I sighed and flipped the knife, spinning it, letting the blade catch the sunlight. “Did he send you for me?”
Justice turned, frowning. “No.”
I shoved the knife into the soil. It gave more easily than flesh. I watched the handle vibrate and then still. We had so many things to say, but neither of us could say them.
“I can’t trust you, can I?” I asked, although it wasn’t really a question. I couldn’t trust Justice the moment he became a mine. Anything I said could be repeated to Jagger. Anything Jagger asked, he would do.
Justice sighed.
“And now you can’t trust me,” I added.
He scooted closer. I held still, the cold rock warming beneath the rising sun. Slowly, he lifted his arm, wincing a little from the wounds on his chest and his shoulder. He dropped his arm over me and then tugged me close. I was frozen. I didn’t want to pull away, but I couldn’t move closer.
“Mari,” he said.
That’s all. But in my name, I heard a thousand words left unsaid. The tight ache inside me loosened, and I leaned into him. He exhaled softly as I dropped my head to his shoulder.
“All right?” I asked, worried I was hurting him.
“It’s fine.”
“Did you know Jagger’d put a clock on your coffin?”
I felt a quick grin flash through him. “Tacked a timer to my tombstone?”
“Did you know he was going to use you as my test? Is that why you wouldn’t look at me or talk to me? Were you hiding it from me?”
His fingers stroked lazily over my shoulder, brushing through my hair. “The amount of things I’m hiding from you could fill a hundred books.”
He sounded so matter-of-fact saying it. I curled my fingers into my hand, forming a fist.
I’m going to save him. I want so badly to save him. Griff too.
“We have to protect Griff.”
Justice shrugged. “I wouldn’t go down that road.”
“He’s not like us?—”
“You protect him, Jagger’ll have you kill Griff just for fun. I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you what not to do. I know more about what not to do than practically anyone else alive. By the way, you shouldn’t have let me live. You should’ve killed me, Mari.”
I peered up at him, catching a slight smile on his face. “Why?”
He kicked his foot, splashing water through the mist. “Because you think I’m guarding your back, but really, the people guarding your back are the ones who are in the best position to thrust a knife into it.”
I laughed. It wrenched out of me in a painful, surprised punch. Justice raised his eyebrows and then let out a low chuckle. His freckles were painted with the sun—they stood out on his pale face, paler from his blood loss.
“You killed me,” I said, tilting my head toward the sky. “You killed me.”
“I love your laugh,” he said, his voice quiet. “You don’t hate me. I thought you would. You probably will eventually, but you don’t yet. It feels good, but it hurts more. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I knew exactly what he meant. I reached over and took his hand, tapping my finger against him. Tap tap. Tap tap.
He tapped back, and we both sat quietly, staring at the water. The mist had evaporated. The wind was gone. Above, the ghost train clattered over Hell Gate’s bridge.
I stared after its faint outline until the train cars faded and disappeared.
“I’m scared,” I finally said, “that the things I’ll do . . . that I’ll be known as the Nightmare of Hell Gate.” I knew I shouldn’t have admitted it out loud. Not to Justice. He could go right back and tell Jagger.
