“Leave him alone,” Haven says. “We were just having fun.”
I don’t look back, but I sense Knox on my heels.
“End this party,” I say.
“Good luck,” Knox says to Haven. “You’re going to need it.”
I walk away while Knox blocks Grayson, preventing him from doing something stupid like following me. I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to kill Sullivan.
She’s light. Too light. Her head lolls against my shoulder.
“Where are your clothes?” I ask.
Haven scoffs weakly. “Very funny.”
My anger flares again, sharp and scalding, as I carry her away from the roof and walk us in the direction of Block A.
“Did you enjoy tarnishing my family name? Ruining years of legacy by behaving unco?—”
She giggles.
The sound stops me mid-sentence.
I hadn’t been expecting laughter. I’d been bracing for defiance. For fury. For insults.
“What?”
“I’m Mercy, not Haven. I have no ties to the Vale name,” she says. “Or did you forget?”
“Everyone knows that you are my sister-in-law,” I say. “You have an obligation to maintain appearances, and that means protecting our reputation.”
Another small laugh escapes her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, pressing her fingers to her mouth. “Please. Continue.”
“May I ask what you find so amusing?”
Haven reaches up, her unsteady fingers brushing my brow.
“You get this little crease when you’re angry,” she says thoughtfully, smoothing it with her thumb. “It’s kind of adorable.”
For once, I have no response. I’ve been called a lot of things, butadorablewas not one of them. She tilts her head back, gazing up at the night sky as if it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
“This reminds me of the night Gray and I raided my father’s wine cellar,” she murmurs. “My head felt just like this. Light. Floaty. We spent the night on the lawn counting the stars.”
She points upward to the sky.
“Did he touch you?” I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral. Then, remembering she’s drunk, I add more sharply, “Tell me.”
Something tightens in my chest. My grip on her shifts. It’s firmer than necessary.
Haven avoids my question.
“When did you get your first tattoo?” she asks.
Her fingers start trailing my neck. She’s behaving strangely, which is to be expected, since she is drunk, but I feel out of my element right now, likeIdowned a bottle of alcohol and not her. My tattoos start just beneath my neck, because my father would kill me if I had them in any visible area.
A shiver follows her touch as she skims the neckline of my jacket.
