Page 171 of Stormbreaker

“Apparently.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s my friend, and I think he understands I’m in trouble even if I can’t tell him everything. Besides, I think he’s miserable, and this gives him something to focus on.”

I tell him what happened in the cafeteria before Edward agreed.

“So, maybe he feels like he has nothing left to lose,” Rook says.

“Maybe that,” I agree.

He shakes his head. “When are we breaking into your parents’?”

“We? I don’t want you to get caught.”

He leans down, the tip of his nose brushing mine. “Yes, we. Did you think I was letting you do this alone?”

“If you get caught, you’ll be in huge trouble,” I say.

“Like I asked, when are we going?”

I hesitate for only a second before I answer, “They always go to dinner with their supper club on the third Saturday of the month.”

“So tomorrow night.”

I nod. “Enough time to get the key card before the masquerade.”

“Do you have any idea where it might be?”

“My father’s study would be my best guess.”

“What if he takes it with him?”

I shake my head. “Honestly, I don’t know—I’m winging it here. Let’s hope he doesn’t. Otherwise, we’ll have a few days to figure out a different plan.”

“Okay.”

I reach up and cup his face in my hands. “You’re sure about this?”

His expression turns serious, cementing us to this moment. Maybe to each other, but those are thoughts I’m too afraid to entertain.

“I promised I would protect you, Poet Graves, and I meant every word of it.”

62

The next night, Rook and I enter the main floor of Fiama Society Tower A through the service entrance. I’ve snuck in and out of this building enough times to know how to do it without being spotted by the doorman who sits at the front.

Cyril is also eighty-seven years old and tends to sleep on the night shift. Even without using the back entrance, slinking past him isn’t much of a challenge. But the job seems to offer him purpose, and the Fiama Towers are safe from thieves, with every floor equipped with state-of-the-art security systems.

A would-be troublemaker wouldn’t get far.

We both decided to dress in regular clothing on the off chance that we’re spotted. I can pretend I’m returning to my parents’ apartment to pick up something I need for school.

I’m wearing jeans and a pink crop top, while Rook is wearing his signature denim and black T-shirt with cowboy boots. As we wait for the elevator, I can’t help but admire the way the worn denim hugs his thighs and hips.

“What is it?” he asks, arching a brow, obviously reading my mind and fishing for a compliment.

I shrug. “Nothing special.”