Chapter 64
We decide to ride the train back to Amery. Rook sits silently, perhaps sensing I don’t want to talk. I’m grateful for his steady presence and how he stood up to my mom.
When he said those words, I felt something loosen. Knox would never have chosen me over my father. I would have spent the rest of my life living in fear.
My only regret—and one I will live with for the rest of my life—is that I had to leave my mom behind.
At least for now. Maybe I can find a way to help her, too, though divorces are rare in Society.
She’d be left with nothing. Once I’m a Storm Guard, I’ll receive a salary.
Maybe then I can take care of her. It won’t be the life she’s used to, but I don’t know if I’d call her current existence living at all.
My pulse thunders against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.
The train stops at one of the city’s central stations, and suddenly I feel like I’m being buried under stone. “I changed my mind about the train,” I say. “I want to get out.”
“Sure,” Rook says, already standing. He grabs my hand, and we exit the platform, taking the stairs up to ground level.
We enter the station with its soaring ceilings and shiny marble floors, packed with at least a hundred different vendors selling wares.
They include not only Hollows and their ubiquitous cabbage stew and scavengers with their rows of foraged goods, but also artisans and even some food stands, the tantalizing aromas valiantly trying to cancel out the sour smell of cabbage.
The twinkling strands draping across the ceiling glow with soft light, illuminating the entire bustling scene. A string quartet in the center plays soft music, backdropping hundreds of conversations. A few swaying couples dance in the middle of the room, adding to the dreamlike vibe.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” I say as my racing heart slows. “I forgot how magical it is at night.”
“Do you want something to eat?” Rook asks, gesturing to a stand selling colorful desserts. Next to it is a cart offering paper boats filled with crisp fries and topped with your pick of creamy sauces.
“No. I’m not hungry, but I’ll come with you.”
“Okay, because I’m always hungry,” he says, and yeah, with all the exercise we get, he probably needs thousands of calories a day to maintain all that muscle.
We approach the fry truck, and he orders a large doused in spicy ketchup with swirls of mayo and topped with crispy onions.
He grabs two forks, and we head over to a bench before he hands one to me.
He digs in while I sample a few bites, surprised by how much some greasy food settles my stomach.
“I know I already said thank you,” I start. “But I really do appreciate how you stood up to my mom.”
He pops a fry into his mouth. “What can I say? Parents always love me.”
I snort out a laugh, then start giggling hysterically. “I can’t believe I just broke into my own apartment to tell my mom I needed a sweater.”
“Did you even grab a sweater?” he asks, pretending to check behind me.
“No!” I shout, and we both start laughing. It releases the swelling pressure compressing my ribs. “She knew it, too.”
“Do you think she’ll say anything to your dad?”
“I don’t think so.”
My head tips against Rook’s shoulder as he nearly polishes off the fries, offering me the last bite with a raised eyebrow.
“You go ahead,” I say, and he swallows it down before tossing our garbage into a nearby container.
His hand settles loosely on my thigh while I hang on to his arm and we watch the passersby.
The chatter swells, the dancers twirl, and if the desire for a life of peace and stillness were an image stirred into motion, this would be it.
“Wanna dance?” Rook asks, and I find myself nodding immediately.
“I thought you didn’t dance,” I say, dropping my voice, trying to mimic his stern words from the night at Sogno.
He chuckles. “You’re the exception, remember?”
I grin as he draws me up, and we wrap our arms around each other before we start to sway. I rest my cheek against his chest as he gently spins us in a circle. After everything I’ve done and all the pain I’ve caused, I don’t know if I deserve peace, but I can’t help wanting it anyway.
The soft strains of music harmonize against the cadence of voices, almost like a lullaby.
That’s when I notice someone watching me through the crowd.
I blink and then blink again.
It’s the same familiar Hollow I’ve seen from the train more than once.
“Hey,” I say and lift my head.
She turns and starts running, and I’m after her before I can think. I chase her through the station, under an archway, and down a flight of stairs.
“Wait!” I shout. “Please wait!”
She spirals down a staircase that levels off into the tunnels.
“Please! Stop running!” I shout. “Who are you?”
She looks back and then stumbles, allowing me to catch up. I snag her by the elbow and push her against the wall.
“Are you following me?”
She shakes her head and tries to yank her arm from my grip. “No, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Just tell me who you are.”
Finally, she stops fighting and sags against the wall, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. She had a head start, but I’m in much better shape. I hear footsteps behind me, and I know it must be Rook, but he hangs back, giving me space.
“You look so much like my old nanny,” I whisper. “But you can’t be her.”
The woman’s eyes shift left and right, hunting for an escape.
“I’m Greta,” she says finally. Wearily. “I’m her daughter.”
I frown. “She didn’t have any children, and you’re older than me. She didn’t have kids,” I insist, as if my certainty will make it true.
“Seven years older than you,” Greta says. “She didn’t tell anyone about me.”
My thoughts grind to a stop. “Why?”
Greta offers me a withering glare now that she’s caught her breath. For some reason, she already hates me. “Take your hands off me, and I’ll answer your questions.”
“You won’t run?”
She shakes her head, and I loosen my grip, ensuring I’m close enough to stop her from bolting again. “Start talking,” I say. “Why did she hide you?”
Greta smooths down the front of her tunic.
“Because of what I am,” she says plainly, but I understand the uncomfortable shift in her eyes.
“A Keeper,” I guess, searching her face, but her hair is light brown, without any hints of purple.
So not exactly like me, but always living in fear regardless.
Greta nods. “She spent every day in the home of one of The Shield’s most loyal families. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to my existence.”
“You mean she spent every day with Raine and me and then went home to you?”
“I barely saw my mother,” Greta answers with a defiant lift of her chin.
I shake my head. “Is that why she left? To spend time with you?”
Greta searches my face, bemusement creasing her brow. “You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“She didn’t leave. Your father had her killed.”
My stomach drops through my feet. “Why would he do that?”
“I know what you are, too, Poet Graves,” she sneers.
I exhale a sharp breath and take a step back. “Did your mother tell you? She was the only one who knew.”
Greta scoffs, and what I clocked as mere dislike clearly runs much deeper than that.
She loathes me. I took her mother from her, but I’m still not sure why.
“She wasn’t the only one who knew. Do you really think you could hide that from your father?”
I shake my head, trying to piece it all together.
“Your brother, too, of course,” Greta adds, triumphant. She’s enjoying this slow reveal of my life peeling apart.
At that, I look up. “Raine? He was a Keeper, too?”
Greta shakes her head with a cruel laugh. “They didn’t tell you anything, did they?”
“My father knows what I am?” I ask, my mind spinning with a thousand disparate thoughts.
Greta folds her arms, her expression softening, maybe pitying me for how clueless I’ve been. “He does. And he went to great lengths to protect your secret, leaving me with nothing. Without a mother, I had no one to take care of me. I almost died.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, hoping she understands how much I mean it. “I’m sorry you lost your mother because of me. Because of us.”
And Raine. Why did he never say anything? He was a Keeper, too? Does it run in family lines? Were we bonded by blood in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine?
“Does my mother know?”
Greta shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
She peers past my shoulder, and I look back at Rook, still keeping his distance.
I turn to Greta again, but she’s already started running, disappearing down the tunnel, swallowed by the shadows.
“Wait!” I call. “Let me help you!”
She ignores me, and I don’t try to follow. Maybe she’ll find me when she’s ready.
A moment later, Rook approaches and carefully takes my hand.
“Who was that?”
“Someone I knew. Or I mean, someone who was connected to someone I knew.”
“Are you okay?”
I blow out a breath and rub my forehead as a sharp pain shoots across my scalp.
“I think I need to lie down.”
“Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back to Amery.
I’m grateful when Rook doesn’t ask me any more questions.
I’m not sure I can offer up this shame for him to witness.
Greta lost everything because of me. She grew up without a mother.
And my father . . . Every time I think he can’t get any crueler, he surprises me in the worst possible way.
I guess we’ve both had our secrets to keep.