Page 57 of Stormbreaker

My gaze slides to Rook, who stares at the fountain with a dent between his brows.

“Are you okay?” he asks, not looking at me. I shake my head, though I’m not sure if he can see it.

“Not really.”

“Yeah,” he answers, inhaling a deep breath, his head tipping forward, hair falling around his face.

“What were you doing on the train?” I ask.

Slowly, he looks over. “What were you doing on the train? Weren’t you at Sogno like everyone else?”

My gaze shifts to the ground. “I left early,” I say.

“Is that so?” he asks, and I’m sure he can tell I’m lying. His tone definitely suggests he doesn’t believe me, which annoys me for some reason.

“Yes,” I answer sharply, looking up again. “Why else would I have been on the train?”

He shrugs. “No other reason, of course, but you ran out of the library pretty fast?”

Then he straightens, his shoulder brushing mine as he sits back on the bench. His gaze flicks to me briefly before darting away. I notice he didn’t answer my initial question, so I don’t reply to his, returning the favor.

“We should head back. It’s almost curfew, and the last thing you need is to be caught out late,” he says.

I make a sound of indignation. “The last thing I need?”

He arches an eyebrow, and I can’t help but admire how annoyingly good it makes him look. It pisses me off, but his smug derision digs in like a splinter, giving me something tangible to focus on.

“According to everyone, you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble lately,” he says.

I scoff. “I did nothing wrong.”

He doesn’t reply, and I get the sense he’s allowing me to fill the silence. I desperately want to ask about his own initiation, but I hold my tongue. I’m shocked the gossip mill hasn’t dug up more information, but then my usual source of news is Silver, and she’s not really talking to me.

I don’t want him to think there’s anything I find compelling about him. I shouldn’t even be talking to him. If my father found out I’ve been . . . not friendly exactly, but that I’ve even spoken to a Solitude, he’d lose his shit.

A siren’s wail punctuates the relative silence, which becomes Rook’s cue to stand. I follow him up, and we face each other as he peers down at me, searching my face. I’m too shocked to move when he reaches out and touches my jaw, a thumb sweeping over the curve of my cheek.

My breath hitches as he shifts closer, and I swear his eyes grow darker. Is he planning to kiss me? I lean in, pulled like I’m a distant planet dragged into his orbit.

My lips part, my mouth dry.

“You have a scratch,” he says, his voice hoarse, strained. I think he’s trembling. I’m just not sure why. Another swipe of his thumb, and then he pulls his hand away. Quickly. I blink, realizing I’ve misread the entire situation while noticing the drop of blood on his finger before he wipes it on his pants. “But I think you’ll live.”

I nod, heart in my throat, stomach hanging somewhere around my ankles. Skies, I’m such a fool. I remember my breath smells like vomit anyway. Probably for the best.

“Let’s go.” He gestures for me to start walking, and we head down the street, weaving through the crowds, our hands and arms occasionally brushing by accident. Every time his skin touches mine, my breath hitches.

Luckily, that last subway stop isn’t too far from school, and we get back just as other students are returning from their night out. Their general air of merriment suggests they haven’t heard about the accident yet.

Rook ducks his head and slips through the spaces as several people greet me, asking what happened when they notice the scratch on my face. I don’t get the chance to say anything as he disappears around the corner, leaving me on my own.

He just saved my life. Held my hair back while I puked into a trash can.

Touched my cheek with such careful tenderness . . . and now I don’t even warrant a nod good night.

I hate that it bothers me so much.

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