Page 69 of Shades of Silver City

My jaw clenches as I finger the baggie in my hand.

“Archer? Is everything okay?”

I take a deep breath, trying to find the words.

When I don’t reply, she says, “Why the hell are you watching me sleep?”

“To ensure you don’t die,” I whisper.

“What?” she asks, genuine confusion infused into her tone. She pulls the blankets up higher and scoots back against the headboard, looking around the room. Then she pats the bed beside her, beckoning for Scathe to join her.

He obliges, the traitor, giving me an annoyed look.

This is not fixing it, he says.

“Stay out of this,” I mutter, mindlessly running a hand through my hair.

“Excuse me?” Tasia eyes me cautiously, as if I’m a threat now.

Shutting my mouth before I make the situation worse, I hold up the baggie of dreamdust.

Her eyes widen, and she stands, abandoning the blankets. Scathe is quick to jump out of bed and join her—glued to her side.

“Shit,” she mutters, a guilty look crossing her face. “I forgot about that.”

“How do you forget about carrying drugs around in your pocket?” I say, working hard to keep my voice steady.

Her eyes narrow at me. “I never use my front pockets—only the back ones, for my phone and lipstick—” She crosses her arms. “Why the hell are you going through my shit?”

“I wasn’t—”

“And why are you of all people so bothered about it? Isn’t your little gang the one responsible for distributing that crap in the first place?”

Running a hand through my hair, I avert my gaze. She truly doesn’t seem to know that her father was the one responsible for creating dreamdust.

Whoever hired him did also hire the Nightcrawlers to distribute it on the streets, but that was before I took over. We stopped doing that years ago. It’s one of the main reasons I bothered glamouring my way through the ranks, Godric at my side.

In my rage after losing Sofia, infiltrating the drug ring and dismantling it from the inside was one of the few actionable things I could do to affect change. By shutting down the distribution, I could protect the people, prevent others’ loved ones from becoming addicts and wasting away.

And it worked.

Until now.

Godric is right. The dust is back.

“Are you okay?” Tasia asks, her voice full of concern.

The baggie of dust is heavy in my hand, a weight that will never be shed.

I thought Tasia was different. That she was strong-willed.

Instead of explaining any of that, I grit my teeth and tell her a different truth: “I do not allow drugs in my household.”

She flinches.

Disappointment, anger, betrayal—something—must show on my face, because her forehead wrinkles and she tilts her head to the side, studying me.

“You think I’m using?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her expression holds something akin to hurt. “Even after our talk in the alley?”

---