Page 162 of The Incendiary

“It’s perfect.” I tore my gaze from the mirror. “Thank you.”

She smiled back. “It might be my favorite of the ones I’ve done for someone else.”

My fingers traced the flowers as I fell asleep wrapped in his sweater, feeling a little bit closer to him.

The next morning, I woke early and went for a walk around the fortress. Fresh air and movement made it easier to escape the mournful stupor I’d been caught in since that moment. It allowed me time to sort through my thoughts. And I tried not to think about him. When I failed, my body attempted to cease functioning, and I had to function. I had to survive.

Every time Elias saw me, he looked like a lost dog begging for forgiveness. He kept his hands off me as ordered. Part of me was so tired that I wanted to let it go. When I felt that way, I asked myself how I would feel if Gemma or Mina had been attacked in those showers. What if it had been one of the timid eighteen-year-old females who didn’t want to be here? Were they important enough to trounce his need for revenge against the Butcher?

Would he have asked them what they’d been doing in the showers in the middle of the night? Would he have told them to be more careful?

He was too blinded by hatred and his unconquerable need for retribution. While his desire for justice—for his parents and his sister, for thousands of innocents—was valid, his dismissal of what had happened and refusal to believe me about Gerard and the others were not. It was clear that he regretted how he’d handled it. While I knew I could find it in me to forgive him eventually, I now feared I’d never be able to trust him fully.

“Fera!” Valda’s voice caught me off guard as I walked past the refectory. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The commander has called you for a last-minute briefing. Main hall, right now.”

“Before breakfast?”

“Now, Cadet!” She ignored my query and disappeared around the corner.

I increased my pace to get to the main hall but gasped when a strong hand gripped my arm and dragged me into the shadows between buildings. I started to reach for my knife when I looked up and saw black hair, hazel eyes, and one of the kindest faces I’ve ever known.

Finn Sinclair’s face.

“What the hell, Ary?”

FORTY-EIGHT

ARYELLA

“Finn?” I grasped at his forearms to make sure he was real. He was.

“Yes.” He scanned my face with wide eyes. “I knew you were here pretending to be someone else, but this feels even riskier in person.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

He arched a brow and snorted, the tension between us beginning to dull. “Your disguise is impressive, but not that impressive. You’re still you, mostly.”

“Yes,” I choked out through a tearful laugh.

He gave my shoulders a light squeeze. “It’s so good to see you.” The longer he looked at me, the more concerned he became. I could fool most of them, but I couldn’t fool a friend who had seen me at my lowest, starving and helpless. Finn had no idea how far I’d come. The last time he’d seen me, I was timid, weak, and dangerously naive. I had used my power only once by healing a little boy. I had barely grasped who or what I was.

“Are you doing all right?” he asked worriedly, hissing at the bruising along my face and neck. “Ary, what the hell happened to you?”

“How’s Gemma?” I deflected.

“She’s out on a mission right now. She’s… all right.” He nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. I felt the blood leave my face.

“What?” I demanded anxiously. “Finn?”

Finn exhaled defeatedly. “Winterton came down hard on her after what happened at Brinnea. On both of us, but especially her. He sent me to Peradine to try to drive a wedge between us.”

Dread spread through my veins and soured my stomach with guilt.

“Blamed her for you going with him and for your… death.”

My cheeks heated with anger. “It was not her fault or yours.”

“I know. And if you were dead,” he continued, his voice lowering to a barely-there whisper, “I think she would be broken. Like Ezra.” When he saw my face fall, he explained, “He’s just very sad. Very often.”