When Aamon notices my eyes still tracking his movements, he turns so his face is wrapped in the shadows of the patio. “I’m fine, Zeke. It’s you I’m worried about.”
I huff out a breath, turning my head skyward. “Tyge wasn’t a friend of mine. I barely knew the fucker. Makes no difference to me.”
But my words don’t convince Aamon. He fixes me with a hard stare, one I can feel even though I’m not looking at him, evaluating me in a way only he can. I suddenly feel naked. Exposed. I scratch at the stubble on my jaw, turning my attention back towards Sterling still sleeping soundly inside my room.
“Still,” Aamon continues after a moment, "this isn’t the shit you and Sterling signed up for when you joined. Andras shouldn’t be asking this stuff of either of you. I have half a mind to tell him as much.”
I stand up straight at that, turning my attention back to Aamon. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“You’re right.” Aamon lifts a defensive hand. “It’s just—”
“No, Aamon.” I cut him off, closing the distance between us as I let my irritation slip through my clipped, low words. “Sterling and I made the decision to join the Blood Order of our own free will. We knew damn well what we were signing up for. And as bad as you think it is here, I guarantee you it's sunshine and rainbows compared to what’s out there.” I point behind him, towards where I know the WildLands lay beyond the outskirts of the ungoverned district.
“You think you understand, but you don’t.” I don’t hide the anger in my eyes, letting Aamon feel the gravity of my words. “So until you experience what it’s like out there without the protection ofAndrasand the Blood Order, you will not speak for me or Sterling on what we will or will not do.”
His dark eyes meet mine, always watching, always assessing. But I don’t shy away from them, from his careful watch.
“Okay.” Aamon nods at last, breaking eye contact. “I won’t speak for you, Zeke. But you say the word . . . just know I’m here for you.” He shoots a glance to the open door. “Both of you.”
He takes another drag from the cigarette and hands it back to me. I take it and settle back against the half wall.
“I appreciate it," I reply, then jerk my head toward the bedroom to clarify. "How you watch out for him.”
Not many here have impressed me. But from the moment I saw Aamon fighting in the rings, I could sense hischaracter. I knew he was our best chance of survival in this hellshole. Because despite all of the things that irk me about Quinn and Aamon, they do look out for him. He’s found a place in their ranks, a role to fill. A home. Even if I can’t find the same here.
“It’s not just him, you know.” Aamon hops down from the half wall to return to his own patio. “You’re family, Zeke. Whether you accept it or not.”
I grunt, refusing to acknowledge the sentiment.
“You’re stuck with us.” I can hear the amusement in Aamon’s words as he slips back into the shadows of his patio. I grunt again, taking one final drag from the cigarette before putting it out.
“Goodnight, fuckwit,” I growl as I stalk back into my room. I hear his chuckle as I pass through the curtains.
“Goodnight, Ezekiel.”
The sight of my bedroom slowly forms around me, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion as I try to blink my vision into focus. I feel sick, hungover—though I know that can’t be true because I’m in the High Quarter.
I groan as I push myself off the bed, crying out when my muscles protest. My bones feel as if they’ve been filled with lead, and it takes considerable effort to stack myself up into a sitting position. I let my head fall into my hands, rubbing roughly at my temples to ease the incessant ache there.
Last I remember I had been in the Temple, speaking with Tamiel . . . Visions of my father at the dining room table come drifting back to me. My anger, his indifference. The sound of his fork and knife scraping against his plate, radiating through my body and intensifying the pain it found within.
I peek out from between my fingers and see a tray of food sitting beside my bed. And it all comes flooding back. Dina’s gone, my father sedated me—reformation is coming. And I cannot stop the storm of panic that overtakes me.
I push off my bed, throwing the covers back. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I cannot continue on like this. I pace the room, the wheels in my mind turning. I have no idea how long it’s been since Tamiel deposited me here, but the tray of food is still warm, which is promising.
With any luck, they'll expect me to remain unconscious for the next several hours. Fortunately, my body has seemingly begun adapting to their sedatives, wearing off faster and faster as of late. A small spark of hope blooms within me as I realize I may have the smallest of windows to enact the plan quickly weaving itself together in my mind.
I rush to the window, squeezing my eyes shut as my fingers curl around the pane and pull roughly upwards. I let loose a small squeal of relief as the window gives way, a sweet, warm breeze suddenly wafting in through the small crack from the manicured gardens below.
I waste no time as I grab a pair of boots and pull them on my feet. Any other night, I would have taken my time, carefully preparing to venture out of the High Quarter by covering up any and all traces of my ranking. But I don’t have that luxury tonight. I need to be gone before they realize I’ve awoken. If I’m right, this may very well be myone opportunity to gain back my freedom—to prove I’m not his to control. And I cannot waste it.
I perch on the edge of the sill, looking down at the looming earth below. It’s too far a drop to do safely, but I have no other choice.
I give one good, long look back at my room, realizing this may very well be the last time I see it. I don’t know what lies ahead for my role amidst my father’s house, amidst the High Quarter, if I will ever return after tonight. But I know this moment feels pivotal. If I don’t make my stand, if I don’t push back, then this place will become my tomb.
And with that singular thought ringing through my mind, I push myself out of the second-story window and drop to the ground below.
I land with a grunt, the ground meeting me with a solid ferocity that has me crying out in pain. I purse my lips together, trying to cover the sound as I roll to the side. My joints scream in protest, rolling and popping with my momentum. I know this fall did damage, and I can only hope it’s not enough to keep me from getting to the ungoverned district. I slam into one of the garden walls and stay put, unsure if my drop was visible in the dark covering of night. My father has guards stationed around the townhouse, patrolling the grounds every half hour or so. I wait a moment. Two. Then uncurl from the ball I’ve found myself in and peek out with bated breath to see if any guards are looming over me.
