Page 150 of Gravehouse

“I don’t want to be angry.” I pause. “I want to not have spent my entire life being a puppet for men.”

Leon doesn’t answer.

“Was any of it real?” I ask the question to the floor, letting our childhood memories run through me. “Not the training. I’m talking about the nights we stayed up because I couldn’t sleep and you made me tea and told me stories about the places you’d been. Was any of that real, or was it just—conditioning? Part of the script?”

“It was real," he mutters. “Ivy, it was real. I swear to you?—”

“Don’t.” I back up, legs steadier than I expect.

I rush up the stairs before he can answer, slamming my door closed when I’m inside.

When you don’t know who you are, ask yourself how you feel.

Nonna’s words float up from the wreckage, and I close my eyes.

How do I feel?

Like a marionette with half its strings cut, still dragging itself across a stage it never asked to stand on.

Now what? Now I’m supposed to be in this house and remember that the only woman who could help me out of this mess is dead.

Sniffing, I push off the door and head for the shower. No amount of scrubbing is going to remove how dirty I feel, but it’s a start. The water beats down on my shoulders while I stare at the spot Asher shoved me against the last time I was here.

Is he still here?

Probably. I can’t imagine him leaving me to wallow on my own.

I stand under the spray until the water runs cold, scrubbing blood from under my nails, from the creases of my palms, from the place behind my ears where Aléia’s blood splattered when I opened her throat.

The reaction of her death as soon as that memory landed is exactly why I’m classified a weapon.“Give her more sedation. But not enough that she can’t feel what’s happening. Emeric?” Aléia called over her shoulder, the light above burning through my retinas. “Scalpel.”

Bitch. Fucking bitch.

She was a fucking Monét. AMonét.A shit one at that. Does Camille know who true family line? No doubt she does.

I need to stop thinking about it. So I scrub, mechanical and thorough, until there’s nothing left but clean skin and the faint tremor in my hands.

Stepping out, I wrap a towel around my body, and throw on a pair of linen pants and a cardigan. I can’t even be bothered brushing my hair as I tie it in a wet knot on the top of my head.

Teeth. I need to brush my teeth.

I go through the motions, but everything reminds me of everyone.

Tightening the cardi around my waist, I shift the curtain aside and look down at the yard. Nonna’s greenhouse sitsopposite the shed. Whenever she’d have a quiet day, or she’d be battling with something none of us knew, it always seemed to help her. She’d say that nature had a way of providing us answers if we were listening hard enough.

I pull on socks and boots, listening at the door before slipping into the hall. Fresh cookies sweeten the air, making my stomach rumble.Liars.My appetite vanishes, as low voices drift from downstairs, broken by long stretches of silence.

“I want to see her,” Jord muffles around his cookie.

My hand flies to my mouth to catch my laugh.

“Well, you can’t. Not yet…” Leon sighs. “She will come when she’s ready. You know what Ivy’s like.”

“She needs to know that I knew nothing.”

I know.

“She already does, dipshit,” Punk snaps, but there’s a heavy sadness in her tone.