Page 85 of Godless Saints

Poor fucking girl.

I made it to the bike before I stopped lying to myself. No note. No fucking runner. Fine.

I started the engine and rode straight toward Aster like a man with nothing left to lose. The west gate was locked. The side entrance near the old music hall wasn’t. Sloppy as fuck. Cold stone. Ivy black with rain. I parked behind the hedges, shoved the note deep into my coat, and walked up the steps.

Moon better be home. Because I’m about to do something very fucking stupid. Aleksei had told me to stay away. I had. For six fucking weeks. That was enough.

I pushed the door open. Warm air hit me, cedar, cologne, winter roses, money, control. My hands flexed. I kept walking deeper into Aster, jaw tight, blood roaring in my ears.

Six weeks of silence hadn’t fixed shit. It made me worse. I wasn’t thinking about the academy. I just needed him.

CHAPTER 20

MOON

Vivienne had been carving my future into pieces for six minutes straight, reading straight from the latest Evermourne Gazette. The tea room smelled of bergamot and polished wood. Tall windows threw cold light across the long table.

“The flagged trail is still live,” she said. “Ashbourne capital, layered through intermediaries, buried deep in your family’s offshore holdings.”

“Allegedly,” I said.

Vivienne opened her mouth. I lifted one finger, cutting her off with the smallest wave. “Yes, yes. I know. My father has left approximately a trillion voicemails I still need to return. I fail to see why no one can simply let it go.”

“Publicly,” she corrected anyway, eyes sharp. “And publicly is all that matters.”

She flicked to the Gallery app, thumb scrolling mercilessly. “Six weeks ago you went to Briar House. For a boy.”

“God. Let’s not talk about it.” I waved her off. “And don’t call him a boy. He is far from a boy. He is a monster who has turned my entire life upside down.”

I tilted my head back, gaze tracing the painted angels on the ceiling. Judgmental bastards. I would do it again. Because somehow he’d become the only place I stopped performing.

Fuck, I miss him.

Vivienne rolled her eyes. “After the Carrick incident, Ashbourne looked ready to kill him. The Gazette called it ‘Aster Prince, Thorn Problem.’ The Gallery is eating it alive. Aster looks weak. Zara looks ridiculous. And you look like Thorn can drag our future Seat across campus whenever they feel bored.”

Sawyer leaned forward, grin sharpening. “So, you and Cillian are actually fucking? Don’t tell me that Irish dog is—”

I flicked a single-serve sugar packet at his forehead. “I am not discussing my personal life with either of you. Let it go. I haven’t seen him in weeks. It’s over.”

Vivienne didn’t even glance at him. “Aster purity is compromised. You look dirty, Moon. And in our world, looking dirty is the same as being dirty.”

I kept my face blank. Fingers relaxed on the teacup. Heat surged through my chest anyway.

Vivienne leaned forward. “The Patronage Seat cannot survive these optics. Not now. Not when your name is publicly linked to Ashbourne.”

“The entry was planted.”

“Hyun, nobody cares what happened. They care what it looked like. And Sawyer has already withdrawn from the Patronage Seat,” Vivienne added.

“What?” My gaze snapped to him. “Why? You stand a much better chance than I do right now.”

“I made a professional decision to stop making my life worse for a few weeks,” Sawyer said. “Thought I’d try something new.”

I met his eyes, unblinking. “That’s remarkably unconvincing,” I said. “What are you actually doing?”

“I am not discussing my personal life with you, hyung.” He stuck his tongue out, playful and utterly untrustworthy.

Fuck. Sawyer never retreated. He just disappeared long enough to come back with a worse idea.