Page 146 of Stormbreaker

mom: Poet, please tell me these rumors about you and that . . . person aren’t true.

mom: I didn’t think your father could be any angrier.

mom: But it’s like you’re trying to destroy him.

mom: You will cease all contact with this Solitude, or there will be consequences.

mom: You KNOW what that monster did to your aunt.

mom: What would Raine say?

And that’s it.

Nothing about what’s happened. Nothing about the fact that someone threw me down a flight of stairs. Nothing asking after my well-being at all. Just this.

A scolding. An order.

From someone who abandoned me weeks ago.

I squeeze the device in my hand, anger swirling in my chest. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m calling her.

It rings, and I will her face to appear on the screen.

Of course, she doesn’t answer. This wasn’t an offer of communication. This was damage control. Another attempt to dominate every aspect of my life, even knowing they’ve washed their hands of me. How dare she use Raine to guilt me into ceasing contact with Rook?

“Everything okay?” Rook asks, pulling me out of a spiral. My phone is still ringing, the tinny sound filling the quiet room. I hit disconnect and shake my head.

“Just my mom,” I say. “She finally contacted me.”

“Yeah?” he asks, something hopeful lifting in his voice. He doesn’t like my parents and thinks they’re terrible people, but he understands why my relationship with them is important.

“Not to reconcile,” I say, withholding the true contents of the message because I refuse to hurt Rook’s feelings any further. “Just reminding me how disappointed they are.”

His shoulders drop. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t know why I keep expecting something different.”

Then I turn around and pretend to busy myself with my tablet because I can’t bear to find any sort of pity in his eyes. A drawer opens and closes, and a soft rustle signals him dressing.

“Poet?” he asks, somewhat tentatively.

“Yes,” I say, turning around.

“I’ve been thinking about last night. Remember in the tunnel, I thought I saw someone?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m just worried . . . What if someone was following us? They could find out where we’re going . . .”

“Right,” I say. “That would be bad. Do you really think you saw someone?”

“I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I think we need to be careful. With what happened to Lacey . . .”

“It was terrifying,” I agree.

“To that end, we should probably avoid being seen together,” he says. His tone is neutral, and his expression gives nothing away. Is this really a precaution, or is he trying to distance himself? We shared something in the heat of the moment last night, but here in the cold light of day, he is still a Solitude, and I’m still Society. We don’t fit. We don’t belong together.

“You think so?” I ask.