Page 82 of Godless Saints

His glare dropped. That was worse.

“But he helped me.”

“How?”

Misha looked up at me. He looked younger in the light. I fucking hated it.

“By noticing.”

I had no answer for that. Because Adrian Mirovsky had noticed. I hadn’t.

Misha picked at another flower, slower this time. “He saw what no one else wanted to.”

My chest tightened.

“He stopped me.”

I looked at his sleeves. He tugged them lower.

“It’s fucked up. I know. Enemy Pakhan knows my biggest secret. But this summer… he saved me.”

I had nothing.

Misha looked past me. Not at the bike. Past it. Toward the road. His eyes narrowed.

“You’re still going after Moon.”

Misha threw his hands up. “Jesus Christ, Cil.”

“I’m not going to Aster.”

“You’re a shit liar.”

“I’m not.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out the folded note.

Misha stared at it. Then at me.

“What is that?”

I held it out. He snatched the note, fingers biting into the paper. His eyes scanned the page once, twice. His mouth tightened.

“Tonight?”

“No.”

His gaze snapped up.

“The winter ball,” I said. “I’m staying low. Following your brother’s orders.”

Misha looked like he wanted to call me a liar. He didn’t. He just folded the note carefully.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“Don’t make me regret this reasonable shit.”

I held out my hand. Misha didn’t hand the note over right away.