Page 30 of Reign

See? Told you.

And now I’m arguing with an organ.

“Argh,” I moan in frustration, smacking against my headrest. The guy beside me doesn’t flinch at my strange behavior, instead licking remnants of mustard off his fingers before settling in with his tablet.

I’d lost it on Chase, very publicly and with a lot of witnesses. My heart was all-in, but not in the way I fantasized over. Dreaming of Chase’s public declaration of protection, his claiming of me, crept into all corners of my mind most nights. Never did I envision a scenario where I’d make him the possum with garbage clinging to his body the way his tailored uniform usually did.

He must hate me now. Possibly he always did. Maybe, there was never any love to be lost between us. Just sex and pleasure. Either way, it’s all gone now, dust and ash I’ve left behind at Briarcliff, a two-week reprieve where I don’t have to breathe the fumes.

I should be relieved, but I’m worried instead.

Anxious over Sabine. There hasn’t been a whisper or a flash of movement since … since …

I shut my eyes tight as images of Ivy splayed across the temple floor flashes forward.

My body’s thrown in the darkness, and my eyes pop wide at the train’s sudden stop. Pulse beating like a drum in my ears, I cling to the window, allowing its cold to seep into the heat of the moment and dissipate the horror.

“You okay, sweetheart?” the businessman asks with a thick Queens accent.

After a single gulp, I nod, unable to yet turn my head. A brownish stain colors the back of the headrest in front me, serving as a stark reminder of my final words to Chase.

All because you’re scared.

It’s becoming awfully clear who that statement was really meant for.

“This your stop?” the man tries again. He’s moved—standing above me and grabbing his overhead luggage. “‘Cause I think you have about five seconds before this sucker moves again.”

Nodding, I shuffle out of my corner, hugging my duffel tight to my chest as the man steps aside and allows me through first.

I land on the platform in a dusty fugue, blinking fast and searching for my bearings before anyone I know sees me and asks me the dreaded question I wish to avoid the entire holiday: What’s wrong?

It’s impossible to put into words what haunts me, or even words that make sense. I tried with Ahmar and failed. The entire academy backs Sabine’s story of Ivy’s sudden departure, not death. Chase makes clear his willingness to sacrifice himself to save the Nobles, and all I want to do is nuke the Virtues and take the Nobles down with them as collateral damage.

At the same time my thoughts circle, I’m scanning the crowd for a familiar face, taking tentative steps forward as I enter my old world.

I spot Ahmar after the second sweep, my footsteps picking up, my duffel swinging on its strap against my shoulder as I release it and start to run.

He glances up from his phone at the sudden blur of movement, then stretches his arms wide.

I fly into them with an oompf, clutching Ahmar close and smelling his familiar woodsy cologne as I bury my face in his chest.

“That’s the kind of welcome I was waiting for!” he says, his chin digging into the top of my head.

I resist the urge to bawl, knotting my fingers in the fabric of his jacket instead. Ahmar’s warm. Safe. He’s home.

“Ah, Calla.” His arms wrap tighter once he realizes I’m not letting go. “I gotcha, kiddo.”

Sniffling, I untangle my hands from his coat, stepping back and swiping under my eyes. I take a few deep breaths, too, clinging to normalcy instead of another breakdown.

“Come on.” Ahmar throws his arm around my shoulders and directs us to the exit. I’m thankful he doesn’t press for more information or ask how I’ve been doing since our last, frantic phone call. “Pete and Lynda are waiting for you. I’ll drop you off there.”

“Sure.”

In another time, I would’ve asked him to stop at our usual diner—our being his, mine, and Mom’s—for coffee and pancakes, but as my stomach insists, I can’t keep up an act for very long. I’d rather have the distraction of my new sister, the flurry of newborn attention, than searching eyes across the table, cataloguing my every twitch and wondering if it’s time for a longer stretch at a facility.

Ahmar takes us to his double-parked car on 42nd Street, opening the passenger door on his unmarked police vehicle so I can slide in.

It hasn’t yet snowed in NYC, but the brisk, icy weather turns into condensation on my cheeks as soon as I get into the heated car. Ahmar hops into the driver’s side, and in seconds, we’re merged into congested city traffic and honking with the rest of them.

---