She reached into her left pocket and plucked a small item from its home among the lint. She slammed it down in front of Phineas. “You’re also going to tell me what the hell this is.”
Phineas eyes grew wide for only a second before his expression darkened. He didn’t move to pick up the odd coin. His tongue slipped out between pursed lips before he said, “I’m not the one you should be asking that question.”
And then his gaze slid off her, landing on Toran. It was only then that she noticed how stiff Toran was—his arms clenched to his sides, his breaths too even.
She snatched back the coin, then wound her arm through Toran’s. “Phineas, while this has been as frustrating as usual,” she said, “I think it’s time we leave.”
Phineas rose from his seat, that smile still wide on his lips. “I look forward to the next time we speak, hound. I do hope you’ll remember to bring me a gift then.”
Nes wrinkled her nose. “Better dye your hair again,” she said as she tugged Toran toward the door. “Blond doesn’t suit you.”
She flung open the door—the raucous noise of the ongoing brawls rushing her—and dragged Toran outside. She didn’t stop until they were blocks away from the Siren’s Hair. She paused at the marker between the Ditch and the Bark before yanking Toran into a narrow alcove. She pressed him against a shoddily painted green door and out of sight.
“What the hell, Nes?”
She ignored him and pressed her palm to his lips. She craned her neck around the corner, gaze sweeping the empty street. It was too late for any of the blacksmiths and tradesmen in the Bark to be working, but that didn’t mean she and Toran were alone. Phineas had spies everywhere, and yet she didn’t feel the eyes she had earlier.
She waited, a hand over Toran’s mouth as she strained her ears, listening for any sound that didn’t blend with the melody of the night.
Nothing.
She removed her hand from Toran’s mouth.
Toran pushed one shoulder forward then the other, like he was testing the boundaries of their confined space. Or maybe he was testing her.
No attachments. The reminder kept her body rigid.
“How long have you had that?” Though his breath was hot against her forehead, his voice was ice.
“We have a name now,” she said, her own tension rising like acid onher tongue. She welcomed it. The anger would hide the true reason her cheeks flushed.
“Answer the question. How long?”
“Since before the Drowning Square.” She pulled both coins from her pocket and held them up to his face. “What are they?”
He pushed her hand aside. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She clasped the metal in her fist. “Because I didn’t know you.”
“That’s a weak excuse, and you know it. You’re supposed to help me find the Witch, not hinder my search.”
“Damari.”
His chest rose and fell. “Fine. Damari. You should have told me.”
She let her fist fall. Only there was no room between them. It dropped against him, to a spot just below his shoulder, his heavy breaths lifting it up and down. Every sense in her body honed in on her fist, on the sensation of his chest beneath her hand. She felt as if she were walking a tightrope. Keeping her balance meant maintaining control. But one slip and she’d fall.
No attachments.
“I didn’t tell you,” she said, stopping herself from squeezing his shirt in her fist, “because I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
Under her hand, his breathing evened out. “Do you trust me now?”
She couldn’t answer that. Instead, she opened her hand. “What are they?”
Toran glanced down at the coins. “I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you tell me where you found them.”
She closed her fingers back over the metal. They were warm in her palm. He was warmer.
