Page 21 of Shades of Silver City

His brow scrunches, but he doesn’t look at me. “A temporary sedative.”

My spine tingles with unease as I thrash against the bindings.

Finally giving up on the knot, he stands, sliding out of his black leather jacket and tossing it aside. His dark, V-neck T-shirt hugs his body, showing off his muscular chest—and his handgun. The prospect of danger sends an alarm blaring through my body. Still, I find this man less terrifying than the Scouts.

The Phantom pulls a matte-black knife out of his pocket, flicking it open. I flinch, but the ropes hold my limbs in place.

“Hold still,” he warns as he squats down in front of me. “Relax.”

His gaze finds mine, and I notice how deep and warm the golden coloring of his eyes is. It matches the gleaming hue surrounding his body almost perfectly.

How the hell does he have a golden soul-shade?

Racking my brain, I sift through the various colors mentioned in my father’s journal—it’s how I learned about my ability and what some of the auras mean. Sadly, he was killed before he finished his research, but gold was one of the few colors he confidently interpreted.

Golden hues represent a pure soul; they’re as rare as stars in the city sky. We might never see them, but they exist.

The Phantom leans closer, inspecting the ropes around my ankles. The muscles in his forearms flex in a mesmerizing manner as he starts sawing the bindings aggressively.

“Shit,” I mutter, turning my head away and squeezing my eyes shut. “Be careful.”

“Do you always curse this much?” he asks.

“Only when I’m kidnapped by a knife-wielding asshole.”

I make the mistake of glancing back down at the asshole in question. He pauses his slicing, resting back on his haunches, and a gleam of curiosity lights up his features. My stomach knots itself again, and I scowl. The corners of his lips turn up slightly, as if he’s amused.

“You’re not afraid of me.”

“No,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

“Earlier—in the alley with the dead girl—you weren’t afraid of me. It was the Scouts you feared.”

He holds my gaze, and the air between us becomes charged with something dangerous. He waits for my confirmation, but I force myself to look away, breaking the tension.

I blink and I’m eight again. The Scouts storm our apartment. They scream at my parents to get on their knees. A gun is raised to the back of my dad’s head.

Bang.

My body trembles. I’m stuck in that closet again, a prisoner to fear.

Alone.

With no one to call.

Nowhere to go.

Alone.

Even after the bodies were toted away, until the landlord came to pack up our stuff three days later and found me.

Alone.

Even in the overpopulated foster home in the city center.

I don’t remember time, and I don’t know what I did other than cry and sleep. But I will never forget the deafening silence and eerie numbness. It was as if my body shut down to protect me.

The Phantom continues sawing at the rope, and I count the timeworn, exposed bricks jutting out of the wall on my left to distract myself from the haunting memories.

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