Chapter 4
Isift through the clothes that fill my closet.
After a thirty-minute shower, I felt clean enough to step out when the water was beginning to run ice-cold.
I pick out a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a black tank top to throw on before heading back into the bathroom.
Various toiletries fill the open shelving, and I grab a new brush.
Who knows how long it will take to brush out the tangles that plague my long hair from nearly a year in prison.
I scan the additional products on the shelves while I run the brush through my hair.
Face products of all kinds, eye masks, and other self-care items bring a faint smile to my lips, and I feel even more grateful for Shaw.
He even went so far as to make sure I had nail polish before I could get an appointment down the street.
I set down the brush and grab a nearby hand towel to wipe the mirror, giving myself a clearer look.
It feels as if the farther I get from the prison, the more my appearance starts to improve, but I know it’s because the iron wrapped around my wrists and ankles for nearly a year has been removed.
My hair has a new shine, the purple beneath my eyes has faded, and my skin looks smooth and plump again.
The perks of being half-angel, I suppose.
I apply light makeup, paint my nails bright red, and brush my hair one last time before slipping on my white sneakers and heading out the door.
Before I leave, something catches my eye, and I pause.
The hallway has once again returned to its usual activity, as the afternoon brings back a rush of residents.
Angels walk past me, and I hesitate to look at them. They don’t speak to or acknowledge me, but that’s customary. Even though we are half-human, many angels are awkward—as if we missed the day of learning social behaviors at school.
Once you join the Lyre Order, it’s customary to move here full-time so you're more accessible for short-notice assignments as needed. I always suspected it was so Lowell could keep us under his control. His flock of puppets does everything he commands, but it’s the same for all Orders—angels and demons.
We do as we are told and ask minimal questions, whether it's an assignment or a simple task. The Elders speak, and we listen.
I talked back once and was coincidentally jumped in a back alley by two men that same day.
They beat me senseless, leaving me nearly drowning in a filthy puddle.
Lowell found me, saving the day just as he always does.
I knew right then who I was truly dealing with.
From then on, I did what I was told, including every assignment I was given, killing more people in the past twelve years than any other angel in our Order.
Out of habit, I walk much farther than necessary on my way back to Shaw’s room, losing myself in habit and thought. I force myself to turn around, avoiding the gazes of passing angels.
I walk faster and lift my hand to knock as I approach Shaw’s door.
I hear voices behind the thick wood and pause, pressing my ear against the rough surface.
A soft whisper fills the room like a morning breeze, and I knock anyway.
The talking stops and is replaced by graceful footsteps before the door swings open, revealing Talon Vale.
“Mara… Castten?” He steps back as his jaw slackens. “Shaw didn’t tell me you were coming home.”
Shaw rushes up behind him, pushing him out the door past me. “He was just leaving.”
Talon keeps his large brown eyes fixed on me, as if truly seeing a ghost. His face has fallen, and concern paints his twisted expression.
“Hey Talon,” I say.
“Hey,” he responds, bluntly.
Talon’s dark auburn hair is pulled back into a messy low bun, and even though he is larger than I am, we are closer to eye level than I am to Shaw. His arms fold over his chest, and his stare nearly makes me curve inward.
“Sorry, my appearance is scary. I apparently should have showered for longer.” I step aside, letting him move fully past me. “I… I just got back.”
“You look smoking hot, Mara,” Shaw replies. “He’s just surprised. That's all.”
Talon stares at me. “Have you seen Bronwyn?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Shaw is the only person I’ve seen. Well, and Lowell.”
Shaw steps between us. “And it’s going to stay that way, Talon,” he instructs. “Lowell has given orders that her arrival remains private.”
Talon takes a step farther down the hallway, understanding the need for secrecy. “Bronwyn doesn’t want to speak with you, Mara,” he says. “So, don’t try.”
His words strike me, but I’m not surprised.
Talon turns and adds, “I’m glad you’re back, but she won’t feel the same.”
“I know,” I mumble.
I shake off his words, even though I understand.
She is upset with me and is fantastic at holding grudges.
She will be tough to face again. Bronwyn told me not to go the night of my final assignment, but I didn’t listen.
I knew I couldn’t disobey Lowell, and instead of realizing that my friend was trying to protect me, I went behind her back.
I took it too far in trying to ensure she wouldn’t follow me, and I understand that now.
I have spent the last year regretting things I’ve done in my long life, and with each memory of her, my heart shatters.
“I’m sorry about that.” Shaw pulls me into his bedroom once more, closing the door. “I thought he would be gone before you came back.”
“I’ll have to face them at some point,” I say, sitting near the window. “I guess there’s no better time to do it than when I’m completely caught off guard.”
He laughs and joins me, sitting in the opposite chair. “Next time I’ll warn you.”
I cross my legs and sit back. “I would appreciate that.” I glance at the two game controllers on the ground. “Were you two really playing video games this time?”
He chuckles. “Yes, I swear that’s all.”
“You aren’t supposed to lie, remember? Pretty horrible timing on your end—sex hours after your best friend returns?” I smile.
“I’m not fucking lying, Mara.” He laughs again.
We fall into silence, and the weight of everything begins to settle on my shoulders. I glance around the cluttered room and close my eyes briefly, absorbing the distant chatter, the shuffle of feet, and the gentle breeze from the open window. I inhale deeply and close my eyes.
The room around me is dark, and I hear the faint drip of water and shackles rattling, while ‘Careful of the Grim’ echoes in my ears, and I feel the suffocation of the iron around my wrists once more. I stand, feeling the rough stone wall scratch my back, and I focus forward.
It wasn’t real. Being back wasn’t real.
I’m in prison, and I’ll never get out.
I blink, and as quickly as it happens, the brightness of Shaw’s room blinds me, revealing his face. His eyes are wide, and he stands poised to leap across the space in my direction.
“Mara?” Shaw freezes when he realizes I’m back in my right mind.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
He walks forward, wrapping his large arms around me. “You are here.” He pulls back and stares into my eyes. “You are here, with me.”
“I’m fine.” I push him backward.
I don’t allow my emotions to get the best of me.
Even though, as half angels, we excel at keeping our emotions at bay, I know my reaction wasn’t ideal.
I shouldn’t push him away. Instead, I should let him help me.
However, after years of burying everything to forget my past, I can’t just open up—even to him.
I cringe as the thought enters my mind, because I know everything will be forced into the open whether I want that or not.
“You don’t have to act that way.” Shaw steps back. “But I know you can’t help it. Fuck, I’d probably be the same way.”
His validation eases my anxiety, and I lift my head to look at him once more.
Shaw practically begged me to join the Lyre Order with him.
He told me that with all the anger in my system, I’d be the best assassin the Order ever had.
Except he never imagined that would come true.
I always thought he believed joining the Order would keep me busy, and I would take up a position doing something else to assist. Yet when the opportunity came for me to prove myself, I surpassed Shaw and all the others.
“You need food,” he says, glancing me up and down. “Want a burger?”
I nod quickly.
Shaw grins, walking to the large window in his room. “Should we fly or walk?”
The urge to spread my wings after so long has been screaming in my mind since leaving the prison.
As half-angels, most within the Order choose to show their true selves, allowing large wings to emerge from their backs in a process we call unfolding.
It isn’t painful or gory, but the skin of our human forms begins to split—like fabric being ripped—allowing the wings to spread across our backs.
It starts slowly, as feathers begin to form around us like a halo of light.
“Walk,” I respond.
Shaw’s shoulders drop, and he swallows as if he were seconds away from morphing.
“Fine,” he says, walking toward me. “But you are going to have to unfold at some point before tomorrow.”
We leave his room and begin our walk down the hallway. Angels walk past us, being their normal rude selves—only worried about their own lives. However, a few stop to look at me. I don’t drop my gaze, instead letting my icy blue eyes stare into theirs, praying intimidation keeps them away.
A few hybrids step aside as we descend the stairs and speak under their breath.
My nails dig into my palms as their words sink in, and I realize how they are addressing me.
Shaw cuts his eyes in my direction, praying I ignore the name, and gives the other angels a warning look that could set them aflame.
Only a few steps separate us from the outside world when one final angel speaks aloud.
Hollow Huntress.