The Court of Clubs was a court of towers spiraling toward the sky, endless stairs to the very top of each. It was their way of life. How theykeptalive.
But this Club girl, also a former Hand in the 31st Turning Trials, wasn’t simplyrunning. She was also chasingsomething. She wasn’t interested in keeping Time moving or keeping alive. She just wanted to catch the memories that werejust there, almost within her reach, but not quite. She was sure that if she could just run fast enough, she’d finally catch them. All the memories that were locked away, all the seconds and minutes and hours of those four weeks that she had no clue about.
Run, run, run,said the voices in her head, as images spun all around them—a large grandfather clock, a floor floatingin the sky, a mask covering half her face, a boy spinning her around in his arms as she danced and danced…
Then she reached the very top of the tower and she stopped.
Not because she wanted to, no—but because someone was already there, waiting for her.
“Rowan.” The name slipped from her lips by accident.
The boy, who was two full inches taller than her, strode across the wide-open floor of the tower-top furiously, a dark look in his eyes, his jaw locked. The former Hand did not move, only braced herself for when he came—and he did.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to his chest, held her there together with his breath, as if he was afraid if he exhaled, she’d move away.
No—as ifhe knew.
Eventually, she did. Not because she wanted ordidn’twant to—but it was instinct. This boy standing in front of her was no stranger, but he was. They’d grown up together, and he’d promised her his heart, and she’d promised him hers—yet she didn’t have one anymore, she didn’t think. She had nothing to give becausehehad nothing to tell her.
“You can’t even look at me.”
His voice was heavy, thick with accusation. But he was wrong—the former Handwaslooking at him. She just…couldn’t focus as well.
“What are you doing here, Rowan?” she whispered, eyeing the doorway on the other side of the room where the stairs would be. A different set from the ones that brought her up here, steeper.
“You always climb this tower before midnight,” the boy said, lowering his head, a small, bitter smile on his face as he stuck his hands in his pockets. He wore leather, brown and green, a vest that wrapped around his torso perfectly. He had short hair cut close to his head, bright green eyes and tanskin, a crook on his nose that added so much to his appeal—he was everything the former Hand had adored her whole life.Adored.
And now…
“I’m running,” she said, and that should have been enough for a Club, so she made for the stairway across the room, but the boy stepped in front of her.
Moonlight fell on the side of his face from the glassless windows of the tower-top. This time she did look at him, focused, and it hurt her like a stab in the gut. It hurt her how perfect he was, how much she wanted him…before. How detached from him she felt now.
“Can you stop for a second?” the boy asked.
“I’ve got another lap?—”
“No, Mim-Mim, you don’t. You’ve been running for the past two hours without stop. You skipped dinner again. Luna is worried.”
At the mention of her little sister’s name, she flinched. Stepped back.
“I’mworried,” the boy continued, going closer to her again. Taking her face in his hands gently, like he was afraid she might break now.
Funny, because she already felt broken.
“But not worried enough to tell me what happened.”
There.
The flinch.
The closed eyes.
The sigh.
It was all identical in every single person close to her, any time she spoke about this. Any time she reminded them of what she’d lost, whatthey could help her find,but refused.
“Mimi,” Rowan breathed, and it did hurt her, his pain. She felt it.
