Page 37 of Crown of Envy

My hand dove into my pocket, fingers closing around the cool metal of the compass. I pulled it out, the familiar feel comforting in my palm.

Then, with trembling hands, I reached for my dagger. It slid into its sheath with a satisfying click that sent a small shiver of readiness through me. My fingers curled around the grip of my bow, the wood’s texture rough and grounding against my sweaty palm. I tightened my hand, drawing strength from the weapon that had seen me through so many battles.

As I stood there, fully equipped and feeling anything but ready, I took one last deep breath. The air filled my lungs, bringing a surge of determination that pushed back against the exhaustion.

I opened the door, and Justice leaned against the wall, waiting for me. “Since you’re determined to do this, you need to stay close to me. Understood?”

I thought about arguing with him, but why bother? We both knew I needed help, and I wouldn’t turn down assistance from a badass vampire.

Then, Damon appeared on the other side of the door. His eyebrows shot up as he took in my battle-ready appearance. He whistled.

“Well, well. Look who decided to cosplay as Katniss Everdeen,” Damon quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know, when I said you looked like a dandelion, I didn’t mean for you to go full Hunger Games on us.”

He stepped closer, scanning me critically. “You sure you’re up for this, sis? Because right now, you look about as steady as a drunk trying to ride a unicycle.”

Justice gave him a cold stare. “Trust me, I can protect her.”

Damon’s gaze flicked to Justice, and he smirked. “And you’ve got Count Dracula here as your bodyguard? Great. It’s like the start of a bad joke. A half-dead hunter, a wounded vampire, and a magic mirror walk into a bar…”

I sighed from deep within my chest. My shoulders sagged under Damon’s concern, adding to the already heavy burden of my exhaustion. I tried to give my brother a brave smile, but I felt it wavering at the edges, more grimace than grin.

“Damon,” I started. I had to clear my throat before continuing. “I know you’re worried, but I can do this.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You’re stubborn as hell and about as easy to stop as a runaway freight train. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it smart.”

My fingers tightened around my bow. I stood straighter, ignoring the protest of my aching muscles. “If I don’t go, you won’t be able to retrieve the dagger.”

“I get that.” Damon’s expression softened, concern breaking through his tough exterior. “Just don’t go playing hero, all right? We need you in one piece. I’m not explaining to Dad why I let you get turned into demon chow.”

When he said Dad, I felt a strange hollowness. I tried, as I had countless times before, to conjure up an image of what my father looked like or even a hint of how I felt about him. But there was nothing. Only a vast, empty space where those memories should have been.

Damon had told me stories, painting a picture of a man I supposedly regarded as a hero, someone I looked up to with admiration and love. Yet, try as I might, all I could retrieve was a blank slate. A void where a lifetime of memories should have resided.

I wasn’t even sure how I felt about this absence. Should I feel grief for the loss of these memories? Anger at their theft? Or perhaps fear at the thought of what else might be missing from my mind? Instead, I felt a confusing mix of emotions. A vague sense of loss for something I couldn’t remember, frustration at my inability to recall, and a strange detachment, as if I were mourning for someone else’s father rather than my own.

The disconnect between what I knew intellectually and what I felt emotionally was jarring. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing, leaving me with an incomplete picture I couldn’t quite make sense of.

I glanced at Damon, wondering if he noticed the conflict playing out behind my eyes. Did he realize how strange it was for me to hear about a version of myself I couldn’t remember? A version that loved and looked up to a father who was now nothing more than a concept, a story told by others?

The void of these missing memories hung over me, a constant reminder of the parts of myself that had been taken away. Yet, in the face of our current dangers, even this profound loss felt somewhat distant, another problem to be dealt with later. If we survived what was coming.

Damon’s eyes, so like my own, were clouded with frustration and fear. A muscle in his jaw worked as he clenched and unclenched it.

My free hand reached out of its own accord to rest on Damon’s arm. I felt the tension in his muscles, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. “I know it’s risky,” I admitted, my voice stronger now, fueled by determination. “But we’re out of options and out of time.”

A wave of dizziness washed over me, making the room spin. I blinked hard, fighting to maintain my composure. My grip on Damon’s arm tightened as much to steady myself as to reassure him.

“I need you to trust me. We have the compass. It led us out of the Grove of Whispers, and it will do it again,” I told him, each word deliberate and heavy with meaning. “I need you to have my back like you always do.”

I inhaled deeply, the air filling my lungs and bringing a renewed sense of purpose. Despite the exhaustion that weighed on me like a physical presence, despite the fear churning in my gut, I knew this was our only path forward.

“We’re in this together,” I insisted. “All of us.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Damon swore softly under his breath, the words hissing through clenched teeth. “Well, if we’re going to do this, let’s go. The rest of the team is already in the Batmobile.”

Justice moved swiftly, his arm snaking around my waist. The coolness of his touch seeped through my clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth of adrenaline coursing through my veins. He maneuvered me out of the hallway, his grip firm but gentle, supporting more of my weight than I cared to admit.

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