The engine kicks over before I can say anything, and I close my eyes, clinging to him with all the strength I can muster.
Thank the heavens I do, because he doesn’t warn me before the bike lurches suddenly up and off the ground.
“Oh, my gods!” I scream as we crest over the treetops.
Elliot’s voice vibrates through my chest, and even though I can’t hear it over the roar of the engine, I know he’s laughing at me. But I’m too busy trying not to slip off the back of the bike to scold him.
I keep my eyes tightly shut until he sets us down on the roof of the White Hall dormitory.
“See. That wasn’t so bad,” he says, cutting the engine and turning in his seat.
“Speak for yourself,” I say, peeling myself off of him.
My stomach is twisted in a knot, and if I weren’t so determined not to throw up again tonight, I probably would have already, somewhere over Lake Jauna.
I find my footing as I dismount the bike, but the queasy feeling returns the moment I peer over the edge.
White Hall is much taller than Crescent House, a full fifteen floors compared to Crescent’s five. And without any railing to separate us from the ground, I can’t help but quietly calculate the approximate distance between me and the earth.
“Don’t look down,” Elliot says. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
“You know I don’t do heights,” I hiss.
“Yes. That’s why I want you to stop looking at it.”
He blocks my view with his body and gestures for me to step back from the roofline.
I do as he says, forcing myself to focus on his face instead of the pitch-black sky behind him.
He’s not smiling at me, but he isn’t frowning at me either. He’s looking at me with an expression I’ve never seen on him before.
His sage green eyes are soft, downturned, and wilting. His ears, normally alert and expressive, are sagging. And he is chewing at the metal stud in his lip with such force that I’m concerned he might tear it free.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was worried.
“Are you okay?” he asks when I don’t blink for a moment.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
The words don’t come out as confident as I mean them to.
“Ashbourne,” he scolds me, brows lifting in question.
“No, really, I’m fine.”
I know people don’t usually mean it when they say that, but I do. I’m fine.
Grey isn’t the first person to make the mistake of thinking they could take something from me. He is, however, the first to lose his life for such a mistake.
Honestly, I’m surprised by just how fine I am.
I thought I’d feel guilty somehow, and for a moment, maybe I did. But that feeling faded quickly after he took his last breath.
The truth is, given the choice between my life and Grey’s, I’d choose mine every single time.
“I’m just tired,” I admit, hoping we can leave it at that.
But Elliot’s never been one for passive-aggressive hints. If you want something, you’re better off just telling him straight.
