Right?
A narrow opening yawns to the left, barely wide enough for one person at a time.
Knight ducks inside first, leading the group, and I go to follow when I realize Legend isn’t at my side anymore.
He stands several paces back, leaning against the stone wall, head down, his breath leaving him in heavy spurts.
“You good?” I ask, unease sweeping low in my stomach.
Worry.
That’s worry I’m feeling.
Why? I don’t…care about things. Especially not people.
Legend lifts his eyes, lids low but pupils wide. “Just tired,” he murmurs, pushing off the wall with a lazy, unfocused shove. “A little out of it, but nothing for you to worry about, little monster.”
My stomach curls tighter, because somehow, and without a shadow of a doubt, I know he’s full of shit. Somethingiswrong.
I take a step toward him, but Creed’s voice echoes behind me. “Move your ass, brat!”
Sighing, I let my shoulders fall. Legend grins, leaning in and sliding his lips across mine before tugging me along.
But his lips are…wrong. Warm instead of molten.
“Come on, mate.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue, todenythat word but…something keeps my lips pressed shut and I don’t want to think about what it is.
We push into the “murder zone.” I take in everything in my line of sight, which isn’t much at first glance, only small, glowing circles.
Sinner sees me looking and steps closer. “Magical markersVicente placed when the bodies were discovered. They mark where the evidence once was or collected from.”
I nod, and I can feel my senses sharpen like they’re not my own as I study the place the hunter the island made of me.
Claw marks decorate every surface, but they’re not defensive and they didn’t come from a dragon. The gaps between are too narrow and there are five, like the hand of a gifted after a shift. What it shifted into, I can’t say for sure.
The marks run vertically and horizontally. Crisscrossed. They’re upward and downward and across every surface with zero finesse. This isn’t outrage, not in the literal sense anyway.
“He’s trying to get someone’s attention,” I mutter.
“He?” London looks my way, tossing a piece of broken brick to the side. “What makes you say ‘he’?”
I shake my head, a frown forming. “I don’t know.” But I’m sure of it.
I can almostfeelthe turmoil coming off the surface in a thick, invisible fog. A fog that seems to be washing over only me and not the others, both weighing me down and stroking along my spine like the touch of a lover.
My toes tingle in my boots and I fold them over in my socks, trying to make sense of the strange pull in my chest that I’m not so sure belongs to me.
A pull to what, though? Because I can’t grasp onto anything else on the other end. It’s like it’s torn or missing something and it longs to get it back.
The thought makes me frown, and I can sense the watchful eyes of the others, so I scowl my expression as best as I can and turn to take in the other side, telling myself I’m just tripping out. That I’ve been around dragons all my life, so maybe I’m just more in tune with the place they call home than the royals are.
Yeah, because that explains the shitstorm in your head, Haide. Focus.
Thick black tar ribbons down the wall behind Legend. It moves, slow and deliberate, like it’s alive. Like something beneath the stone is flushing it outward.
Desperation claws at my insides, its source unknown. Those ribbons run fast; they tie and tangle. The lines crawl across the rock, twisting, linking, until they settle into a shape. No, not a shape, but words.
