Page 36 of Illusionist
We sink to the floor together, his arms wrapped securely around me. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel safe. Protected. Like maybe I don't have to keep running after all.
“Nova.” His voice is softer now, careful. “Can I ask you something?”
The question I've been dreading. The one that will force me to lie or reveal truths I can't afford to share.
“What?”
“Whoever you ran away from...” His hand strokes through my hair, soothing. “Did they hurt you?”
The simple question opens floodgates I've kept locked for years. Suddenly I'm sobbing, the force of it shaking my entire body.
Silas just holds me, one hand rubbing circles on my back while I fall apart in his arms. He doesn't ask for details, doesn't push for more information. Just offers comfort while I cry in his embrace.
When the tears finally subside, I feel hollow. Scraped clean. Like I've been carrying a weight I didn't realize was there until it was gone.
“Better?” he asks gently.
I nod against his chest, not trusting my voice.
“Good.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “For what it's worth, I'm glad you ran. Glad you found us.”
“Are you?” I pull back to look at him, searching his face for signs of pity or disgust. Instead, I find only warmth and tenderness.
“Yeah.” His thumb brushes away the last of my tears. “I am.”
We lie there in comfortable silence, my head on his chest, his fingers combing through my hair. Outside, the carnival comes to life as evening approaches—distant music, the calls of vendors setting up for the night's crowd.
“We should get ready for tonight's show,” I say eventually, though I make no move to leave his arms.
“Probably.” But his grip strengthens slightly, like he's as reluctant to let go as I am to leave. “Nova?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever you're running from—whoever hurt you—they'll have to go through me to get to you. You know that, right?”
The fierce protective tone ignites an ache in my chest. I want to warn him that I'm more trouble than he knows, that caring about me is dangerous for both of us. But the words stick in my throat.
Instead, I press closer, breathing in his scent and pretending for just a little longer that I can have this. That I can have him.
“I know,” I whisper against his skin.
And for the first time since I stabbed Roman and ran, I almost believe it might be true.
Even as a voice in the back of my mind whispers that it's only a matter of time before my past catches up with me.
Before I have to run again.
But not today. Today, I'm Nova Calder, escape artist, wrapped in the arms of a man who makes me feel like I might actually be worth protecting.
Tomorrow can take care of itself.
12
SILAS
Istare at the laptop screen until the blue light burns into my retinas, but Nova's digital footprint remains frustratingly sparse. Three hours of digging, and all I have to show for it are fragments—breadcrumbs that lead nowhere.
The cursor blinks mockingly in the search bar. I crack my knuckles and try again.
