“I…” My voice hardly sounds like mine, but I manage to force it from my throat. “…don’t know.”
“Hm.” Malcolm’s head tilts as his smile grows. “Maybe you’re starting to like me or something.”
No, definitely not that. Let’s not be ridiculous.
The silver doors begin to close, and the last thing he says is: “Don’t worry. I’ll find her. Even if I have to turn this city upside down to do it.”
A tear falls from my eye, and I stare at the closed doors for a long, long time. Exhausted.
Shaking my poor tired head, I drop my attention to my task and mutter, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Unfortunately, I’ve never known Malcolm Swallow to be anything but.
Chapter Seventeen
?
What in the world is wrong with me?
Azalea
Life might actually be meaningless.
It feels like I’ve been in a catatonic state since Monday. Half awake. Half alive. Drifting from task to task and trying not to throw up along the way. I haven’t heard from Junction since the failed attempt downtown, and that’s fine, because I’ve been too busy clearing Malcolm’s schedule this entire week to try and position him for another assassination effort anyway.
It’s Friday, the first day of May, hours after work has ended.
I’m sitting in my living room, feeling hollow and out of place.
I don’t know what to do with myself.
Every time I’ve bothered to check Malcolm’s location this past week, he’s been downtown. Tracing the streets. Pausing here and there, possibly to talk to people. I don’t know. I can’t comprehend it. I can’t figure him out. He’s spent four full days looking for my crystal heart.
Four.
At first, I suspected this was all part of a cruel scheme. I thought maybe he saw me lose her, picked her up himself, and planned to return with her after grabbing lunch downtown the first day he left. My head’s been so muddled lately that staged heroics like that would do a number on the last strands of my sense.
Now that I’ve watched his icon on my phone going up and down around 4th and Griffin from dawn till dusk, I’m less convinced it’s a ploy. He’s expending so much energy. Sacrificing so much time.
At this point if he does have staged heroics planned, there’s almost something commendable to say about his commitment to making them look this realistic. And if he doesn’t?
If he doesn’t have anything planned,whatis he doing?
My little crystal heart is probably gone forever.
Closing my eyes, I curl up in a ball in the corner of my couch and try to survive that thought.
This is stupid.
It shouldn’t matter this much. She’s just a tiny trinket I got once upon a time. I don’t even remember where she came from. If she’s gone forever, I’ll befine. I have to be. I have to be. I will be. I must be.
I’m…not sure how to be right now.
But I’ll figure it out.
I should get to bed. Even though it’s still early, I’ll need the extra stamina to shop in the morning, then I have to meal plan through the afternoon.
I just need to…stand…andmove.
