Page 139 of Stormbreaker

50

I’m buzzing with anticipation when I arrive to meet Rook that evening. It’s Friday night, and we’re permitted to leave Amery for a few hours. They even gave us a few days off from training, and my tired body is dreaming of a soft bed, comfort food, and the crackle of a roaring fire.

Almost the entire student body is heading to Sogno for dancing and drinks. I spent years eagerly looking forward to parties with my friends, but none of that seems to matter right now.

When I round the corner, Rook is already waiting. He looks gorgeous and casual, his head tipped against the wall, foot pressed against it, and hands stuffed into his pockets.

When he hears me coming, he looks over, a flare of brightness entering his eyes.

“Hi,” I say, suddenly a bit shy.

“Hey. How was your day?” His voice is low, a half smile on his face.

“It was fine. I was mostly looking forward to this.”

The admission makes my cheeks heat. Why do I have no filter around him? Something about Rook invites it. I just want to be honest with him. He’s free of judgment or expectation.

He gestures to the ladder. “Me too, Trouble.”

I inhale a deep breath and climb down, entering the dimly lit space.

Rook follows a few seconds later. “You’re all tense. Is it me? Or the tunnels?”

“It’s not you,” I say quickly, my cheeks warming again.

Wow, Poet, could you be any more transparent?

He smirks and takes a few steps before looking back.

“It’s all this stone,” I say. “It feels like I’m being crushed.”

His mouth flattens as he meets my gaze, then reaches out a hand and holds it there. I look down at his fingers and the edges of his tattoo peeking from under his shirt.

Slowly, I reach for his hand, and his warm fingers close around mine.

He tips his head. “Better?” he asks, and I nod.

“Better.”

Much better.

He tugs me gently, and we make our way down the tunnel, with Rook warning me about uneven bits of the terrain. I keep one hand on the wall, the other firmly gripped in his.

“Watch this spot here,” he says. “There’s a bit of a dip.”

He looks back to check on me, and his eyes narrow as he peers past my shoulder.

I turn around, but all I see are shadows stretching in the direction we came.

“I thought . . . I saw something,” he says. “Did you hear anything?”

We both hold completely still, and I do hear something. A rhythmic sound that could be footsteps or any number of things: the drip of water or the crack of stone.

“Must’ve imagined it,” he says. “Let’s keep going.”

We board the train and head out, passing through the rubble of the old city. During the journey, I can’t shake the sensation that we’re being watched. It isn’t until we’re concealed behind the rock wall that I finally relax.

I inhale a deep pull of fresh air as the breeze tosses my hair. The storm is brewing, the clouds tumbling, gathering in the spot buzzing behind my heart.