I stumble backward, dry leaves crunching under my feet.
“What was that?” Riven sounds confused.
But I’m angry. Because I know what happened.
The gateway read my radiant signature and barred me from going home. The same technology is used to restrict travel between the echelons for angels without approved access, but I’m a fuckingnish thatsha—nowhere should beinaccessible to me.
Someone locked me out, and there’s no chance it was an accident.
My wings shoot from my back and erupt in flames, bathing the clearing in the heat of my fury. The wolves back up. One yips at Sullivan, seeking his direction. He holds up his hand, and the wolves sit, giving me space. I’m too mad to be relieved.
Someone is trying to keep me from Malach.
And that someone just earned a death sentence.
One I’ll be more than happy to deliver as soon as I get my hands on them.
Riven and I check five more potential gateway locations over the next week. Three aren’t real, and the other two are locked.
My rage cools to something harder.
I was already set on this course, but barring my entry has only made me more determined. Someone is specifically trying to keep me away. The question is, who? It could be my father, but he wants me dead. The easiest way for him to kill me is on his home turf, where his sycophants can do the dirty work for him.
The only othernish thatshawho knows I’m alive is Malach.
He has plenty of connections and resources. He could have locked the gateways, but why would he?Because he doesn’t love you anymore.The fear digs its claws in.
Sinking down on the end of the hotel bed, I stare at the cheap wall-mounted mirror. I could be wrong about him. At this point, I have to consider it. My first friend, my first love. Malach vowed to always stand between me and anything trying to hurt me. Is that what he’s doing, or did he really change his mind about us?
Vows might be mostly symbolic to some, but Malach means what he says, and he always has. I’m missing something. Caughtup in a web of truths, lies, and secrets, without the missing piece, I can’t see anything clearly.
Riven sits silently on the other bed. Usually, I’m grateful for his company, but right now I want to be alone so I can curl up on this bed, bury my face in the scratchy, ugly comforter, and cry until my head hurts.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” The question comes out without my permission. I don’t know why I asked. His answer won’t change anything, and I’m too vulnerable for hard truths. Except I’m desperate for a distraction—anything to keep the tears at bay.
“Do you want to fight?” Riven asks.
I look at him, unable to judge his mood from tone alone. He’s too good at masking.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m wrong about him, too.
The confidence I wear as armor... maybe it’s unearned.
Am I spoiling for a fight?No, because if I find one in my current state, I’ll lose.
Gods, I think what I’m searching for is a beating—one final blow to knock the lid off my composure. If Riven is mean to me, I’ll have an excuse to wallow and stop asking myself impossible questions.
I sniff and shake my head. It’s a pathetic response. I’m pathetic now, too.
Riven stands abruptly, a furious scowl spreading across his face. It warps and wobbles, bands of static tripping over each other as they roll through the thick amber. He crosses in front of me, pulls me to my feet, and moves in front of the mirror.
His touch is gentle, but I’m letting him tug me around like a rag doll. It doesn’t even occur to me to push back until I’m exactly where he wants me.
“Riven—”
“No,” he says. “I’ve got something to say, and you’re going to listen.” I blink at him slowly, shoulders sagging, and he shakes hishead, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Look at yourself,” he demands.
Reluctantly, I meet my own eyes in the mirror. They’re dull and bloodshot, and there’s a patch of dry skin on the right side of my nose where I haven’t bothered to moisturize in a while. The messy bun I put my hair in a few days ago has become a permanent fixture on my head. If I take the ponytail holder out, it probably won’t move.
