Chapter 14
ROWAN
"Hey, you're back." Damaris turns his chair around when I kick the door to our dorm shut.
It's early evening, and I've had a long day of practice that still has my hands tingling. "Yeah."
He snorts, turning back to his desk and grabbing what looks like a newspaper clipping. "Here. I found something."
"What's that?"
"Read for yourself."
I drop my bag, take the clipping, and skim it, eyes catching on the text.
"Private venue… Black Chapel…" I read under my breath.
"Three students hospitalized after an underground fight…
no formal charges filed…" My thumb drags lower over the page.
"Authorities declined to comment on allegations of organized betting activity connected to several old-city families…
the Marrow Consortium…" My thumb stills on the last line. "…Adrian Voss."
"Yup. I don't know what he's got to do with all of this, but his family keeps showing up around Virel-owned venues.
Maybe that's why he was gambling there." Damaris snorts at his own words, lowering the clipping onto the counter.
"Apparently Adrian wasn't lying. Remember Pa talking about some mafia family called the Orlovs after we got the scholarship? "
I glance up. "Vaguely."
"Apparently they got banned from Sero." He shrugs. "The Voss family got caught in the fallout and lost a fortune."
"One of the ruling families?"
"Yeah." Damaris scratches the back of his neck. "Actually, that explains a lot."
"How do you mean?"
"Adrian's always going on about the Virels, warning people away from them." He glances back at the clipping. "If his family got burned when all that happened, maybe he wasn't just being bitter."
"Comforting," I mutter. "Maybe that's why you shouldn't be gambling with Adrian, Dama. I told you I don't like the guy. Something about him feels off. I can't put my finger on it."
"Perhaps it's the Sero effect," Damaris jokes. "There's too much coin to be traded here. And too much coin always brings trouble."
A second later, the hotplate clicks on and he's already moving around the kitchen while I stand there, my thoughts drifting unwillingly from Adrian's family to Black Chapel and the people who seemed to orbit it.
Maybe Damaris is right. Maybe there really is too much money moving through Sero for trouble not to follow.
The fridge opens. He grabs vegetables first, then some leftover meat wrapped in paper, dropping everything onto the counter while the hotplate hisses softly beside him.
The headline keeps turning over in my head while I stare down at the clipping again.
Organized fights. Old-city families. Gambling rings.
I know Ciaran's dangerous. He even looks dangerous with that dark hair, those dark eyes, and the knowing smile that always lingers at one corner of his mouth like he knows something I don't. Every time he looks at me like that, my stomach does something humiliating.
He's bad news. The worst kind, probably. And somehow that still hasn't stopped me from thinking about him.
Because he let me sit on the back of his bike? Because he keeps sending me messages? Because he looks at me like I'm his problem?
Good Light, I truly am pathetic.
Damaris keeps talking while something hits the pan—oil first, then spice, the smell cutting through the room.
"I'm going," I blurt.
"You see what I—what?" He jerks toward me, banging his head against the cupboard above the kitchenette.
"To Black Chapel," I clarify.
"For fuck's sake." He rubs the spot he just hit and fixes me with a disbelieving look. "No, you're not."
"I already decided."
"Which is exactly why you're not going," he snaps. "You literally just read the article, Ro. Doesn't any of this bother you? Like—" He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. "Downstairs is even worse. That's not somewhere you just walk into alone."
He stirs harder than necessary, the pan scraping lightly as he does.
"I didn't show you that so you'd walk straight into it, Ro. Something about this whole thing is off, and we don't even know who's really involved yet."
"Well, I'm going anyway," I murmur. "Ciaran asked me to meet him at Black Chapel."
Just saying it out loud makes it sound like a terrible idea.
That finally gets his attention.
Damaris turns so fast he nearly drops the spoon back into the pan. "He... what?"
"He asked me to come."
"Oh no, absolutely not." He points the spoon at me now like it's a weapon. "Ro, did you not just read that article? Underground fights, gambling, old-city families, people getting hospitalized—hell no. You're not walking into that place alone because some rich asshole asked you to."
"He's not—"
"He's a Virel, Ro. And you're a scholarship student with a big dream and a broken home.
Wait. You mean like... a date?" Damaris drags a hand down his face before pointing the spoon at me again.
"I can't believe this. Not even two weeks at Caervast and trouble is already knocking on our door.
We should never have gone to that stupid party. "
"You're worrying too much." I look back down at the article. "It's not a date."
It's not. Even if he used that word himself.
The guy's just toying with me. He might think I'm stupid, but I'm not. I've done my research, and Damaris is right. We can't trust anyone here. Düren might be a poor dust planet, but Sero is filled with insects fighting each other.
But if it isn't a date, then I'm not sure what it is.
Damaris exhales sharply. "Ro, that's worse."
"It's not just that."
"Then what is it?"
I tap the paper. "This."
"Well, this is exactly why you shouldn't go." He waves the clipping in the air. "This is trouble, and you know it. I get it, boo. He's hot. He's rich. But he's trouble."
The pan hisses as he turns the heat up.
He shakes his head, pacing now. "No. We find Sola our way. We don't start walking into places tied to whatever this is. If she's here, we'll find her without you getting dragged into something like that."
I push off the kitchen island. "Or we don't. Come on, Dama. If this is connected, I'm not waiting around hoping something falls into place." I hesitate. "Come with me as far as the Chapel, at least? Please?"
"Come with you." He bristles, shaking his head. "On your date?"
A stupid little giggle escapes before I can stop it.
Ever since that message from Ciaran, I've felt giddy.
Excited. And I know I shouldn't. I know he's playing with me.
I know this is not a date. But whenever I think of the way he kicked my legs aside, the way he held my throat and controlled my breath, the way he made me feel small and safe and desired, my stomach flutters.
I want it again. And again and again and again.
"It's not a date."
Damaris exhales hard and turns away, heading for the kitchenette like he needs something to do with his hands, pulling open a cupboard with more force than necessary. "Fine. But I'm not letting you walk into that place alone."
He grabs a plate without looking and sets it down on the counter. Something in my chest loosens, just a fraction. I watch him for a second longer than I should.
"Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, already reaching for another plate. "Here. Eat. Then get changed for the date that is not a date."
The Black Chapel is already crowded by the time we get inside.
"Let's go for a drink first." Damaris drags me to the bar, and I look down, wondering for the tenth time that night if my second-hand button-down and straight trousers stand out too much.
Ma bought them for me at the market after we got the scholarship news. She was so happy she cried right there between the clothing stalls.
Everyone here looks expensive. I shouldn't care, but I do. I've never been asked to go out with anyone. Not that this is a… well, yeah. Whatever this is, it's my first time.
Around me, jewelry catches under the low gold lights and tailored jackets hang off shoulders like nobody cares what they cost. Even the people leaning against the walls look polished in a way I don't think I'll ever manage.
I tug at the sleeves of my button-down, hyperaware of the cheap fabric against my skin.
Good Light, I overdressed, and now everyone's going to think I actually tried for this.
"Well, look who decided to come back," the bartender drawls, leaning his forearms on the counter. "Didn't think we'd see you again so soon."
"I didn't plan on it." I glance down at the counter before looking back up.
"Mm." His eyes flick to Damaris, taking him in just as openly, then back to me. "Your friend?"
"Yeah."
There's a flicker of something in his expression as he reaches for two glasses, quick enough that I almost miss it. Amber liquid splashes into both before he slides them across the counter.
"I'm good." Damaris steps back from the counter.
The bartender ignores that. "Boss takes care of his guests."
I glance at the drinks, then back at him. "We didn't order anything."
"You didn't have to." Amusement flickers across his face. "Somebody's interested."
Damaris grabs the tumbler and I think he's going to throw it straight at the smug bartender's face.
"Dama, he's just messing with you," I say, taking it from him and pressing it back into his hand. "Come on."
He hesitates before tightening his grip, then brings it to his mouth. I lift mine too, taking a careful sip. It burns all the way down.
Around us, the crowd shifts and swells, someone laughing too loudly near the bar while a pair of students disappear into a darker corner. Music pulses through the room, low enough to feel more than hear.
"Let's get this date over with, shall we?" Damaris is already steering me away from the counter before I can argue, weaving through the crowd, squeezing past a group pressed shoulder to shoulder around a card table while someone lights a cigarette near the back wall.
"And while you grab your drink with Virel, I'll keep my eyes open," he says. "If anything feels weird, we leave."
I glance over at him. "Deal."
He grins, all boyish and Dama and best friend, and I'm very glad he came.