The belltower chimed five a.m. I’d barely slept. The stars still shone outside, but with spring on its way, it would be light soon. I didn’t want to bother going back to sleep at this point, not with Rush right here, in my room.
I shook my head. “I’m awake now.”
“Suit yourself. I’m getting a few more hours.” She rolled over, and after another groan from Rush, she stuffed her pillow on top of her head.
I stared at Rush for several seconds before moving closer, drawn to him like an ant to a picnic. I perched on the edge of the bed and felt his forehead one more time. His face scrunched in pain when he tried to shift.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He patted the bed. “Making room.”
My heart catapulted against my ribs. I stayed right where I was.
“How can I help?” I mouthed, not wanting Vanya to hear.
His fingers reached for his hem and scrunched it up, revealing his cobblestone abs. I tried to look away, look at anything else, but he was clearly trying to show me something. My stomach knotted as a strange wound appeared just above his hip. It was a bruise, yes, but there was also a scar there. The scar was where the blood had been the day I’d met him. Whoever had hit him had known exactly where to strike.
One of his fingers traced over the bruise. “See it?”
I bent forward, squinting in the low light. “See what?” His skin was too close to my face. I felt his heat and blushed. Then I saw it. The scar wasn’t just a cut. It was a symbol. Without thinking, I reached out and traced the symbol, recoiling instantly from touching him. On his skin was an interlocking S. Or nearly. It had been etched unskillfully with a blade.
The same symbol I’d seen painted all over bottomside.
“The Serpents,” I muttered, tucking my hand under my leg as I sat back on my heels once more, the memory of his hot skin branded onto my fingertip.
He nodded. “Rival gang.”
My brows shot up at the wordrival.
He waved me down, closer, so he could speak in a barely audible whisper. Heart thundering madly, I lifted my legs onto the bed, stretching out beside him, my arm propped up to hold my head. I was keenly aware of the thin space between our bodies, like railroad lines, parallel, never meeting. My mind was flashing like a guttering gaslamp right before it ran out of fuel.
“Are you in a gang?” I mouthed, dumbfounded.
“I’m the son of the High Archivist. Same thing. People see me as a target. The Corzos are scooping up some of the gangs to do their bidding. Looks like the Serpents are working for them now.”
Poking him in the chest with each word, I said between clenched teeth, “What. Happened.”
His exhale made me cough and wave my hand. “Luther,” he said.
“No,” I breathed, hatred surging in my veins.
Rush huffed quietly. “He’s Avencian. It makes sense.”
“He is?”
“Half, I think, but still.” He took a few labored breaths.
“Was it Luther who searched your room?”
He gave a sleepy nod cut short by a pained cringe. “He admitted it.”
“But what was the point? Why did Luther attack you?”
“After my father’s driver dropped me off outside the school, Luther was just coming out of Jackie’s. He waved me in for another drink. He wanted me to let something slip.” His words were slow, coming out pained and half-slurred. “Luther told me I’d been recognized by one of the men in the alley last night, and he wanted to know why I’d gone to rescue you and if your dragon had really flamed, like the rumors said.”
My muscles stiffened. Rush’s eyes were cloudier than usual and even more difficult to read in the nearly nonexistentmoonlight falling in through the window. On his next inhale, he grabbed his side.
“Outside Jackie’s, three men were waiting to jump me. Luther tried to act surprised, but I know he set it up. They were Serpents, and Luther led them to me. He’s working for them.” A mirthless chuckle rumbled from him.
