Page 119 of Stormbreaker

So, I turn on my heel and storm away.

43

I pass through the ballroom in a blur, a hundred pairs of judgmental eyes following me like a barrage of arrows.

I can’t believe my family is just . . . gone. Did they ever love me? Did they ever care?

Tears cloud my eyes, and I scrub at them as I march through the doors and into the hall. I’m weaving in and out, barely aware of my surroundings.

Suddenly, someone reaches for my hand and tugs me into a darkened alcove.

“What the—” I say, cutting off when I realize it’s Rook. He’s regarding me carefully, concern in his expression.

“What are you doing?” I ask, blinking up at him.

“I was by the door when you left,” he answers, releasing me from his hold. “That was . . .”

“Humiliating,” I finish, dropping my face in my hands. He shuffles back a step, giving me space.

“Only for your parents,” he says. “Fuck, your people are cold. You call us animals, but we’d never treat our own family like that.”

I exhale a shaky breath and lean on the wall, my head thunking against it as I blink back a round of fresh tears. “I can’t believe they just . . . dismissed me like that. I thought they loved me . . .”

My eyes squeeze closed as I picture the look on my mother’s face before I walked away. That distant pinch of worry I know so well. The relics of her specific brand of love that I’ll never know again.

“Of course you thought that,” Rook answers vehemently, as if he’s seething on my behalf. “They’re your mom and dad. They’re supposed to love you no matter what.”

I snort a derisive laugh.

“I kind of can’t believe I’m asking this,” Rook says, and the uncertainty in his voice makes me look over. He rubs the back of his head and stuffs a hand into his pocket. “Do you need a . . . hug? Or something?”

I bark out a laugh at the absurdity of Rook trying to comfort me.

What a pathetic sight I must be.

But I also find myself nodding. “I haven’t had a good hug in a while.”

He hesitates, like he regrets asking, and then suddenly, he’s in front of me, engulfing our tight corner with his scent and the distinct way he fills out his jacket so perfectly.

Slowly, he reaches out, and the air around me condenses as he gently takes me in his arms. We’re both a bit stiff and awkward at first, like we’re doing something illicit or have simply forgotten how to move inside the flesh of our own bodies.

A part of me, a big part, wants to fall against him, but I’m not sure he’d welcome that.

It’s just a hug between friends.

Sort of.

His arms tighten a little, bringing me closer.

Finally, I allow myself to relax into him. He’s warm and solid, and our planes and curves seem to line up with an intentional sort of harmony.

It’s nice, and it feels safe.

It shouldn’t feel safe to hug a Solitude, but for some reason, it does.

The longer we stand together, softening into the moment, the more I become aware of his physical presence.

He smells good. Fresh like Amery’s standard-issue soap, layered with something that speaks to the wildness of the Wastes. Wind and open skies and the stars he loves so much.