8
All day, I knew we were headed toward them. I know they’re the ones who run this place. But the way Rook just said those words . . . The way he’s looking at me now suddenly makes this entire moment shift into something with much higher stakes.
His parents. His family.
He lied to me.
But then he took a knife for me. Got me out of the city safely. If the Extinguishers had captured me, I would already be dead.
I’ve been trying to convince myself I wasn’t really in love with Rook Athira, but maybe that was never true.
Either way, I’m being pulled along, not entirely voluntarily, but there’s also nowhere else for me to go.
Tunnels have been carved into the mountain. We’re surrounded by natural rock, but everything has been made more accessible with metal and tiled floors and sometimes actual walls. Lights glow overhead, set into the ceilings.
We pass through a pair of doors that hiss open at our approach. Rook and I walk in front, with Fisher and Calliope marching behind us.
Upon arriving at the encampment, it became apparent that a certain established hierarchy existed.
Based on our capture, I assumed it put Rook under Fisher.
But now I think Rook outranks everyone here.
That much is evident as he strides down the hall with his head up and his shoulders back, while several people nod and salute as he passes.
He checks in with me, his mouth pressing together, a million thoughts written in his eyes. I look away, noticing two people quickly approaching us.
Immediately, I know who they are.
High Commander Summit Athira bears a striking resemblance to his son.
Incredibly handsome, with tanned skin and dark hair peppered with the tiniest hints of silver.
Brown eyes with the finest of lines surrounding them.
A broad, tall frame dressed in a black T-shirt and dark cargo pants.
The grin that splits his face is so like Rook’s, it makes my breath catch.
Next to the commander is a gorgeous woman who barely comes to her husband’s shoulder.
A milky complexion and golden-blond hair.
Bright-blue eyes and angled features. A pretty bow of a mouth.
She looks young enough to be Rook’s older sister, except for the obvious experience in her eyes. She’s even prettier than I imagined.
“Dad,” Rook breathes. “Mom.”
They rush toward us, throwing their arms around their son.
“You’re okay,” his mom says, cupping his face in her hands, pulling him down to meet her eyes. “We heard about the chaos. We were so worried.”
“I’m okay,” he replies softly. “Nearly got sliced in half, but I’m fine now.”
She pulls back, gripping his forearms and peering up. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“I missed you both so much,” Rook says with so much warmth that my throat knots.
High Commander Athira hugs Rook tightly, slapping him on the back. They embrace for a moment before pulling apart. Then, Rook’s mom rushes over to embrace Fisher, who bends down to return it. She also happily greets Calliope while Fisher and the high commander exchange hellos.
It takes a minute before the Athiras’ attention turns on me.
“Who’s this?” his mother asks, her brows pulling together.
“This is Poet Graves,” Rook says. Then he gestures to me. “Poet, this is my mother, Faroe. And this is my father, Summit. Poet came with me from New Manhattan.”
A pause. A moment to absorb this information.
“Why?” Faroe asks. “I don’t understand.”
“Graves?” Summit says. “As in . . . Scion Graves?”
A shiver races along my skin at the realization that he knows my father.
“Yes,” Rook says. “His daughter.”
Concern passes over Faroe’s face. “I see.” Though it’s evident from the tone in her voice that she doesn’t understand at all.
“I’ll explain everything,” Rook promises. “But you have nothing to fear from her.”
Summit’s brows furrow as he assesses me, clearly unconvinced.
“Well, you must all be exhausted,” Faroe says cheerfully, trying to ease this newfound source of tension. The tension being me, of course. “Fish, Cal, are you hungry?” she asks, taking Fisher by the elbow. “Anyone? Or would you prefer your beds?”
Everyone agrees we’d prefer some rest.
“This way,” Faroe says, linking her arm with Rook’s as she keeps up a stream of chatter about everything he’s missed while he’s been away. We pass through a few corridors and doors as numerous people stop to salute us, each offering friendly smiles and greetings.
We reach another sliding door and come to a stop.
“You know the way,” Faroe says to Fisher and Calliope. “Help yourself to a guest room. Can you show Poet where to go as well?”
“Mom, I’ll take her,” Rook says, detangling himself from her hold.
“Oh,” she says with a pout. “I thought we could catch up before you go to sleep.”
“I’ll come find you after, okay?”
She looks between me and the others with a slight frown. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you soon. Night, Fish. Night, Cal. Poet, it was nice to meet you.” She offers me a warm smile, and while it appears genuine, I can tell she isn’t convinced that my presence is anything to celebrate.
“Thank you,” I say, and then we head through the door and down a few more corridors until we reach a wing lined with bedrooms.
Calliope and Fisher enter one together.
“Night,” they say, disappearing behind a door as Rook leads me farther down the hall.
“You probably don’t want to sleep next to them. Who knows what kinds of vile sex sounds they’ll make?” Rook jokes, pulling a face of disgust.
A snicker bursts out of me, and I cover my mouth.
“You’re allowed to laugh,” Rook says softly, reaching out, almost as if to tuck back a piece of my hair, but he stops himself, letting his hand fall to his side.
Then we stop at a door with a green lit panel anchored to the wall. He punches a button, and the door opens.
We enter the guest room, where a small cavern hewn into the rock reveals a wooden bed covered in soft blue sheets.
A table and chairs stand off to the side, while a plush armchair is placed in the corner next to a wooden wardrobe.
A fireplace covers one wall, and Rook walks over, grabbing some logs from a pile sitting at the base.
I rub my arms, staring around, appreciating whoever tried to make this space cozy.
“It’s nice,” I say, dropping onto the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress. Rook finishes with the fire that’s now roaring to life before running a hand along the back of his head, clearly debating his next words.
“My room is a bit nicer,” he says. “More . . . Well, it’s mine, and there’s plenty of room. I have a window. If you want to, I could take the couch and—”
“No,” I say. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I should probably stay here.”
“It is quiet here,” he says.
“I could use some quiet.”
He hesitates, possibly wanting to argue, but must think better of it. “Okay, well, I’ll come get you in the morning and take you to breakfast.”
“Sure,” I say. “That would be nice.”
He hesitates again, searching my face. He has something to say, but I don’t have enough energy for this conversation right now. I feel like I’m limping through fog, unsure if my next step will be off a cliff.
“I’m really tired,” I say. “Can we chat tomorrow?”
“Of course,” he says. “I owe you an explanation. A lot of them.”
“All right.”
“You’re sure you want to stay here?”
I nod, gripping the blanket under my hands. “Yes. I think so.”
He heaves out a sigh. “Okay then. Good night, Poet. You can shower down the hall. This wing is mostly empty, so you should have the bathroom to yourself.”
“Thank you. Night, Rook.”
With one more lingering look, he leaves, closing the door.
Immediately, I’m lonely.
I’ve come to count on his presence the last few days. The last few months, if I’m being honest.
But now we’ve entered his world, where we stand divided, and I have so much to learn.
I slide my pack off my shoulders and dig into it, finding a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved shirt. Slowly, I pull out the rest of the contents, examining the pieces I have left of my old life.
It’s not much. Some scraps of clothing. My phone. The battery is nearly dead, but more importantly, there’s no signal. No more connection to my life and the only home I’ve ever known.
But maybe that world is lost to me forever. I was exposed as a danger to everyone around me. I’m infected. Diseased. A problem to be dealt with. There is almost nothing left for me in New Manhattan.
Then comes Teddy.
I pull him out. He’s a little squished from living at the bottom of my pack, and I trace the line of stitches running down his stomach, thinking of that moment I found Rook sewing him back together.
Tears burn my eyes at the memory. At the way he took care of me that night and all the days that came after. Maybe he wasn’t faking it all. Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe. I clutch Teddy to my chest, pressing my nose to his soft head and inhaling the scent of another life.
I need to keep my guard up.
Protect my heart. Protect myself.
As of this moment, I’m the only one I truly have left.