I never thought I’d be able to stand in his arms again.
I wondered, if it hurt this much, how much more would it hurt when Jagger’s blood was at full volume?
I stood still, keeping my muscles locked, concentrating on the feel of Finn and ignoring the pain. The hug lasted minutes, but I hoped to capture its memory so it could last an eternity.
Finally, I stepped back, and Finn dropped his arms.
“Tell me,” I said, with only the smallest tremble of emotion. “Tell me why you took me tonight.”
Finn stared at me, perhaps weighing up whether or not he could tell me the truth.
He couldn’t.
I should’ve told him not to. You couldn’t trust a mine. Not ever.
He came to a decision. “To free you.”
My heart leaped high and then crashed within a millisecond. “You can’t free a mine. The only freedom is in death.”
“We’ll see.”
He studied my expression, his eyes warming. His left eye was the color of a grassy meadow; his right eye was streaked with the blue of a forget-me-not.
He was staring at me with the expression he had when he wouldn’t be swayed from a decision he’d made. He had the same expression as when he’d first decided to be my friend. He’d worn it when Luvic told him not to approach his father and he’d gone anyway. It was the same expression he’d worn the first time he told me he loved me. There was nothing on earth that would change his mind.
Suddenly, I wanted to kiss him. I desperately wanted to press my lips to his mouth no matter how much it hurt, no matter the cost. I shook my head and turned away.
I hopped down from the rubble and picked over the tracks. The musty scent was clearing, swept back by the wind blowing through the tunnel. There was an area ahead where a number of tracks converged. One of the tracks was in use. We’d follow it to the working station.
Finn hurried after me, and soon, we were at the intersection. There were old platforms, metal columns, a half-dozen tracks, and the hum of florescent lights.
We had only minutes before we reached the station.
The itch traveled up the back of my neck again, raising goose bumps. I swung around and pointed at Finn. He stopped, surprised.
“Why are you covered in illusion?”
He blinked. Frowned. “I am?”
I pressed my lips together. “What happens if I unravel it?”
“I don’t know.” He thought about it for a moment, then he added, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”
I tugged at one of the knots and let it slip free. He flinched and sucked in a hard breath.
“That hurt?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”
I frowned. Tugged another knot free.
He jerked as if stung by a bee. “Mari.”
I pulled another knot—a Lark’s head—yanking it loose. He flinched again, his face bleaching of color. He was so pale he looked almost translucent.
“Mari, stop.”
His words hit me, and I shook my head. There was something wrong here. This was Finn. But if it were Finn, then why was he drenched in illusion, and why did it hurt him when I pulled the knots free?
