“Yeah. They live in the valley. His name’s Fisher, and she had him when she was nineteen. I think the baby’s father abandoned her. Or she left him? I shouldn’t say. I don’t actually know what happened.”
“Then the father’s not here?”
Poppy shakes her head. “I think he’s in the wards.”
I tuck that nugget of information away.
“So you knew Gray from the Command base?” she asks me. “I heard someone say that.”
“Yes. We became friends there, but I had no idea he was a Mod until I got here. Hell, I had no idea he was still alive, because the asshole faked his own death. We held a funeral for him.”
Poppy opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, but then her cheeks turn pink, and she shifts her gaze to the path ahead.
“What is it?” I push.
“Nothing. Just…” She gives a little shrug. “If you’re on for him, you could probably just wait it out.”
“Wait what out?”
“Nothing. I shouldn’t say anything.”
“No, tell me.”
“Karra cheats on him all the time.”
Whoa. Okay. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Does Gray know?” I ask with a frown.
“I think so. They’ve been on and off for years. I don’t think he’s that invested. He and Saint don’t really seem like relationship boys.”
Sounds about right, considering all the women I see sneaking out of Saint’s room every morning.
“How did Saint enter this conversation?” I tease, and Poppy ducks her head so I won’t see her blushing. It’s impossible not to. Her entire face is redder than crimlock. “Uh-oh. Does someone have a crush on Saint?”
“It’s not a crush. I just think he’s cute, that’s all.” She groans. “Whatever. Come on. The aviary is through here.”
I drop it because I’d like to be friends with this girl, and I don’t want her thinking I’m some jerk who’s going to relentlessly tease her about her crushes.
My eyes widen as Poppy opens the gate for us, because this is the last thing I expected to find on the mountain. The aviary is a large enclosure tucked against a dense thicket of trees, its wire fencing nearly camouflaged by vines and foliage. Clusters of trees provide shade for the birds, which are soaring from branch to branch, and there’s even a small rock pond running through the middle of the enclosure. Crystal-clear water and smooth stone.
“Wow,” I marvel. “You know, I’ve never actually seen an aviary before.”
“It’s more of a sanctuary. We take care of injured birds and—well, not ‘we,’ ” she corrects, blushing again. “Scarlett does all the work, but she lets me help out sometimes.”
We walk in, and I feel a sense of serenity as we’re surrounded by the sound of rustling leaves and the soft whisper of the breeze. I hear the faint birdcalls, tweets, and chirps, various melodies that make me smile. It reminds me of our clearing in the Blacklands where we spent three years. The birds used to flock to the clearing because it offered one of the only sun pockets in the entire forest. They’d sit on branches and bask in the weak sunlight that penetrated the thick black mist.
In the center of the aviary sits a wooden structure, a hut really. The wood is sagging and gray, weathered after years in the elements, and half of it is covered with creeping vines.
“What’s in there?”
Poppy heads for the propped-open door. “Come see.”
Inside, the air is at least twenty degrees warmer and a hundredtimes more humid. I breathe in the scent of wood and straw, along with that earthy bird scent. About a dozen birds take up residence in the hut.
“This shelter is for the birds that don’t feel like flying. They’ll usually come in here and hide out,” Poppy explains.
I see sparrows and jays, and even a wren. The little brown bird is perched on a ledge against the wall.
