Page 40

i liked the way your freckles lit up when i touched you

I wanted to type something back, something mouthy, something that sounded like I had a spine, but my thumb just hovered over the glass. He's playing with me. Moving pieces around a board where I don't even know the rules.

My head falls back against the wet tile, water running over my face as I picture him behind me, his inked arm stretched across my stomach, holding me down like I belong under the weight of him.

“Ciaran,” I rasp, desperate.

The name tears out of me, and I'm rocking harder before I even realize I've sped up, chasing the image of that knowing look in his eyes, hearing those messages in that gravel-edged voice, while I feel my body betray me all over again.

I'm a mess. And worse, I think, I'm lying to myself. Because if I really wanted him gone, I wouldn't have just whispered his name.

The tension snaps, and I shudder as my back arches off the wall. A broken sound tears from my throat before my knees give out, leaving me slumped against the tile.

I stay there for a long time afterward, my head resting against the wall as I watch the water carry the evidence toward the drain. The heat disappears almost instantly, leaving only a biting cold.

I look down at my hands and feel exposed. Embarrassed in a way that makes my throat burn.

"Rowan?"

I jump at the sound of Damaris. When did he get back?

"Coming!" I scrub a hand over my face, my skin burning even though I'm standing here alone.

I get dressed quickly and press my thumb to the band until the number comes down to something manageable. When I open the bathroom door, the scent of cinnamon hits me, cut through by the sharp smell of yeast.

Damaris is already there in the small kitchen area, eating something wrapped in grease-stained paper. When he sees me come in, his brow furrows. "You're red, boo. You okay? Did you have another spike? You don't look great."

"It was just the shower." I make a show of drying my hair with the towel. "I stayed in there longer than I meant to."

When he smiles at that, I almost tell him. About the library. About the photo I found on the terminal screen, the one of Halvern standing beside a woman who looked too much like Sola for me to explain away. Even now, I can still feel the edge of that image under my skin, like I shoved it into my pocket and brought it back with me.

And that half-hidden street sign, still lingering in the back of my mind, the blurred lettering refusing to resolve into anything useful.

But the words stay where they are.

The guilt has been following me around ever since the library. Damaris has shared every theory, every stupid joke, every half-baked plan with me, and here I am keeping things from him.

But I don't know enough yet. I don't know what it means, and dragging him into it before I have something solid feels wrong.

"Scalding, huh?" Damaris grins, holding up the grease-stained paper. "Well, you need the fuel. I found these at a cart near the gates. They're calling them Sero Sunsets. They're basically cinnamon rolls with a death wish."

"Thanks, Dama."

I take a piece and chew slowly, sugar and spice melting on my tongue. It does make me feel better, even if not for the reason he thinks.

Damaris snorts. "They're good, right? But I'm already thinking about how I'd improve them."

I huff. "Of course you are."

"I knew you'd say that." Damaris laughs, leaning against the counter. "Which is exactly why we're heading out. Apparently there's a whole district below the hill—the original old city. And someone told me there's a market on Saturdays that runs until four. It's cheap, it's crowded, and I bet they have better flour than whatever this place uses."

"What time is it now?"

He checks his multi-slate and grins. "Three. But it only takes twelve minutes on foot. I already mapped the route. We can see the real Sero, get some proper supplies, and maybe find actual coffee. Not the sludge from the dining hall, but real, bitter, wake-you-up-and-slap-you coffee."

"We can't afford actual coffee."

Damaris waves a hand dismissively. "I've got some credits."