But lying here in this cold room, in a safe house belonging to the man I'm supposed to marry, with my father in a hospital bed and my brother scattered to some other hiding place and my entire world reduced to survival, I can't push it away anymore.
Because I understand now what Declan meant.
Not that stress literally causes cancer. But that this life, this world of violence and strategy and constant threat, it consumes people. Eats them from the inside. Turns the parts of you that are soft and human and capable of joy into something harder. Darker. Until there's nothing left but the armor and the ash beneath it.
My mother was soft. Kind. She planted flowers and sang when she thought no one was listening and held my hand when I had nightmares. She wasn't built for this world. Wasn't designedto carry the weight of being married to a man like my father, a man she loved desperately but who brought war to her doorstep every single day.
And now I'm lying in William Murphy's bed, wearing William Murphy's shirt, reading William Murphy's journals.
Walking the same path she walked.
Except I'm not my mother.
I don't know what William Murphy is. Not yet. A few journal entries in the middle of the night don't give me that right. But I know he's more than what he shows people. And I know that my mother walked into her marriage blind, loved my father without ever seeing the full picture, and it hollowed her out.
I won't do that.
Whatever this arrangement becomes, whatever William and I become, I'll go in with my eyes open. That's the only promise I can make myself tonight.
I close my eyes.
The explosions are still there. Father's blood. Reilan's name torn from my throat. William's mouth on mine and the desperate fury of it.
But underneath it all, something quieter. Not understanding. Not yet. Just the sense that there's more to find.
I breathe in through my nose. Out through my mouth.
And finally, somewhere between one breath and the next, sleep comes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
William
I WAKE UP dying.
That's what it feels like. My heart hammers so hard I can feel it in my teeth, in my skull, in the tips of my fingers that grip sheets I don't remember pulling over myself.
Sweat pours off me. Soaking through my t-shirt, pooling in the dip of my collarbone. The couch cushions beneath me are drenched. The safe house is freezing, I can feel the cold air on my arms, but my body burns from the inside out.
I try to sit up.
Bad idea.
The room lurches sideways, and my stomach heaves. I barely get my head over the edge of the couch before I'm vomiting. There's nothing in me. Haven't eaten since before theengagement party, before the bombs, before we ran. But my body doesn't care. It wrings itself out anyway. Bile and acid and the taste of copper burning up through my throat until my ribs ache from the force of it.
My hands won't stop shaking. Not the fine tremor I've gotten used to. This is something else. Full-body tremors that rattle through me like I'm plugged into an electrical current.
My teeth chatter. My jaw locks. Every muscle contracts and releases in waves I can't control.
I know what this is.
I've been through alcohol withdrawal before. Twice. Both times were bad. But this is different. This is worse.
The cocaine. I haven't used since before Frank's deal. Before the party. How long has it been? I try to count the hours, but my brain won't cooperate. The numbers slide around, refusing to line up.
Two days? Three?
However long we've been in this safe house, that's how long it's been since the last line.
