, Milo. I went to the bathroom. That’s it.”
He doesn’t buy it. His jaw flexes, knuckles white around his phone.
I shoulder past him. “Mind your business,” I hiss.
By the time I slide back into my seat, my mask is already in place. Milo’s still somewhere behind me in the stacks, and my heart is hammering against my ribs, but my face stays serene, head bent over my notes like a girl who’s done nothing but study.
THIRTY-FOUR
DREDYN
“Isee you managed to slip the leash. Again.”
Mara slips under my arm that’s holding open the back door, giving me nothing more than a roll of the eyes at my joke.
“Where are the others?”
“Fight night.”
She glances at me, skeptical. “And you’re not there?”
I roll my shoulder, grabbing the whiskey bottle from the counter. “I was tired.”
That earns me the look I expected, disbelief mixed with amusement. “Tired?TheDredyn Steele skipped fight night?”
I pour both of us a glass. “It gave you a reason to sneak out of PTO. Worth it.”
She doesn’t answer. I lead her into the living room and she sinks into the couch cushions. Her knees stay pressed together, fingers knotting in her skirt.
Ghost waltzes in, tail high, a little meow splitting the silence. He leaps onto the couch arm, pressing his head into Mara’s shoulder. She bends down, stroking behind his ear.
“Glad he came out,” I say, leaning against the wall. “Thought he ran off.”
“You lost my cat?”
“Food kept disappearing. Figured he was around.”
She doesn’t let me off that easily—keeps petting him, fingers slow, eyes dropping back to his fur. He sprawls across her thigh like he’s always belonged there. I didn’t lose him, I kept him. Same as I’ll keep her.
I hand her the glass, watching her throat work as she drinks. Whiskey burns through her mask, but she doesn’t flinch. Her eyes flick to the shelves instead.
She freezes.
I already know where her gaze landed before she even lifts her hand.
A golden frame. Bottom shelf.
