I tensed my diaphragm to hinder the mirth seeking to wiggle out of me. “Where is she, Zion?”
“She’s in your room,” he mumbled, the last word a breath instead of a sound.
As sleep snatched him from me, I stared at the milk-colored ceiling. Shadows swirled in the corners, free to roam the bedroom as the night had released its leash. Time lost its meaning as I counted Zion’s inhales and exhales.
But once he began lightly snoring, I gingerly shuffled away, stuffing a pillow under his head and hoping it would serve as a distraction until my return.
Sparing no time to search for clothing, I entered the hallway, the doors lining the walls still at rest, the apartments behind them unoccupied. The ceiling lights had been dimmed, drenching the tunnel-like space in an eerie glow that clung to you, as relentless as the dirt crumbs sticking to my soles.
At the end of the hallway, I slowly lowered the handle and slipped inside my bedroom. Curled up in the center of my bed, Kali slumbered. The thin navy duvet tucked underneath her armpits exposed the item she had snatched earlier—my hoodie.
The too-long sleeves were rucked up around her wrists, the neckline loose, the black hood one with her dark hair.
I brushed away the strands stuck to her parted mouth. A speck of crusted blood marred her upper lip, the crimson shade rattling my bones. Her nosebleed was the consequence of her fight with the commander on the roof in Ilasall.
If a person could survive the fall from a ten-story building, I would have hauled him back to the compound and given him to Eislyn to use as a dummy for first aid training. After Zion hadinflicted the necessary injuries, of course. He would appreciate a new plaything, a blank canvas to draw on.
Increment by increment, I pulled the blanket off Kali. My smirk arose at how she was fully covered in my clothing, from the hoodie to the matching pair of sweatpants.
Quietly, I maneuvered her to lay on her back so I could scoop her up.
“No,” she sleepily protested, but hooked her arms around my neck. “Put me down.”
“I will,” I promised as I carried her down the hallway and into her bedroom.
Zion had fully embraced the large pillow, his snoring partly muffled by it, and I gently deposited Kali near him.
Finally, both of them, a fighter and a sinner, were exactly where they belonged—with me.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured as she turned her back to me and moved closer to Zion.
Sitting on the bed, I buried my face in my hands. There were two of them beside me. Her from Ilasall, him from our compound. But I also existed. Two versions of me in their minds, three of me in my own. Cold and distant, angry and brooding, overprotective and controlling, an asshole and a killer, quick to snap and violent. Mix and match. Choose what you wish. What you thought of me.
Not many saw the truth. How such a life as ours forced you to grow up training in how to take a life most efficiently and how to extend the pain for as long as their lungs functioned. How it taught you to distance yourself from the emotions of others. How fury became your constant companion, fear of losing a close person a weight on your chest, and the lack of patience a blade at your throat.
There was only one thing I truly wished for. All I asked for. All I dreamed of.
Safety.
I could take whatever insulting thoughts, feelings, or words Kali and Zion had for me, but I could not give them what I did not have.
Which meant I could not take their existence for granted. So I was going to ensure it. Keep them alive. Protect their smiles, their laughter, the flames in their eyes, and the pouts of their lips.
To the end of my life.
20
KALI
Iwiped the condensation off the mirror hanging above the sink, the ceramic bowl installed atop the black-and-white marble counter. Although cracked and aged, it was spotless, and the faucet sparkled in the late morning light.
Clutching the edges of the sink, I stared at the pale ghost with sunken bags under her eyes in the mirror. My reflection mimicked the tilt of my head, drawing my attention to the shallow cut on my cheek and the redness from the scalding shower.
Wet hair hung heavy on my shoulders, the clumped strands soaking the towel secured around my chest and weighing as much as the recollection of last night.
Gedeon was alive.
He had lied about his death.
