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Ronin sighed in defeat and rested back in his seat. “What is it you need from me in Hollow City?”
It was a good question—one she couldn’t evade. Fact was, she needed him.
“A place to stay hidden,” she said. “And help to locate Finny—Finnian.”
Ronin’s eyes narrowed at the sound of her nickname for the god. She ran her fingers through her hair, shifting around as an excuse not to look at him.
But he continued to stare at her, and she could feel the intense weight of his eyes scouring over her face, cataloging every movement of her expression.
Among the whistling of the train against the wind and the muffled sound of wheels pedaling over the tracks, a long silence settled between them.
Knots coiled in Naia’s stomach, and she forced her hands to lie on her thighs.
It is fine. If he abandons you, you will figure out a solution. You always do.
“Okay,” Ronin said. “I’ll help you find him.”
She blinked up at him, surprised by his willingness. Shaking her head, she asked, “Why?”
He gave another insufferable shrug. “Because I feel like it.”
“Do you wish for something in return?”
“Nope.”
She crossed her arms, annoyed. “Do you have a death wish?”
He laughed lightly. “Did you not figure that out the moment your hair pin met my throat?”
Naia searched his face for any signs of ulterior motives. If she passed by the hall outside the roomette doors, one glimpse at his expression and she would’ve assumed he was bored. She envied his calm personality, while she sat with forced effort in an attempt to keep her emotions from spilling out of her throat.
Everything she’d learned about him pushed to the front of her mind—his mother and father were deceased, he had a sister and a niece, and he lived in Hollow City. And lastly, he hated the gods. This information was the extent of what she knew of him, leaving her with hardly anything to go on. Why would someone who loathed the gods agree to help her find one?
Before she could think any further on it, the train screamed to a stop.
Naia straightened in her seat, hearing the stir outside their cabin to the crackle of the intercom.
Ronin was already up, the movement sending a faint aroma of barbecued meats from the festival and seaweed from the ferry ride up her nose.
“Attention, passengers: we have arrived at your destination.”
Once they unloaded the train, Ronin had held open the passenger’s side door for her to get in. She marveled at the slick, black body of what Ronin referred to as his car before finally bringing her eyes up to his glittering, amused ones.
She muttered a sarcastic quip about his chivalrous gesture—I can open my own door—and climbed into the seat.
The first few minutes of the drive were smooth asphalt and a giddy rush of ecstasy.
Once her high of racing alongside many lanes of traffic wore off, she peeked over at Ronin, lit up by the blue lights of the dashboard, and secretly appreciated how effortlessly he drove—lounged back in his seat, one hand on the bottom of the wheel, eyes flashing from the rearview mirror to his side mirrors and back onto the road.
His confidence was agonizingly attractive.
Riding in a vehicle wasn’t much different from riding on a train. Both pieces of machinery moved impeccably fast within a great distance. Only, unlike the train, they were alone, traveling at what felt like the speed of warm butter gliding down a hot knife.
Naia switched between staring out her window, gawking at whatever outline of landscape she could make out in the hazy distance, to listening to the low melody of the tune playing through the speakers on the side of the doors.
“I won’t ask questions,” Ronin said, breaking the comfortable silence.
It was a request she’d made from him earlier. A pointless request, she’d assumed, because he asked anyway. What had changed his mind?
