“You’re a player, a rather popular one at that. You should be smarter,” he chastises. “I don’t often interfere. Even considered leaving you to your lesson.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, watching him carefully.
He shrugs. “Your bug found me. Kind of like her.”
He still isn’t looking at me, his face turned toward the windows. The sunshine dances across his face in a way that makes him even more devastatingly handsome than he looks on the posters. I’ve seen Havoc many times in my life. The Luxe Guards love to use his image on the propaganda posters around Dross.
You, too, can be a legend.
Havoc, the Legend.
The Harrow makes legends.
I’ve seen it so many times, it makes me sick. And now here I am, sitting in front of the man they use to convince others to enter the Harrow. Here he is, just sitting here, reading a newspaper, completely relaxed.
Rumor has it he’s been in the Harrow for almost a decade. He entered one day and just never left. It makes sense. Even with all the dangers of the Harrow, it’s still far better than Dross. At least you won’t starve here and you don’t catch any of the sicknesses we have to contend with back home. And Havoc doesn’t seem the kind to be about the Golden City of Luxe anyway. He’s too rough for that. Too gravelly.
I study him closer, taking note of the small scars I can see on his arms here and there. He’s dark-haired, the hair longer and messy around his ears. His eyes are so dark, they almost don’t look human. In Dross, men struggle to grow facial hair, mostly because of the poisonous air. Apparently, it effects hair growth so when they try, it grows in spotty. Beards are rare back on the ring. But Havoc has a thick, healthy beard, trimmed neat and nice on his face. There’s a massive sword leaning against the table beside him that I flick my eyes to. All around, he looks exactly like the posters, if a little more rough around the edges. I want to ask him about that, about how he becameThe Legend, but there are more important things to worry about right now. I haven’t seen Locke.
“The man with me,” I say, looking around the room. “Where is he?”
He hadn’t been in the bed with me and he’s not in this room. Svetlana was there, sleeping, but no one else had been tossed in.
Havoc’s brows shoot up in surprise. “The Bone Breaker? I didn’t realize you two were . . . together.”
“We’re travelling together,” I clarify. Not that it’s any of his business, but it felt important to clarify just in case Locke wouldn’t like the implication. We’re friends and we’ve gone through a lot, but we haven’t exactly discussed anything deeper.
He frowns. “Why?”
I frown back at him. “Why not?”
“Bone Breakers are untrustworthy,” Havoc replies.
“This one isn’t,” I argue, staring at him hard.
He studies me, those dark eyes tracing my face. “Interesting.”
I try not to think about the strange feeling in my stomach at his perusal. Somehow, it feels like he sees deeper inside me than I’m letting him. Like he can read deeper into my words than I’d like.
“Where is he?” I ask again, starting to grow worried.
Havoc shrugs. “He was being carried off by—” He stops when I stand up suddenly. “Where are you going?”
“To go get him,” I answer, raising my brow. “I just hope Stevie is with him.”
“Stevie?” Havoc asks, frowning.
“The Ophanim that was with us,” I clarify. At his deadpan expression, I add, “The floating ball of rings and wings and creepy eyes.”
Havoc just stares at me. “You keep interesting company, player.”
“Who was carrying him off?” I ask as I adjust my clothing and try my hardest to push down the headache.
“The rats,” he replies. “But you can’t just go marching into the sewers. The rats don’t like that.”
“Well, I’m not leaving him there,” I argue, spinning to meet his eyes. “Will you help me?”
He grunts out a laugh. “I’ve done my part.”
