I can admit it to myself, but only while the others sleep.
The air inside the bunker is stale, musty, and damp. It smells forgotten, and I wonder if anyone has stumbled upon this hiding spot since my parents fled this realm thirty years ago.
Were they as scared as I am the last time they were here? Did Dad’s hands shake while he held Mom close, her arms wrapped around her rounded belly?
I shake my head. It’s difficult to picture them feeling fear or any other strong emotion. Fleeing the monster realm hit my parents hard. I’m not sure they ever got over the sacrifice they made to protect me. With each year that passes, they show less of everything. It’s been more than a decade since I heard Mom laugh.
As a kid, I didn’t notice their emptiness—at least not in a way I could put into words. The hollow voices, their faraway eyes, and the ever-present glass of whiskey Dad kept clasped between his fingers.
My parents love me—I have no doubt about that. Shit, theygave up part of themselves to make sure I never had to do the same. But sometimes... is it wrong to wish they hadn’t?
Alistair stirs against me, his deep, even breathing becoming shallower. He whispers my name. It sounds like a question. I open my mouth to speak, but the lump in my throat is too big. I squeeze his leg instead.
“I can take over the watch.”Damn him. I need this.
“I’ve got it,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”
I’m stiff. My voice is raspy, and it’s incredibly frustrating because I can already see how this is going to play out.
Ali will notice that I’m upset, and then he’ll argue with me about keeping watch. He’ll push, and dammit, I can’t match him tonight.
Not while every bone in my body is aching. My flimsy, inherited knowledge of this hellish fucking realm is the only thing standing between us and a cluster of shallow graves, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
But Alistair doesn’t argue.
He covers my rigid hand with his and runs his thumb over the back. Slow, rhythmic swipes—it’s sweet and soothing, but mostly it’s strange. Alistair is a lot of things: passionate, intense, and dangerous, to name a few, but he isn’t usually sweet. Not with me at least.
The lump in my throat doubles in size, and it’s all I can do not to choke on it.
I bite my lip, wincing at the sting.
Gradually, as if he thinks I’m going to bolt or backhand him, Alistair wraps his other arm around my shoulders and tucks me into his side. His breath is warm, and it rustles my hair as I sag against him, the tension that’s been holding me together abandoning me all at once.
We’re close. If he wanted to tear my throat out, he could. I doubt I could do a damn thing to stop him, but I know he won’t.
I trust Alistair. Almost as much as I trust Celine. Getting to that point wasn’t as hard for me as it is for most people in the Fringes, so I try to be understanding whenever Celine or Alistair retreat. In a world of backstabbing and betrayal, they’ve been conditioned to wear their suspicion on their sleeves, but the only deep pain I’ve experienced was secondhand.
I used to think that was a strength of mine.
Now I wonder if I have any of those at all.
“You’re spinning out,” Ali whispers.
I nod, knowing he can feel it against his shoulder.
“Talk to me?”Can I?
My mom’s face returns to my mind, threads of gray woven into the brown of her hair. Her tired hazel eyes always soften when they land on me, and I’ve learned to find meaning in those subtle signs.
“I haven’t been to see them in a while,” I admit. It’s not what I planned to say, but if Alistair is surprised, I can’t tell.
“Your parents?”
I nod again.
“Are they unable to travel?” Alistair asks.
His question throws me off. I raise my eyebrows, thankful for the darkness. I’m not sure why their refusal to visit has never crossed my mind. After moving constantly when I was a kid, they settled in the Texas Fringes when I was thirteen or fourteen. I don’t think they’ve left since.
