CHAPTER 26 #3
“I knew how badly you wanted it back, Duke,” she says, sliding a hand down Edmund’s arm. “So, I just had to track it down for you.”
Then she tilts her head enough to let her hair spill over one eye and stares at me from across the table. Her smile is like an open wound, her lipstick smeared on her teeth like blood. One hand drifts along the stem of her glass, her nails tapping in a steady rhythm as she texts my Bond.
“Steal from me. And I’ll steal from you.”
She turns back to Edmund. “I found it in a private collector’s stash in the Orange District—a big name with an even bigger ego, but he was hopeless. He had so much junk he didn’t even realize our Hellion was among it.”
That’s all it takes.
The whole table ripples with awe. Jack whistles again. Dickie actually claps.
And me—
I burn.
The heat starts in my hands, a pulse deep in my knuckles.
Then it climbs up my arms and slips between my ribs, turning the air in my lungs to smoke that threatens to suffocate my self-control.
I can feel the rage coming, building, rising.
And this time, I don’t think I can keep it down.
I’m going to explode. I’m going to leap across the table, rip that smile off Rosamund’s face, and shove it down her throat.
I shift, ready to kick back my chair and stand.
That’s when I feel a flash of movement, a hand pressing down on my knee. At first, I think it’s Charlotte, trying to step in without making a scene. But as the pressure holds steady, I realize the hand is too big.
My gaze shifts to Edmund. He’s leaning forward, his arm stretched under the table, fingers splayed wide on my knee. His palm burns hot against my skin as his eyes lock onto mine in warning.
I try to shake my knee free, but his grip tightens.
Don’t.
I glare and shove at his hand beneath the table. He resists, matching me inch for inch as I claw at his fingers, desperate to peel them off.
He’s stronger, but I’m angrier.
Edmund knows the Hellion is my gift, yet he’s letting Rosamund take it, covering for her like a treacherous, backstabbing Blue. I thought he was better than this. The revelation settles in my heart like dead weight.
I push back harder against him, all my pain, anger, and humiliation screaming in the fight. At last, his hand drops away, and with it, everything skews sideways.
Edmund moves fast. He grabs the badge, tucks it safely into his vest, then stands and motions to the Pinkies. “Our guests have waited long enough.”
The Pinkie opens the door, and a wave of high-citizens floods in. Overlapping voices crash together in a swell of birthday wishes as they scramble to get close to Edmund and Rosamund.
I stand as a rush of blood floods my head, leaving the room spinning.
I try to move, but the booth is jammed, bodies pressing in from all sides.
Charlotte and I are pushed first toward the restrooms, then the kitchen.
A high-citizen’s sharpened cane catches my dress, tearing the hem.
We’re squeezed between silk-clad arms and crystal glasses, pushed past snippets of conversation that flare and then vanish.
Someone mentions the Lotus Lounge. Someone else laughs, a shrill, grating sound.
I’m tossed, spun, and dragged through a fog of faces and voices that blur together.
Ten minutes pass, maybe more, before Charlotte and I finally spill into the parking lot. Snow falls in thick sheets, the wind cutting across my skin and chilling the sweat on my face. I hurry forward, biting my lip. The cold clears my head, but not the way I want.
Behind us, streaks of blue spill into the street, summoning hovercars, draping themselves in fur, and laughing as if they own the whole world. I force myself to keep walking, carried by anger, dragged down by hurt and humiliation.
Charlotte frowns at me, concerned. She activates her Bond and sends a text to bypass the formal language rules.
“What the hell happened back there, Lore? Where’d you disappear to? And why didn’t you give Edmund a gift? You didn’t give me the only one you had, did you?”
I tug my gloves on sharply, then text, “I did give him a gift, but Rosamund stole it.”
Charlotte stops so suddenly that her sequined velvet shoes skid across the icy snow. “The Hellion was YOURS?”
“Yes.”
Her expression bounces rapidly between shock and disbelief, before her lips curl into a sneer. “That bitch… that skeevy little thief. I told you she was a spider, Lore. Worse than Irene. It’s why Jack—”
Charlotte halts mid-thought, her mental stream cutting off. “Wait a damn minute,” she texts. “Since when are you and Edmund friends?”
“We’re not.”
“Then why the hell did you fork over something as priceless as the Hellion?”
I manage a stiff shrug. “It’s not priceless to me.”
“Well, it is to him—and not just because it belonged to his grandfather. Back when Jack and I were together, he and Edmund wouldn’t shut up about the Vanguards.
They were always talking about how they wished the program still existed and how they’d do anything to be part of it.
Sometimes I got the feeling they wanted the shield to be attacked again so they’d have a shot at glory. ”
I give Charlotte’s text a quick once-over, barely registering the meaning. After what just happened, I don’t give a shit about Edmund or his dead dream.
“I want to go somewhere without any blue,” I tell her, clutching the torn, dirty hem of my dress as we hurry across the parking lot.
“If that’s the case, we’re gonna have to walk home,” Charlotte replies.
I turn, step over a snowdrift, then glare.
Edmund.
He’s here, leaning on my hovercar, calm despite his cruelty. His footsteps have carved deep grooves in the snow, dark veins stretching across the ground as if he’s been out here searching for me for hours. Snow melts on him, soaking into his hair, his pressed tailcoat, and his polished shoes.
He looks like a crown left in the gutter.
“How do you wish to proceed, Miss Waldsten?” Charlotte asks, aloud.
I step forward so abruptly that she sucks in a breath.
“Very well. I shall… go enjoy a cigarette.” She slings her handbag over her shoulder and sidesteps between two hovercars.
The Blues’ voices behind me fade out. So does the rumble of idling hovercars.
The world around me stills as I walk forward, trying to hold myself together, but the sight of Edmund standing there—calm after what he did to me—hits me like a spark to airborne propane.
My pain flares back to life, and my steps quicken, fueled by a force that tears down my formal posture.
My heels click to a stop in front of him.
Edmund opens his mouth, but I cut in.
“So, that’s how you treat people who give you gifts? Like the gifts were already yours?” My voice cracks. “Why, Edmund? Why the hell did you do that to me?”
The ticking of falling civil credits echoes in my ears, but all I hear is my pounding heartbeat. “You knew the Hellion was mine. You knew Rosamund stole it from me. How could you sit by and let—”
“Think about it, Miss Waldsten.” Edmund leans in, close enough that his saber hilt presses against my hip. “You stand up in front of everyone and call my sister—a high-citizen—a thief. What happens next?”
I rise to fire back, but my words catch in a sudden rush of images: the accusation in front of witnesses, with Rosamund’s own brother standing there. It wouldn’t just be about the badge anymore. It would be about honor and defending the family name.
“That’s right—a death duel,” Edmund says, pushing off the hovercar.
“And not the sort you’d walk away from. You don’t fence or even carry a saber.
That means you’d last about as long as the first cut.
Rosamund would gut you for the whole Tangerine Tree to see, and when you’re lying in the snow, choking on your own blood, will the badge still matter?
Is that what you want to die for, Miss Waldsten? ”
I lift my chin higher. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.” He drags his arm across his face to brush off the snow, his expression marred by frustration. “Look, I don’t know what the hell my sister’s got against you, but it ends today.”
“So, you’ve talked to her, then? Told her you know the badge is mine?”
“No. Not yet.” Edmund pauses, his jaw tight, as if trying to work the harshness from his tone. “I will. But first…” His eyes come back to me, softer now. “I wanted to thank you.”
I want him to thank me, too. But after how he acted, I’m not about to make the moment easy.
My anger hasn’t gone anywhere, and it’s only growing fiercer the more his eyes soften.
I brace myself against his stare, even as it presses warmly against my fury, like sunlight slipping through a window onto winter skin.
This soft expression suits him better than the irritation, the anger that’s almost always there, weighing him down like a stumbling ox.
Why that side of him always wins out, I don’t know, because the gentle one is stronger.
I push my hands into my coat pockets. “If you really mean it, say it. Spell it out, like you made me do on your balcony.”
Edmund’s eyes narrow, hesitation flickering before he lets out a quiet laugh. “All right, then.” He steps closer and lowers himself to my eye level. “Your gift, Miss Waldsten. I’m grateful for it. More than you probably guessed when you gave it.”
“Good,” I say, easing slightly. “Because it wasn’t easy to get.”
“I’ve been chasing it long enough to believe you.” His gaze runs over me, as if checking for a missing pound of flesh. “What did it cost you?”
“A lot. But giving it cost even more.”
“Right.” Edmund rubs the back of his neck, then sighs. “I would’ve paid a lot for the badge, you know.”
“I didn’t give it to you expecting money.”
“Then why’d you give it to me?”