Page 274 of What We Bury

And then I think about the version that stood in Odin’s back room and called her easy.

My chest cracks open.

Oh, Eli. What have you done?

Eli and I have a complicated relationship. I wouldn’t call us lovers by any stretch of the word. But I would call us more than friends. Fellow inmates in a prison of our own design. And because I know him almost as well as I know myself, I also know what he’s doing right now.

He’s not celebrating. He’s not relieved. He is in a dark room somewhere, punishing himself for his actions.

I want to call him. I want to tear him to shreds. But that’s not how this works. Eli always runs first. Sometimes, he comes back. Other times, he doesn’t.

The front door opens and Holden comes through it. He obviously walked straight out of the station to be here—the chain from his badge visible at the neck of his button-down, the leather of his shoulder holster showing where his jacket hangs open. He shuts the door behind him.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Sleeping,” I say.

He nods. I can see the pull in him—the need to go upstairs, put eyes on her, confirm she’s breathing and whole. But he holds.

“Eli planned this,” he says, jaw tight. “Probably planned it with Odin before we even walked in there today. He waited until we were gone. Dismissed us specifically so we wouldn’t be there to counter it.”

“Planned an operation against our girl,” Knox says, and the temperature in the room drops.

“We need to talk to him,” I say. “Find out where his head’s at. I want to believe he’s just trying to keep her safe. But . . .”

“Stay.” Holden grabs his keys from the counter. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Maybe it should be me,” I say, standing. “I know I said I wouldn’t, but I’m willing?—”

“No.” Holden looks at me. Not unkind, but immovable. “You’re too worked up. Both of you are. If it’s me, we don’t have any history that’ll stir up more shit. I can talk to him straight.”

I let it go. Holden’s right. I’m pissed, but I’m not steady—and Holden is never anything but. He can talk Eli off a ledge, or throw him off it, but either way it’ll get handled.

He leaves without finishing the conversation, and Knox and I sit in seething silence. About five minutes later, the front door bangs open and Milo explodes into the house.

“Kitten! My love!” He’s got a grocery bag in one hand and his jacket half off. “I came as fast as I could! I may have run several red lights and I think I left the store without paying for the?—”

“Milo,” Knox warns.

“—candle, which technically makes me a shoplifter, but that’s a problem for future Milo who is a much more responsible?—”

“Milo.” Me this time. “She’s sleeping. Keep it down.”

He freezes mid-stride reading the room.

“How bad?” he asks, quieter now.

“Bad,” I say. “Eli told her?—”

There’s a creak on the stairs.

We all turn.

Sage is standing at the bottom step. She’s wearing one of Holden’s T-shirts—it falls to mid-thigh on her—and her hair is tangled. Her eyes are swollen and there are pillow creases on her cheek. She looks wrecked.

“I’m awake,” she says, her voice rough. “You don’t have to tiptoe.”

“Was it Milo?” I ask. “You want me to hit him?”