“If that’s how you feel, why didn’t you let those guys finish the job?”
There’s no self-pity or curiosity in Ciprian’s question. It’s more like he’s delivering a prompt—a barbed, poisonous harpoon meant to penetrate my subconscious and rot my brain from the inside out.
I shove to my feet. “You have until sundown to leave my apartment. If you’re still here then, I’ll be happy to fetch my shovel and bury you.”
Ciprian nods, his shoulders dipping with... relief? I can’t tell.I don’t trust my ability to read him anymore—the duplicitous enclave heir who thought he could fit in on the Fringes, and nearly succeeded.
I leave him on the couch and go to my room, satisfied he’s not likely to die or get up any time soon. My entire apartment reeks of blood. And Celine’s scent on my pillow is almost gone. I stop in front of the vent and let cold air blow directly on my face.
Everything’s wrong, but if I can clear my senses, maybe I’ll be able to see the best way forward.
I believe Ciprian’s story. It lines up with what his father’s man said outside the Fang, and his infatuation with Celine would be hard to fake.
His truth comes too late, though. We’ll never be able to trust him again.
Bridges burned around here never get rebuilt—that’s the way it is. The sooner Ciprian accepts that, the more likely he is to escape the Fringes with his life.
FOUR
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #12:
Timing is everything. Know when to run and when to fight.
CELINE
Emotions suck. Caught in the middle of the storm, I lay in my bed, feeling like someone tied me to a stake so the wind could peel the skin from my bones.
I’m strong, but I’m not strong enough to let this go.
I don’t even know how.
My apartment feels crowded and empty at the same time. Alistair, Ciprian... I don’t want them here, but every time I think about the fact that they’re gone, I want to cry. Both hurt me in different ways, but Malach’s revelations must be my priority.
Father will come for me. The attacks we went through before weren’t even assassination attempts; they were Malach’s stupid testosterone-fueled schemes to test his competition.
He shouldn’t have bothered. They showed their true colors,eventually. Only Luca put his money where his mouth was... and only the gods know if that will last.
I roll my head to the side. His handsome face is slack with sleep except for the furrow in his forehead. How long will Luca stick around under the weight of Dad’s wrath? He could leave or be taken from me at any time.
His features blur, and my tears fall silently. Tomorrow, I’ll put on a brave face and come up with a plan, but tonight, I let myself cry.
For Ciprian, who made me laugh, fed on my deepest fears, and hid his truth from me.
For Alistair, who made me feel like the only person in every room but saw me as an object all along.
And for Malach, the boy who knew all my secrets. He’s become a man I don’t recognize.
Father’s angry face flashes through my mind, pink and mottled with rage. The vein on his temple pulses as he screams, a jagged lightning bolt of boiling blood.
Now that he knows where I am, he won’t rest until I’m gone.
I couldn’t beat him before; what makes me think I have what it takes now? Independence? This life I’ve created? They mean everything to me but are laughable in the face of his power. Puny, insignificant. Naïve even. Deep down, S’lach and I both know I’m destined to be gobbled up and spat out by life. Just like Mom.
Mostly, I cry for the little girl who was never strong enough. I can only pray that the woman she’s become has what it takes to defeat a monster.
Crying is cathartic, but it’s hell on the eyes.
I wince at my reflection as I brush my teeth and wash my face,applying a dab of witch cream to the puffy skin around my eyes. If Ciprian were here—no, don’t think about him.
