22. Luna
LUNA
FOUR DAYS LATER
I hit send on the email and lean back in my chair, tension loosening in my neck. I don’t take my eyes off the computer screen in the three minutes it takes for my inbox to chime.
See you soon.
He signs his name Mr. A and leaves it at that. That’s been his style ever since he reached out three days ago. Short, quick replies. Can’t even be bothered to spell out his name.
Father will love him.
My fingers stretch out over my armrests as I relax into my seat and allow myself a brief moment of reprieve.
I’ve done it.
This morning, a Mr. Andre A. Sanchez deposited one hundred million dollars into my Swiss bank account. One hundred million dollars—only the quarter of wealth required to step foot onto Shadow Sanctum property. If he chooses to stay, it’ll be another hundred million. And once fully initiated…
This one initiate will bring in four hundred million dollars.
But the best part. The very best part…
There are no rape charges against him. No criminal charges of any kind.
He’s a Cambridge-educated businessman with no wife, no kids, no family to speak of, and all he wants, according to him, is a place to belong. To put it simply, he’s lonely and tired.
The Shadow Sanctum came on his radar during a summer trip to New York when he broke away from board meetings and the sinful nature of the city to a small farm community only an hour from here.
Unsurprisingly, they spoke highly of us—I pay them a commission for spreading the word to his type—and over a year later, he’s ready to take the plunge.
He could not have chosen a better time.
A knock on the door pulls my attention from the computer. I wait a moment for Thorne to walk through—Father never knocks—but when he doesn’t step inside, I clear the cobwebs from my throat. It’s times like these that it hits me how thoroughly I’ve been engrossed in this work.
“Who is it?”
“Aiden, Your Grace. Forgive my interruption, but the patrols are awaiting their schedule.”
My eyes sting as I blink, lids feeling stiff.
He’s here now? But it’s only… I turn back to my computer to note the time, but the dim lighting cutting past the curtain tells me the day has slipped to dusk faster than I realized. It’s already six. The Keepers expect the schedule by five at the latest.
I open the desk drawer and lift the paper with the schedule out, my neat handwriting carefully chronicling their rounds in a beautifully chaotic fashion. If Sawyer is trying to pinpoint a pattern in the Keep’s security—which, of course he is—he won’t get far.
Aiden is standing tall and statuesque when I open the door, the paper outstretched toward him. He takes it and looks it over as he always does, but this time, I spot an uncharacteristic frown.
“Something wrong?” I ask with a tone colder than it should be. My voice hasn’t had a chance to warm up.
Aiden lowers the paper but struggles to meet my eyes. “Of course not.”
I just stare at him. His cheek twitches like there’s bad news to deliver, and at a less victorious time, maybe I’d encourage him.
I take a step back and go to shut the door but freeze when Aiden flattens a palm on the wood.
“Head Keeper,” he starts, his tone somehow both firm and nervous. “Forgive me if this isn’t my place, but I think you should know, Mr. Hansley hasn’t eaten the last three meals I’ve brought him. Today, he declined his walk. In general, he seems less … chatty.”
My heart thumps. Its pace picks up for a few beats before returning to normal.
Sawyer… I haven’t spoken to him in days. Not since the night of the dinner.
Every time I pass his room, I make my steps lighter.
Every time I cave into hunger and go to the kitchen, I have to remind myself he isn’t allowed outside our quarters.
He’s no longer permitted anywhere outside of the library and his room, per Thorne’s orders.
The exception is daily walks supervised by Aiden.
I could have convinced Thorne to loosen his hold on Sawyer’s leash, but if I’m honest, I was relieved.
The last interactions we’ve had were too intimate. The way he looked when he kissed me goodnight was so sincere, I almost fell for it. I am very close to falling for it.
I’ve revealed too much. I’ve said too much. I’ve let him kiss me far too much.
“You think he’s faking depression?”
Aiden’s frown deepens. “I don’t think he’s faking anything, Your Grace.”
Then you’re blind, I want to say but don’t. How ironic would it be to chastise Aiden for being deceived by Sawyer? A dunce educating a fool.
“Thank you, Aiden. You may go.”
His feet shuffle, but he doesn’t immediately leave. I swing the door the rest of the way shut just as his mouth opens.
Stepping away from the door, I run a hand through my hair and let out a low sigh.
My legs ache from sitting, and as I roll my shoulders and stretch to the side, I realize Sawyer isn’t the only one who declined his daily walk.
It’s been two days since I’ve gone on a run.
If I don’t get out of here soon, it’ll be me Aiden voices his concerns about.
Gathering my hair on my head, I spin it into a tight bun before changing into black tights and a hooded sweatshirt.
Once dressed, I shut down my computer and head out the door, more certain with every step that it’s the right decision. I secured a hundred million dollars today with the promise of another three hundred million. I’ve earned the break.
When I reach Sawyer’s room, I slow to a stop. My teeth scrape along my bottom lip while I weigh Aiden’s words. I should give them no credit. In all likelihood, Sawyer is faking melancholy to get me to check on him. I’d be stupid to give in. I’d be as gullible as Aiden.
I start walking again and get all the way to the stairs before I stop a second time.
It’s Thorne’s face that makes me pause, full of rage and vindication.
He loves me. He respects me. But I couldn’t possibly blame him if he’s chosen to be cruel to his enemy.
If potentially, he’s pushed too far. Sawyer deserves any and all wrath.
A ship that sails into a storm has no right to curse the waves.
But then… I do need that ship. Regardless of what a fool I would be for following it into the storm.
I stand at the head of the stairs for a solid minute until finally, I turn and go back to his door. After a light knock, I crack it open.
A part of me hopes he’ll be at the window wiggling the bars, trying to learn my Keepers’ patterns in typical Sawyer fashion, but I don’t realize how big of a part until my lips sink at the sight of him lying in bed.
He’s on his back, one knee propped up while he strokes Cinder who’s curled against his side. Her soft purr and closed eyes never flinch at my presence.
When I flip on the light, he squints at me, and his non-petting hand shields his eyes.
“What are you doing?” My voice is sharp and accusatory, as if I caught him with a sheet hanging out the window.
“Taking a break… Am I not allowed to take breaks?”
My rigid posture comes into my consciousness, and the stiffness of my arms is suddenly uncomfortable. I cup my hands behind my back and wander toward the bed. “Aiden said you aren’t eating…”
“The food here sucks.”
No hesitation. His hand never stops petting Cinder. When I get to the edge of the bed, I tsk at her and allow my chest to fall when she uncurls herself from Sawyer and comes to me.
I place my hand on her back and let her grind against me, using my fingers as a comb. “He also mentioned you declined your walk.”
“You mean my trek through the snow? It’s fucking freezing out there, Luna.”
I look down at Cinder as I scratch behind her ears.
“Why are you even here?” he asks.
My lips shift to one side as I tense.
“Aren’t you supposed to be hiding from me?”
I scoff so hard, Cinder flinches and rushes back to Sawyer’s side. I reach my hand out but bring it to my lap and roll my shoulders back. “I’m not hiding. I told you, I’m no longer your handler. We no longer have a reason to interact…”
He sweeps a hand. “And yet…”
And yet…
Tension snaps as I break away from his blue eyes.
I stare down at a sheet corner popped out of place, the elastic stretching across the mattress.
Sawyer owns practically nothing, yet the floor is littered with seemingly every article of clothing I carefully hung in his closet—so artfully careless it seems strategic.
Just walk away.
I stand and turn toward the door, but as a smoky, masculine scent drifts from the squeaking mattress, I find myself immobile.
I lengthen my spine and allow myself one deep, indulgent inhale. When I blow it out, I turn to face Sawyer. “I’d like you to change into sweats. And tennis shoes.”
His eyes narrow. “Why?”
Cashmere brushes my palms as I smooth my sweater in three short pats. “Because we’re going for a run.”
“What?” Sawyer shakes his head, but before he can object, I continue.
“You’re not just a prisoner; you’re a commodity. I can’t concentrate on my work if I’m worrying about you slitting your wrists, so… Get up. Exercise is good for the spirit.”
He huffs out a laugh and opens his mouth just as I turn to search for his clothes.
“You think forcing me to run in the freezing fucking temperatures is going to lift my spirits? My god, have you never heard of alcohol? Just get me a bottle of brandy. I promise my attitude will be in tip-top shape by morning.”
Though the clothes aren’t hard to find, my skin itches as I search. I swipe a pair of sweats off the floor and throw them on the bed.
“Dress,” I say, my voice sharp and final. “I’ll wait outside.”