Instead, he holds his hand out to me.
I shake my head and turn away, hunching my shoulders against the cold. I both long for him to come after me and dread it.
I can’t face him with my heart flayed open like this. Because it’s occurred to me that if I know what he went through, losing his family, if I’m the only one in the world who understands his great loss, the reverse is true.
He’s the only one in the world who can understand mine.
* * *
From the diaryof Rex Roy, aged twelve. . .
Today isthe anniversary of my parents’ death.
I’ve been kicked out of another school for fighting. I can’t help it. The darkness rises up and takes over. One minute, I’m talking with another student, and the next, I’m giving into the urge to punch the smug look off their stupid face.
I come back to myself only when my opponent is on the ground, and my face and uniform are spattered with their blood.
Hamish says I need to learn to control the rage. I’ll have to continue school at home until I do.
I don’t care what happens to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve cared about anything at all.
I spent the day at Mother and Father’s tomb. There are statues of angels there that seem to bear Mother’s face.
At least, I think they do. I’m afraid I don’t remember her face anymore. I stare at our family portrait in the great room, but my parents look like strangers to me.
They wouldn’t recognize the person I’ve become either.
* * *
Inara
As I headout of the graveyard, marching across the wet grass to the gothic gates, my phone pings with a text.
Sir: Let me take you home.
I ignore it and pick up my pace. I wind my way between statues of shrouded deities and weeping angels, taking the scenic route back to the city.
The whole time, the back of my neck prickles in warning. By now, I’m used to it. Rex is still out there watching me. He’s riding in one of the black cars crawling over the picturesque stone bridge, willing me to text him back.
Sir: Inara, please. It’s about to rain.
Sir: Let me take care of you.
Not going to happen.
By the time I cross the bridge, it’s spitting rain. I duck under the green awning of a florist shop, and that’s when I notice the black town car following me.
I stop and let it roll past. I can’t get a good look at the driver, but the shape of him—burly, with a shaved head—gives me a sense of deja vu.
I step into the street to snap a picture of the retreating license plate and text it to Mina.
Can you run this?
Usually, Mina gets back to me instantly. I walk a few blocks, waiting for the ding of a notification.
No response. I tap my cell phone against my chin.
Something’s up. Mina told me she’d get back to me in a few hours with what she found on Rex. She should’ve checked in by now. I need leads. I need answers.
