Page 48 of Glutton for Punishment

“Lucas will take you back to your room when you’re done.” He hesitates for half a second longer, then walks out.

Even with him gone, with his proximity, the bond is still there.

Loud. Demanding attention.

And I still don’t know what to do with it.

Chapter 15

Arwen

Isit on my oversized bed playing with a tassel from one of the decorative pillows. My aching body wants to melt into this mattress, but my mind is reeling.

Although I’m several floors up, the lively sounds of the street still echo outside, and the bright flash of neon green and pink keeps lighting up the windows on repeat.

Pink…. Green.

Pink….

A soft, measured knock sounds against my door, breaking through my mental fog of counting colors.

By the knock, I already know who it is. I push myself up and pad across the carpet in bare feet, pulling the door open.

Atticus is as composed as ever. Shaved, cleaned up, put back together like none of the past few weeks every happened. But I know better. You can’t wash it away. I can still see the strain in storm-blue eyes when they land on me.

“This feels weird,” he says. “Walls, doors… I’ve grown used to being able to just look over and see if you are there or not.”

He tucks his hand in his suit pockets, leaning against the door frame. “It’s an oddly lonesome feeling.”

“I think… I think I’m still processing. That we’re out. That I don’t have to go to the lab tomorrow.”

It’s clear there’s so much sitting between us. Too much we haven’t said.

He exhales, like he’s not looking forward to this talk.

“Can I come in? I won’t take much of your time,” he says, voice steady. “I wanted to come and tell you in person.”

Something in my chest tightens. Panic breaks through the numbness as I move aside and he walks in.

“What do you mean? Tell me what?” I say, closing the door behind him.

He faces me and meets my eyes. “I’m leaving.”

I shake my head; the reaction instinctive. “No.”

The words send me into a spiral, and I don’t know why.

“You just got out,” I continue, stepping closer without realizing it. “We just got out. You can’t seriously be thinking about leaving already.”

“I have to,” he says, face going sympathetic. “I need to go back to Pride.”

Frustration sparks, hot and immediate. “Why? So your father can interrogate you about where I am? So he can come and finish the job of sending me to the Wastes? We both tried talking to him at the trial, and it didn’t work out so well for us.”

He looks away first—down and to the left, jaw working like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. I don’t think he actually wants to leave.

“Arwen, I would never tell my father where you are. You are my priority.”

I don’t know why, but the words settle somewhere behind my sternum and do something I’m not prepared for—a flutter, quick and traitorous.