Page 63 of Creatures that Breathe

“That’s my problem,“ I snap.

Angrier by the second, Lev launches to his feet, fills the space in front of me with corgi butts. “It’s not just your problem! If you die, what about us? What about Atlas?”

“It’s a fucking surface wound—”

“It’s still not healed. And she’s causing it.” He throws out his arms and half of us flinch. “What about the fire she started? Huh? I heard you two talking on the plane. We never kept secrets before her.”

Double shit. “We still don’t.” I would’ve told him. Eventually. Once she was far, far away. “All you’ve done is threaten her. You didn’t need more ammo.”

Silence.

Zeke’s head pokes up from the back row. His gaze is clouded, suggesting he’s stuck in the half reality, half fantasy world he gets trapped in. “Whose side is the spy on, again?”

I glare. “Are you kidding me, Z? I gave you that book.”

“Answer him,” Atlas commands.

Fury bubbles in my stomach. “Yours,” I croak, and it clogs in my throat like a lie. “I’m always on your side.”

The thought I haven’t let in rises, brilliant and evasive.

Royal library. The palace tattooed on her elbow. A knack for starting fires.

Effective, devouring fires.

I suffocate it as I look into my leader’s eyes, white knuckling my knees, tendrils of black leaking off my knuckles.

The Fates cackle.

Hold it. Do not say anything.

It can’t be possible. It’s an insane theory.

If she killed Kadmos, why would she seek out his most loyal subjects?

To sow discord. Divide us. Then the last people searching for the king’s killer would destroy themselves.

The creatures chasing her had been trained. Vinia’s males?

Shit.

“Ignore them,” Sin’s low, smooth purr echoes in my ear as he takes a seat next to me, hunkering down into the chair with ease. He shakes a bucket of popcorn in front of my face. “I can hear you overthinking,” he says casually. “Hungry?”

I can hardly focus on him with the treacherous heat rising inside me, unfurling, spilling, pounding on my skin to get free. “No. Thanks.”

“Here if you want it.” Then he’s leaning back in his seat, pushing mine back to match. He shuts his eyes and lets out a loud overexaggerated sigh. “She’s a pretty female,” he murmurs, a half-formed thought. “Beautiful. You’re lucky.”

“I am lucky.” I sigh.

Slowly, the tension leaves my body. The darkness simmering, my defenses dropping.

“I am lucky,” I repeat, insistent because he can’t grasp the extent of it. It’s a miracle that she even looks at me. And beyond that, she remembers my name. I let my shoulders sink into the seat, pretend the ceiling above us is made of stars.

“Whenever I meet a girl like that.” Sin’s voice is a calm, cool breeze. “I want to impress them, you know? It’s my move, dishing secrets. You ever let stuff slip?”

I picture Sin with a dark-haired woman whispering, dancing in the moonlight, and a relaxed feeling washes over me, like I’ve just taken a hit off a blunt. Like I’m lying in the grass with the boys, cravat loose at my throat, pilfered whisky on my tongue.

Kids swapping stories, nothing more. I glance over at Sin’s glittering purple eyes. “Leni tastes like syrup.”

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