Page 71 of Twisting Beauty

Pie was right. Liath had to stay.

But things had changed. The timeline had changed.

“She’s running out of time,” I said.

Pie’s expression shifted, just fractionally. Then her frown softened into something closer to acknowledgment. “That we can agree on.”

I stood and aimed for the exit.

I needed to get to her before he did.

22

LIATH

Lunchtime drowned Ravenwood in laughter, footsteps, and a shrill burst of someone’s ringtone. But it was the snatches of cruel voices that curled around me like nettles.

“Oh, Lorcan… harder, faster…”

A mocking moan floated behind me, followed by a sharp whistle.

I stiffened but kept walking, forcing my face smooth, into something unreadable.

Walking beside me, Nuala scowled. “Don’t mind them, they’re just trying to get a rise.”

A group of first-years near the steps began to pretend-grind the air, bursting into fits of laughter as they nudged each other.

My face stayed blank, but my nails dug crescents into my palms.

Nuala bumped my shoulder. “Boys tease you when they like you, you know. It’s childish. But Lorcan… he’s different with you.”

I snorted, bitterness clinging to my tongue. “Lorcan doesn’t like me. He hates me.”

I mumbled something about needing air and peeled away from her before she could say anything more. The courtyard was too loud, too cruel.

I turned toward the long path behind the old library annex, past the crumbling archways and moss-wet stone. The mist had thickened into drizzle, beading on my lashes and slicking my skin with damp.

I slowed, my stomach twisting, a thick churn of dread and shame maybe. Or grief. The kind that didn’t belong to me but lived in me anyway.

My fingers shook against my skirt. I didn’t want to be Rua.

Maybe I should just leave. Skip the rest of the day, vanish into the mist and not come back until my skin didn’t itch with shame. Until I could breathe without the weight of Rua pressing behind my ribs.

But would running away just prove them right? Would it tell them Lorcan had broken me, that I’d let him win? That I was running, not just from the whispers or the rumors, but from him? From the way his voice still echoed in my head, all velvet and venom.

And where would I even go? There was nowhere in this godforsaken town where Rua’s ghost didn’t haunt me. Nowhere I could go where I could slip her off my shoulders.

And the mask was buried too deep now, stitched over my bones. There was no peeling it off without taking skin.

The hairs on my neck prickled. I was being watched.

I snapped my head toward them, ready to snap.

But the presence stood tall and still, half-swallowed by the hedges, coat blackened by rain, watching me like he’d never stopped.

Deargán.

My feet halted, my pulse punching against my throat. I hated the sharp inhale that betrayed me, hated the flutter in my chest that answered him.