Page 112 of Stormbreaker

“Do you know anyone else . . . like us?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “Not quite like us.”

I stare at him. I remember the first day he arrived, when I caught that deep flash of purple in the midnight of his hair. I thought it was just the light, but now I realize . . .

“Is your hair natural?” I ask.

He huffs out a short breath. “It is.”

I offer him a smile. “Mine too.”

I press my lips together and then ask, “Do you think it’s because we’re . . .” I trail off, barely able to acknowledge it. Once I do, it’s real. There will be no taking it back.

“Maybe.”

After a pause, I voice a question I’ve always wanted to ask someone but never could. “So why aren’t they searching for us?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. Maybe it isn’t a common enough trait for them to know about?”

“You think?”

“I really don’t know.”

We stare at each other. My pulse gallops, and I marvel at the mystery of Rook, but maybe he’s starting to feel a little familiar.

He breaks eye contact first, and again, we fall into silence as the clouds swirl and purple flashes illuminate the sky.

I tip my face up as the wind tosses my hair and wait for the storm to draw closer.

More flashes and more rumbles as the breeze picks up.

Without really meaning to, I move closer to Rook. He does the same until we’re touching, shoulder to shoulder.

I feel the brush of his hand against mine. I look up, meeting his gaze as he stares down at me. “I never thought I’d find someone else . . . like this,” I say. “A monster. A danger. A . . . curse.”

“Is that what you think you are?” he asks, tipping his head.

“Aren’t I?”

“You didn’t choose this, Poet Graves.”

“No, but I could turn myself in.”

He blinks and shakes his head, as if coming to some kind of conclusion, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“I thought I’d always be alone,” I add. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s too much. It’s too open and vulnerable. The storm is working its way under my skin, making me reckless.

His mouth presses together, the corners tipping up in what might almost be a smile.

Then he does something I wasn’t expecting.

He lifts his hand and holds it out, palm side up.

“What will happen?” I ask. “If we’re touching?”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure, but I’ve always wondered. I only know what it feels like when I’m alone.”

“Like you’re being torn up from the inside?”