Flecks dusted the tops of Marina’s shoulders as she peered down from the skyscraper’s ledge. This far up, the heavy traffic and their chain of bright headlights blurred into a glossy, luminous alloy. The nearby buildings were obscure silhouettes through the cloud of white.
She preferred this side of Hollow City, the non-magical side. It was mostly the same, except the air felt lighter from the lack of witchcraft that hovered like heavy clouds.
She held out her hand, entranced by the falling snow. Tenebris and its harsh, inescapable cold this time of year, it slipped into her thoughts. It’d been a few weeks since she’d gone home. By this time, the mountain peaks would be dipped in winter, the frigid air sculpting hoarfrost along the trees.
Did seasons even exist in Tavora?
She watched the flakes melt when they landed on her skin.
Was Acacius fond of the snow like she was?
Her fingers curled, forcibly obstructing her train of thought.
A faint, distorted whisper sounded behind her.
Marina lowered her arm back down to her side.
“The blonde hair is really doing it for me.” Soren came up beside her, his scent of cardamom and iris wafting up her nose.
She acknowledged him with a terse look. He wore his usual black mask with a dark, fitted jacket, which had a high collar that zipped up to his chin. Under his drawn hood, he hid his hair with a low-fitted baseball cap.
The glacial tips of his inky bangs curled into his eyelashes, and Marina reached out and tugged them. “I am surprised that you don’t hide your true appearance.”
He inclined his head, the shape of his eyes squinting into what she knew was a devilish smirk. “Who says I am not?”
Marina flicked the bill of his hat, exposing his eyes—a shade of biting frost. “You shed your glamor for me, as if I enjoy the sight of what little I can see of your face.”
He chuckled, rubbing a hand over the cloth covering his mouth. “Is that your way of saying you wish to see what lies beneath my mask?”
Marina pursed her lips, redirecting her attention out onto the city and its murmuring blizzard. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.” Her pride flared, refusing to confess her curiosity. In all the years she’d known Soren, not once had he ever seriously offered to reveal his true appearance to her. Only in informal, flirtatious babble.
“All one must do is ask,Nina,” he teased with a wink.
There were small moments where he teetered on the line betweenfriendlyandtoofriendly, making her uncertain if his cheeky behavior was just his personality or hopeful advances. While she cared for him, the prospect of being anything more held a road she never let herself go down. Soren’s friendship meant too much to her, and he was also Viviana’s ex. Marinawould fully admit to being a bitch, but her loyalty to her two closest friends was everlasting.
The playful ire in her shifted, and she faced him, her expression stiffening. “How many more sightings?”
Soren crossed his arms, shaking his head. Ice began to form on the top of his hood. “Straight down to business, I see.”
Marina pinned him with an impatient glare. “You enjoy playing in circles, Soren. Your appearance is the least of my interests at the moment.”
He exhaled, his shoulders wilted in defeat, knowing when not to quarrel with her. “Three more. They are lingering in set areas. The Blood Heretics are stretched thin, trying to triage the damage they are causing. Their leader knows the Heralds are in his city.”
Marina’s lips formed a thin line. “Take me to them.”
“You want to go confront an Olethros?” He cocked an eyebrow up at her.
“Yes.”
“Hewill know you are here if you do so.”
After her betrayal, Acacius would never trust her enough to let her in on his plans involving Ash. But sitting around in an attempt to coax the information out of him would only waste time—time she couldn’t afford to lose when the monsters were invading the crevices of the city.
Not only that, but with each passing hour, deities and witches plotted to tear apart Ash like a fine meal. His fragility was foreign and unsettling to Marina, and her mind often submerged into macabre nightmares, considering each of the various ways in which the child could die that day.
“Acacius does not frighten me,” she said with resolve, disregarding the sharp stone in her gut.
Her skin recalled the warmth of his hot spring, the comfort of his body around hers—a moment that had stuck with her since she’d left him.
